S'more of that

A couple of weeks ago we packed up the Camping Machine and headed off for a long weekend of family bonding around the campfire.

It was with some fanfare that we purchased the Camping Machine earlier this year. After over a year of research, doubt and angst I pulled the trigger on the purchase of a new 27-foot travel trailer. Visions of several summer excursions danced in my head as I imagined the adventure our family would have, modern day pioneers exploring the West in our 20th century Conestoga.

In fact, the reality of the summer was that between soccer, swimming, birthday parties, barbeques, visits from and to out-of-town family and other assorted social obligations, the camping machine left the RV pad all of three times – one of which was to the repair shop.

So as I pulled the rig out of the driveway two weeks ago I had two thoughts – one, I hope we have as much fun as everyone thinks we will, and two, where the hell did the summer go?

Our destination was a large lake, ringed by mountains, named for a large carnivorous mammal. It’s a beautiful lake, large and clear, and surprisingly under-developed in terms of commercial enterprise. It’s a wonderful retreat from our increasingly congested urban valley, about 3 hours in our rearview mirror as we arrived.

Let me preface everything that is to follow by stating clearly, for the record, I consider what we did as Camping. I respect the opinion of those who beg to differ, but the facts are these. We cooked (most of) our meals over an open flame. We slept in sleeping bags. We had a campfire, ate at a wooden picnic table, and had s’mores. Our campsite had real trees

The fact that we slept in a trailer with a furnace, hot water, refrigerator, microwave, and electricity has no bearing on the definition of camping.

Look, we did without TV and internet access, for Pete’s sake! How much more ‘roughing it’ do you expect?

I’ve done my share of the tent thing. I spent three nights in a tent in Yellowstone National Park, in July, freezing my butt off. I spent a night at 11,500 feet at the base of our state’s tallest mountain before reaching the summit the following afternoon. I’ve gone three days on pop-tarts, trail mix, protein bars and Gatorade powder.

But these days I’m an old man, with young kids. I want to have fun, positive family experiences in the outdoors. My days of proving, or perhaps disproving, my manhood as it relates to Grizzly Adams are long past.

What I do want is to spend quality time with my family outdoors. I want to spend time with my boys doing things, not watching other people do things. We live in such a beautiful state with exceptional recreational opportunities that it would be a shame not to take advantage of them. And that their ages right now, the Camping Machine is a great way to do it.

So we set up ‘camp’ at the local KOA (stop laughing!). The boys thought it was a great adventure watching dad try to park the trailer, unhook it from the Burbus Maximus, make it level and get it connected to the water and power. Sort of like unhitching the Wagon, setting up the cookfire, tying off the horses and preparing the campsite 150 years ago along the Oregon Trial.

Well, maybe not JUST like that. But something like it.

With camp set and the watch posted, we went down to the lake. Unlike many mountain lakes, this one has a beach of sorts. The water was clear, shallow and surprisingly warm. Chris and Tommy had a great time splashing around in the water, playing with their trucks in the sand, and chasing the seagulls. Yes, there are seagulls here at this lake. We watched the jet skis and the water skiers glide across the smooth, glassy waters. A paraglider sailed serenely overhead. It was a wonderful afternoon.

Soon it was time to head back to the campsite. After a quick visit to the convenience store (stop laughing!!!) we fired up the cookfire and made dinner. Beans and hardtack. Okay, maybe not exactly, but with a bit of imagination the hamburgers, hot dogs and brats could sort of be like that.

Then it was time for the s’mores.

Chris and Tommy have never had s’mores before. As you might expect, they adored the s’mores. They wanted more and more s’mores. I don’t abhor the thought of more s’mores, but I don’t want you to be bored with more s’more stories (stop snoring).

So I’ll just say the s’mores were more of a hit that I’d thought before. Nobody was bored with the s’mores. They wanted more. At least four more. Four score more.

Sadly, soon the sun set on the s’moregasborg of s’mores and it was time for bed. I’d selected a couple of moderately scary books to read as bedtime stories for this trip. As we all lay cuddled up in the sleeping bags in the warmth and comfort of the camping machine (stop laughing) I read the stories, tucked the boys in, and turned out the lights.

Just at that moment, a character long thought dead and vanquished made a surprise appearance.

Vampickle crept into the trailer and slaked his terrible thirst on the tickles and laugher of Chris and Tommy! Oh, the horror! I don’t know which was worse – the squealing, helpless laugher of my two sons, or the thought of one of the worst characters in blog history having the audacity to show his hideous face in my camping machine.

Yet Vampickle was quickly vanquished, and the boys fell asleep, exhausted with all the work of roughing it in the deep woods by the shore of the mountain lake named for the large carnivorous mammal.

MBW and I stepped back outside into the chill of the mountain evening and pulled up chairs next to the glowing campfire. Sitting side by side, holding hands, saying little. Gazing up at the stars. So many more stars are visible here than back in our yard, our ¼ acre patch of suburban bliss in the bowels of the congested urban valley.

Don’t get me wrong – our home and our neighborhood are very nice. We are fortunate to have what we have and live where we live. Still, the air is cleaner here at the campsite. The stars are brighter and we can see more of them. It’s a reminder that there is more to life than the daily routine we live every day in The City and its Suburbs.

We need to get up here more often.

And we will.

By and by the fire burned low, and MBW and I went back into the trailer. Checked on the boys – sound asleep. Adjusted the thermostat up a bit to take off that slight chill. Snuggled into our sleeping bag.

After a while, actually slept.

The long weekend was over much too quickly. After more swimming, a bit of hiking, some sightseeing and some more s’mores (would you like a bit more detail on that? No? Why not?) it was time to break camp. Which we did, much to the amusement of the boys watching Dad wrestle with the task of hooking the Camping Machine up to the Burbus Maximus.

The ride home was not nearly as fun as the ride up. Still, at least there was no bad news waiting for me when I got home.

With MBW and the boys in the house, I worked on unhooking the Camping Machine from the Burbus Maximus and stowing our gear. We had a great trip. I wish we had found the time to do a few more trips like that this summer.

I was thinking that summer ended much too quickly. Even more that that, with Chris starting kindergarten, it occurred to me that we only have 12 summers left before he’ll be off to college. As I mentioned before, him starting kindergarten does not make me sad. It’s the idea that these times, like the weekend we just experienced, are limited. They’ll go by so very, very quickly. I have to make sure to get the most out of the time we have, to make every summer count. I don’t want to look back and wish we had done more.

Yes. I want s’more of that, please.

It’s great to be The Family Man.