Ok, Boys and Girls, grab your things; cause before the summer hits us like a big ole’ humid brick, we are going camping.
J. Wild is headed up to the mountains with a few gays soon to give them a first taste of the camping.
I grew up in a family that loved to camp. We would pile into our huge Ford van that had been tricked-out to celebrate the Bicentennial (complete with blue shag carpet on the floor and walls and a patriotic paint job that would make Betsy Ross throw up a little in her mouth) and head off to some national park.
My dad has pictures of the family all decked out at the Grand Tetons in Wyoming. I am the five-month old baby strapped to my mother’s back. Needless to say, I started young.
I love camping. Everything that weighs you down in your daily life is forgotten once you unpack your gear from the car and hit the trail. Leave your iPod and Blackberry inside and forget all about your technology-bound self. You have no responsibilities; only to drink in all that nature has poured in front of you.
Hike in a few miles and set up camp. You have a tent for shelter, a stove and food to cook, a filter and crisp, clear water to drink. The sun sets over the western horizon and the world dims around you. You crawl into your tent and slip into your sleeping bag, sleep envelops you as the crickets and tree frogs serenade your dreams. The morning creeps in early and nudges you awake.
Coffee and a light breakfast get your body rolling and in no time you are packed and ready to go. Back to your car? No way! Hit the trail again and do it all over again.
I will keep notes on how our tent virgins cope in the great wide world. Check back in a few weeks and see how they faired.