Camping!

I don't camp. Never have, nor did I believe I ever would. Even in cub scouts I feigned being sick so as to miss a camping trip. And boy, am I glad I did! My fellow cubs came back hornet stung, sun-burnt, and scratching their poison ivy rashes. So it's no wonder I don't fancy myself a camper. 

That is, until a couple of weeks ago. Suddenly--inexplicably--I found myself deep in the mountains of Oklahoma (spittin' distance--as the locals say--from Arkansas) in a cabin in the woods. Horrors! 

How did our pioneering ancestors ever make it under such barbaric circumstances?

Just how had this happened? I dunno, not really. My wife probably told me we were going on this trip with her family while I was knee-deep into a movie or something. Doesn't matter. There I was...camping.

Typical camping activity: Everyone fiddling with their phones

 

Now, my family still claim that I wasn't camping. My father-in-law laughed and told me I never would've made it camping with his father and father-in-law. He's right. After hearing his tale of how he had about froze to death in a tent while deer hunting, I couldn't think of anything less appealing.

I don't EVEN want to know what this strange creature is.

 

"Dear, this is hardly 'camping,'" said my wife.

I said, "But...but...we're in a cabin in the woods! And there's nature stuff, and Dick and Perry, and serial killers, and Deliverance psychos, and lotsa crap surrounding us! We're camping!"

Roughing it around the campfire with a Margarita

 

My sister-in-law added, "Don't forget about the tree-frogs."

"TREE FROGS?" I shrieked, while whirling around on the deck, looking for these insidious creatures to start falling upon me. Just as I don't believe that sticks should walk (a terrifying sight), I'd never heard of such a frightening prospect before. I like my frogs on the ground where I can see them, definitely not waiting to bombard me from the huge trees above.

My nephew wielding weapons so as to fend off the deadly Tree Frogs

 

All week long, my claims of camping were ridiculed. Okay, okay, the cabin had air conditioning and even Wifi, but for God's sake, the signal was really spotty! Talk about roughing it! And sure there were wineries and breweries twenty minutes away to occupy my great outdoors-man daytime activities, but at night, a myriad of critters, varmints, and who-knows-what buzzed, clicked, shrieked, hooted, hawed, cawed, and laughed. Camping!

The great outdoors-man finds himself inside a winery

 

I should count myself lucky, I suppose, as I only had one truly tragic camping mishap. Half asleep one morning, I reached for a tube of toothpaste on the bathroom countertop, squeezed some out, and brushed my teeth. Thinking it tasted..."funny"...I checked the tube. I'd grabbed my bro-in-law's hydrocortisone. More shrieking ensued. Camping.

Just one of the many, many dangers of camping

Inexplicably, the locals seemed to have kinda a crush or something on Bigfoot. Everywhere you looked there were Bigfoot statues, Bigfoot shops, and Bigfoot beer.

Getting chummy with one of the locals

For God's sake, we were in such savage country, the locals even took to eating the Bigfeet (Bigfoots?)! When in Rome, do as the Romans do...We ordered a plate of Bigfoot Balls. While certainly not as ghastly as Rocky Mountain Oysters (nothing is), I imagine there's an entire mountain full of castrated and angry Bigfoot guys roaming around.

So much for the camping tradition of pork and beans

The wildlife wasn't content to stay outdoors either. One look at the room my wife and I shared with our nephews shows the obvious proof that a wild, enraged beast of some sort (maybe a castrated Bigfoot?) went on a rampage strewing clothing and other items everywhere! Camping!

When animals attack!

I was glad to get back to civilization after having braved it in the woods for several nights, living on the edge of danger, and barely escaping with my life. Now that I've actually--finally--been camping, I think I'm pulling up my big boy outdoors man shorts and ready to do it again. Although next time, I'd prefer a cabin with a hot tub. Yeah... Camping!

 

Speaking of Bigfoot, there's a rousing tale of the big lug in my short story collection, Twisted Tales from Tornado Alley. It features tugs to the heartstrings and limbs ripped from bodies. Bonus! Read it while camping.

Nature Bites (I mean mosquitoes, snakes, Bigfoot, etc.)

(EDITORIAL NOTE: I was really gonna talk about this week's election results. But I'm sick of it. And everyone's got an opinion. I'm done. Instead, I present this Wikipedia article on Nature.)

By now, readers should know I'm allergic to Nature. I break out in cold sweats just thinking about it. Camping sounds like pure torture to me.

I once camped with my wife and her family. If it wasn't for the hot-tub and VCR player in the cabin, I honestly thought I might've died. I mean, a VCR player! What are we, in the dark ages? That guy in the Leonardo DiCaprio movie who crawled miles through frozen terrain with bear attack wounds? Feh, kid stuff. I mean, the cabin only had rom-com videotapes. Romantic comedies, for God's sake! Agony!

Not too long ago, my wife and I took a trip to Portland, Oregon. To tell you the truth, I was a little hesitant at first. Trees were mentioned. Lotsa trees. Lots and lots of trees. When we got there, my wife's bro and his family told us we were going hiking. 

Uh-oh.

Couldn't sleep at all that night wondering about the horrors that awaited me the next day. (I mean, honestly, how is one supposed to, like, keep up on The Walking Dead or Game of Thrones when you're miles away from electricity? Civilization kicks mega-tail for a reason.)

And horrors it was. We walked WAY downhill to a waterfall, miles and miles of trudging through rugged terrain. Bugs strafed me. Sweat rolled off, a waterfall. I ended up hyperventilating like a whispery ventilator. 

Along the way through the deep, agonizing trek, I spotted a pair of boys' underpants. Just sitting there on a rock. Scared the hell outta' me. I mean I've watched the documentary, Friday the 13th.  How does a boy lose his underwear in nature? Did he get the shorts scared off him? Clearly, Jason was lurking nearby.

  My brother-in-law and I made it near to the end. Not quite. We called it pretty and a day. We lurched back up, ludicrously winded and wetter than Niagra Falls. A little girl passed us, crying. My brethren in arms. But, no, Dan Haggerty that I am, I fought back the tears, trying to maintain a semblance of manhood. The allure of air conditioning dangled in front of me like a carrot, coaxing me back to level land.

Bro-in-law and I fairly collapsed in one another's arms at the top of the nightmare trail, vowing to God we'd be better people, just please, please, PLEASE never make us travel down to Hell again.

After that, I thought I'd put nature behind. But, no, nature struck back, still not finished with me. Once we got back to Kansas City, a plague of Oak tree mites broke out. Whaaa? My wife and I got shot-gun blasted with them.

I'm telling you, nature bites!

I am...the Great Indoorsman

Let's get something straight. I don't camp. The closest to camp I come is watching the old Batman TV series.

I'm a civilized chap, rather fond of climate control and beds. Beds were created for a reason. I believe it blasphemous not to use them. And cable TV, a must for survival.

Several years back, my wife talked me into a camping trip. We're talking really roughing it. Staying in a cabin in the wild woods of Oklahoma. The sheer Jeremiah Johnson-ish of it all! Sure, the cabin had a hot tub and a VCR player, but, man, I felt so...primitive. I mean, honestly! A VCR player, for cryin' out loud!

It was at this savage cabin I saw my first "walkingstick." Totally freaked me out. Screamed like one of Jason's victims. Sticks aren't supposed to walk. And people can't understand why I don't camp. Duh.

I suppose my Great Indoorsmanship began at an early age. Against my better judgment (and because kids are never given a choice), I was set to go on a cub scout weekend camping trip. Thankfully I came down with a stomach virus and missed the "adventure." On that ill-fated trip, my fellow scouts blundered into a wasp's nest and rolled through a thatch of poison ivy. If I even look at poison ivy, huge blisters develop on my eyelids.

Invariably when people try to convince me how wonderful camping is they fall short of selling it. Usually, their tales are rife with horror (Mosquitos! Flooding! All sorts of Biblical plagues!), hardly a convincing argument.

When you wake up freezing or sweating (both equally awful sensations), I hardly see that as a bonus. Campers are just opening themselves up to the Zika virus or a Bigfoot ravaging. Not to mention the various demented serial killers who lurk in the woods. I know, I've done my research. I've watched lots of horror movies.

I gained my Indoorsman legs the hard, practiced way...on the sofa. Many hours spent on many a different sofa have toughened me into the sofa-sitting man I am today.