Camping In The Age Of The Virus: Part 2

Somehow I managed to convince my wife to go along with my idea of camping in the middle of summer in the most virus-ridden place in the world...good idea? She kept asking how badly I wanted to do this, but I stayed the course and eventually the time came that we were actually driving down the road, the van loaded to the roof with my sports gear and the Bambi was right behind us.

It was a Sunday, in this strange time we were going through, tourism was down because of the pandemic. This meant the notorious stretch of highway that runs through Orlando and down to Tampa was less than half filled with vehicles frantically trying to see who could get to their destination first. Normally it was a race between souped up little foreign sedans and large pickup trucks with giant tires and loud exhaust pipes. Our big black van and the pill-shaped camper that much looked some kind of overweight airplane minus it's wings, served merely as a large rock in the river of traffic and most cars that ducked right in front of us, gave enough room that I could stop if I had to.

I was driving slightly under the speed limit for two reasons: 1) I had a long history of things going wrong while pulling trailers, going back to when I was 18 years old and my Dad had me driving our large family Oldsmobile while pulling a 31' Airstream trailer down the freeway in Minnesota. The car broke down while I was driving and we were stuck for days while the repair shop tried to fix the car...and that was the not the end of my troubles with trailers. 2) Our beloved van was not known for sipping gasoline. With all of the electronics built in, there was not one way to determine your average gas mileage...but I added a device that could do it, and I was hoping to find out how well I could do if I drove carefully, i.e., keeping it at 65 mph.

The drive to St. Petersburg, Florida was peaceful, which is not something one can often say about any trip in the state. In less time than I had planned, we were looking at the entrance to the Fort DeSoto Campground. We bounced down an old sandy road to find our designated spot and it was wonderful. We had trees, a great view of the water, and I had backed the trailer in right on the first attempt...well almost the first time, and my wife gave me plenty of encouragement until I got it right...at least all of the neighbors didn't drop by to watch the spectacle.

Setting up your camper is something that must be learned, just like putting a boat in the water at the ramp. The whole time you are trying to getting everything done, you just know some old geezer is sitting back in a rocking chair laughing at the city slicker that 'don't know how it's done'. Actually, I've been around this stuff all of my life, but it was mostly my Dad that enjoyed deploying all of the gizmos on the RV, while the rest of us got out of the way. I was doing my best not to be the local source of entertainment, while Pam pulled out a good book to read and sweetly asked how long it would be before I had the air conditioner running. We had a really nice spot or 'pitch' as the Scots would call it. It was level, had a beautiful view of the water, and plenty of shade from trees. The trip was shaping up into something much better than I could imagine and all I had left to do was pull out the paddleboard and grab a fishing pole. It was then I noticed the little red card taped to the electrical pole. It said that we had the spot for tonight only. Wait a minute, I was certain that I had booked 2 nights, and after driving all this way and hooking all of this stuff up, I'd better have more than that! There's no way I could have made a mistake on their website, but it did seem awfully cheap...I was thinking it was a senior discount, but the doubt was creeping in. It was almost impossible to get 2 nights in a row here, but I had done it...or had I?

Camping In The Age Of The Virus: Part 1

I have an image burned into my mind, from the movie "Seeking A Friend For the End Of The World", where everyone on the planet knows they are going to die very soon from an Extinction Event, and you are looking out a bedroom window at a guy mowing his lawn....for some reason that stuck with me more than anything else in the film, and sometimes, I think am that guy.

As the number of people with the virus creeps up higher than we could ever imagine and people in Italy shake their heads in pity at the poor people in Florida....I'm out camping. I mean, I really was mowing the yard two days ago, but camping while the wheels are coming off the world sounded like a good idea to me. Now I'm back in the adventure zone and hoping to land a nice snook from my paddleboard before I come home to zombies shambling down the street.

We had almost everything we needed already: Megavan and Bambi, the mini Airstream camper, in the driveway, just sitting there. Bicycles, fishing tackle, paddleboards, suntan lotion, and it would all fit inside the van..

Our extremely large shiny black Nissan van, dubbed "Megavan" (or the church bus depending on who you ask) had to have a name. In this modern age, once one buys something significant, one must join the correct Facebook forums to learn more about the people that also thought buying something like that was a good idea. In this case I joined the Nissan Families group, which is composed of large families that needed something that could transport 12 people...and they all have named their vans...or at least their kids have. Megavan is beautiful, but was really meant for work and right now it had no work to do. In one awesome pivot, Megavan became the ultimate tow vehicle for Bambi, that and it also can hold a lot of toys inside.

With the world gone crazy, no more Farmer's Markets for us to work (or not any that we felt safe in working) we were left at home, like everyone else...mowing the yard.

In early March, my big problem was figuring out how we could take off for a camping trip when we were always either working a Market or getting ready for the next one...suddenly, we have all the time in the world, but the parks were closed..then opened and everybody else in the world seemed to have the same idea, "Let's Go Camping!"...that is except my wife.  It's too hot, it's too cold, it's too crowded. She was getting into reading every book in the library and then discovered that she didn't really need me to get books from Amazon after all...I finally lost my tech edge and she was shopping more than me.

But...the idea kept boiling back up and one of the constants in my life was my son, prodding me to get out and have a good time with Mom. Soon I was surfing the web for something to do someday in the future when the weather was bright and clear, and the water was warm and crystal blue. My wife poked her head in my studio and reminded me that I was actually talking out loud and she could hear me...she said to include the ability to go to nice restaurants without worrying about getting sick and slowly dying in a hospital at great expense, to the wishlist.

On a really strange turn, I was looking at Fort DeSoto park in St. Petersburg, Florida, a bucketlist kind of place. Since I was a kid, I've only been there about 3 times and hoped to camp there but could never figure out how. It used to be that you had to reserve a site in person..and I live 2 1/2 hours away. I didn't even know that they had moved to reserving sites online, but once I discovered that, I also discovered that everybody in the world already knew this and it was booked solid for the next 6 months....except for 2 days that were coming up quick.

 

The Lady And The Lakehouse

 
I'm writing this down so I don't forget it. I remember writing about 2004 and all of the hurricanes in Florida...and now, this makes that seem tame. The whole world at once is dealing with a virus gone wild, and I really feel like I don't know where it's going to end up. Will I be looking back someday and say "Man, I could have made a Killing on the stock market!" or will I be sitting around a campfire reflecting on the days you could just go to the store and buy toilet paper?
But, in truth, to me, it is happening in a part of my life where I can stand it more than most other times. I am, supposedly one of the people at higher risk of dying from the virus...on the other hand, I'm not worried about getting laid off, and how I'm going to pay the power bill. I'm not worried, that now, I'll never get the promotion I was in line for, or if I'll ever hear back from the company I had interviews with..nah, my problems are much smaller. It seems, however that the power in the universe decided I needed a little reminder anyway..

Last night, my wife and I did our nightly walk, something we've gone back to now that suddenly we have less things to do than we did a few weeks ago. We kept our distance (the social distance) from other folks out walking their dogs or holding hands like us. Usually, there would be a quick smile and a glance down. We are friendly, but nobody is happy-happy. We walked down the street of beautiful, well-kept homes, some old, some new, and pointed out the things we liked and the things we would have different. Many of these homes were on a nice protected lake that is just about big enough for a ski-boat, but only one at a time. It is a lake that I would love to live on. I spent a large part of my life trying to figure out how I could have a piece of that until I finally found out how much the property tax was on homes like that. The property tax around here is to the point that even if somebody gave me a house of the lake for free, I couldn't afford to keep it.
We were passing by a really nice old 60s' block and brick home, with perfect grass and nice hedges. The paint was perfect, no cracks in the driveway, and I was certain I would have it made if I had something like that to live in.  I prefer that on the water to some modern box that screams, "I only LOOK at the water". This house would have some paddleboards and kayaks out back, ready to go at a moment's notice. 
A lady much older than us, was walking out to the end of the driveway, pushing her garbage can to the curb and she waved, Hi! We waved back and she remarked that we were doing what we are supposed to do, get some exercise while not congregating in large groups. She was really well dressed for garbage can duty. Improbably nice red hair and lots of it, and a matching ensemble of colors that set the hair on fire. She then mentioned that she was making do, her husband was in a nursing home and they wouldn't let her see him. Today was his birthday, and she had to show him a sign through the window in the door to his room.....

In the words of my dad, "I have no complaints...."

The Hike That Must Not Be Repeated: Part 4 - Finding The Sheeter

There is one thing in this world that Paul and I are in total agreement about: the lust for some kind of lightweight energy food that our bodies could totally transform into enough power to climb mountains and not leave any waste. For me, this is a larger dream than it is for Paul, as I am one of those people that take a magazine with me to the bathroom...and not to use for toilet paper. On trips like this one, I constantly found myself in need of 'the facilities' when none were available. I know, some of you are thinking, hey, you're a guy, you're in the woods, what's the big deal? Just try sitting with your bare butt on an old log for 15 minutes, while you watch spiders crawling about and listen for strange sounds of a large furry animal sneaking up behind.

Thus it was, that I'd keep my eye on the map for the next available outhouse coming up on the trail as we were hiking. This day, we had just figured out that there was no way we could make it to the top of Standing Indian Mountain, and about 4pm in the afternoon, decided to turn around and hike back a couple of miles and find a good spot right around dark...soon we were dead tired and wearing our headlamps, hoping there was something flat we could pitch tents on, and me especially hoping that I wasn't going to have to find an old log to sit on after dark...I could feel it coming and knew pretty soon, it was going to be any old log, not something special. I was smart about one thing: most backpackers use special lightweight toilet paper for camping. It's expensive and you don't get very much, but it packs well...me? I bring a whole roll of the best regular toilet paper I can find. I will never run out of that again...ever.

All of this was a source of endless amusement for Paul..and you can now be assured that we are a couple of old guys, when how long it takes to poop becomes a competition.

You must now be getting close to understanding what 'trail crazy' is when two guys hike for days on end, talking about food, politics, the people you just met, where the next water supply is, and how long before we find another outhouse. 

Sitting in your chair in front of your phone or computer, it might be difficult to understand how funny it was, but after hiking all day and finding that somebody had gone to a lot of trouble to put up a sign for the sleeping shelter and then misspelled 'shelter'....had us laughing for a long time...

The Hike That Must Not Be Repeated: Part 3 - The Woman On The Mount

There is something we both witnessed on top of a mountain on our last trip, that made me question what I know, and if my mind had somehow taken a vacation, perhaps, a true 'rocky mountain high'.
First, you must understand a few things about backpacking to see how one could get to this state of mind. Right off the bat, by leaving the parking lot and heading into the woods with just enough food to last a few days, and just enough clothing to perhaps keep you warm (if the weather forecasters got it right), you have joined the small fraternity of folks that don't really appreciate why we have automobiles and air conditioning. You've willingly left civilization, flushable toilets, tasty food, coffee that has real cream in it, beds with cushy mattresses, and nice big pillows. It's entirely possible that you weren't quite sane in the first place.
Although your lucidity of thought could be questioned, there is no shortage of fellow travelers on the Appalachian Trail, at least in April. They come in all sizes and shapes, but perhaps the most telling feature of how serious a hiker can be, is how they smell. I do not mean, lean in close and see what kind of cologne they are wearing, I'm speaking of a cloud of odor that lingers in a 3 foot radius around the persona. One thing that is quite surprising at first, is a strikingly attractive young woman with a backpack and smells like a homeless person on the street at home. The very next thought you would have would be, "I wonder if I smell that bad yet? Did the Vikings smell this bad? Did English Royalty smell this bad back in the middle ages?" You never quite get over it, but at some point, you learn not to get too close to anybody. Most backpackers wear the same clothes for days, hanging them out at night while sleeping in their 'base layer', which is lightweight long underwear.
As you can see, smelly people in wrinkled, soiled clothing is the norm and what we are judged by is our demeanor. Meeting a person at the top of a climb, one should have a large smile on their face, a bright 'good morning!' and maybe a short phrase of 'you have a nice downhill in front of you!'. No matter what, you do not want to come off  as 'I don't know if I can make it...please tell me it's all downhill from here on out!"
You meet all kinds of people out there, but the most shocking time was when we ran across a woman on top of a mountain in North Carolina recently. Paul and I came up short, and while Paul was winding up a good yarn to tell this lady about the time he 'kilt a bar with a bowie knife', my eyes were growing wide as I took in the sight in front of me.
She was somewhere around my age, in her sixties as least, blonde brushed hair in some kind of cut that a grandmother might have, full makeup, bright red lipstick, a large backpack..at least larger than mine, and clothing that looked like something a park ranger might wear. She had on a long sleeve cotton shirt, army colored, long matching cotton pants, and big boots. She was smiling, and glad to meet 2 youngsters out on a hike. As Paul completed his story with the part where he grabs the bear from behind, slashes his neck and then comforts the bear as he bleeds out, I was starting to realize just how crazy this was...no, not Paul's story, the lady in front of us.
As we marched on, we discussed the possibility that we were losing our minds. This lady had hiked 5-6 miles up a mountain with a large backpack, by herself, wearing clothes that I might be able to wear if I was sitting at a picnic table, playing cards. At this very point, I was wearing shorts, short sleeve shirt and I was wiping the sweat from my face frequently. All this, plus, she looked what we call 'fresh', meaning, she had not exerted herself at all to get where she was...and she was made up like she wasn't planning on exerting herself either.
This is when Paul came up with the idea that we decided had to be the truth, since nothing else fit....she wasn't human. She was some kind of alien predator, that relied on the blood of young women to keep her youthful appearance. By lunchtime, we were certain this is what we had witnessed and were relieved that we had survived the encounter by being too old to be of any use to her...Standing Indian Mountain was ahead of us, and we had 2 miles to go. Before long, it was getting dark, and we were still going uphill. I kept hearing funny noises and would occasionally check behind me, but apparently, she had kept going in the other direction. My current worry at this point, I was running out of energy and there was too many miles to go...we weren't going to make it after all....

The Hike That Must Not Be Repeated: Part 2: The Ladies of the Trail

We finally reached the trailhead, a small gravel parking lot named "Dick's Creek  Gap". The parking lot was full to the point that I had to park my car on the side of the road, knowing that it would be sitting there for the next few days, freely available to marauding bands of mountain rednecks...yes, I didn't even have my pack on my back and the worrying had begun in earnest. Paul, on the other hand was quite excited. He had dealt with a few work issues on the phone during the trip and had now verified that he had no cell phone reception at all. He quickly buried the phone in the bottom of his pack and rubbed his hands together, seeing nothing ahead but a trail and fresh air.
It occurred to me a few hours later that our first point on this trip was ironically named, as we encountered more solo female backpackers on this trip than ever before. You probably have an image in your mind of what a Thru-hiker should look like, at least I did: a really skinny guy with a big bushy beard, that smells and doesn't make eye contact or talk very much. Now try to conjure of an image of a female Thru-hiker.
That's not what we saw on this trip. Our starting point was about 90 miles north of the beginning of the epic journey, so we were seeing people that were just finding out what they had gotten themselves into. Our first group of women were like that, a Mom, her young daughter and a friend they had met along the way, Simone. Right off, we were concerned that they weren't going to make it. They were struggling and even I couldn't hike as slow as Simone was having to go. She was in her early 20's and had Ace bandages all around her knees. Blue hair, nose ring, and full of stories about coming from a hick town in Northern Michigan...I was pretty sure she wasn't planning on going back there.
The more common version of the solo woman on the trail was a young Viking woman with 3 young men trailing behind her. She'd stop and talk to you, with a glow that showed she was truly in her element, while the young men behind competed for position in her favor.
It seemed like we were doing nothing but slowly hiking uphill forever. The brisk 46 degrees of the parking lot turned into low 70s and cobalt blue clear skies. There could be nothing better in this world, except that I was dog tired and it was halfway through the first day. My thoughts were of a lunch break and perhaps a nap.
Soon we came to a shelter and stopped there for lunch. Paul found a small crowd of newbie Thru-hikers and found himself with an eager group of listeners for some of his stories. I found a soft bit of lumber in the shelter to lay on and soon found that there is one time I can sleep on these trips...while Paul is telling stories. 
After a while, more and more women appeared, and finally Simone came up the last few steps to the shelter and sat down. She looked defeated, and folks gathered around and offered encouragement. Me? I kind of wondered if backpacking was good therapy for knee issues, but I kept this to myself.
Next came two women who had left their children behind for a section hike "girls weekend". One of them was short and heavy, but gave no indication that she would ever give up on anything, with a bright purple bandana and a swagger that indicated she probably knew more about the trail than Paul. Her tall, athletic friend with the wraparound sunglasses was a newbie hiker, but was up for anything...this I understood well.
The usual topic that came up, when I was involved was like this: "Why should I feel fear as a solo woman hiking on the trail!?"....:"uh, I guess because I would be afraid to do that, and I'm a big guy.."
"Can you believe that some man offered to help me put on my pack!?" "Yeah, that's messed up...can you help me with mine?"

But, there was one woman, that we are still trying to figure out. Paul thinks she was either a mirage or an alien...nobody else saw her but us. I'm hoping she was a mirage....

The Hike That Must Not Be Repeated: Part 1

At the North Carolina border

It was a simple thing, really. I thought I had this backpacking thing down. I had good gear and a body that could carry it all. I was mentally prepared for heat or cold and was really looking forward to getting back to nature. We waited until the weather was as good as it was going to get and then took off for North Georgia in my little car, hoping to pack as much excitement into our five day trip as we could. We ended up with near perfect weather, just missing a bad rain storm the day before and hiked through glorious blue skies, with 46 degree weather in the mornings, going up into the low 70's in the afternoon. We met many of the thru-hikers that were about 8 days into their northbound journey from Amicalola Falls to Mount Katahdin, Maine. As we met and passed many of them on the trail, I realized that Paul was an expert backpacker compared to most of  them and I would be considered a 'seasoned' hiker...but that would all change in the next few months as they attempted what I could not imagine; hiking that whole trail at once.
Paul had it all mapped out on paper for us from his 'database' and I had my trusty iPhone with the Guthook trail app, which could show our exact location at any time. I had my battery charger and a really cool new solar charger which would keep me in power for the whole trip. I had on my trusty Scotland boots and Paul was still swearing that hiking sandals were the next big thing.
Paul was admiring how I had managed to get technology on our side as we headed up I75 at the precise time he estimated it would take to avoid the Atlanta rush hour traffic. My maps app warned us as we approached Macon that there was a huge delay around Atlanta and offered an alternative shortcut....for some strange reason, I have learned nothing in my life from previous experiences, because soon it was 9 o'clock and dark and we were driving through corn fields, while a pleasant female voice tells me to drive 1/2 mile and turn left at the stop sign.
Soon we had driven over nine hours for our six hour drive and were searching for some place to spend the night in what appeared to be a small industrial town where perhaps everyone within fifty miles worked at 'the plant'. At this point, Paul was still conceding to my superior technical skills and I managed to book us the best rated hotel in town for under $100.
An hour later, we were laying on our beds at a crowded small hotel that was mostly filled with work pickup trucks, looking at the dingy room, wondering just how bad the other hotels must be, as Paul pulled out his paper maps, saying he was sticking to things that worked!
We got up the following morning to a woeful free breakfast and headed out in the freezing cold cloudless dawn to find the trailhead and wondering just what adventure was in store for us.

We soon found out why so many people dropped out of the thru-hike between Georgia and North Carolina.