When I lived in Chicago, the best camping was 6+ hours north in Wisconsin or the UP (Upper Peninsula) of Michigan. And even then, it was hard to get away from civilization. I’m not a campground camper. But in the Midwest, that was often our best choice. I guess in hindsight that worked since most of our gear was stored in twelve ounce aluminum cans that needed to be kept on ice.
Nowadays, living in Colorado, I can escape to the mountains and be virtually isolated within a two hour drive from home. My favorite camping trip is to strap on a backpack and hike in at least six hours. I used to have that long drive through Wisconsin eating gas station food and drinking pop (the proper Midwest label for carbonated beverages – now that I’m in CO, I have converted to ‘soda’). Now, I have 6+ hours of hiking while eating trail mix and drinking water from my camelback. Of course, there is a flask of sumthin sumthin to enjoy while star gazing near tree line.
If I can’t do a backpacking trip, then the car-camping is still pretty sweet out here. With a little 4-wheeling on the forest roads, it is possible to rough it and still have the convenience of over-packing (read – bring a case of beer on ice).
If I can’t rough it via car camping, then I fall to the last resort – an official campground. That is what happened this weekend. The whole family piled in and we hit a campground in the South Park area, near Fairplay. No, I didn’t run over Kenny on the way – there really isn’t a town of South Park.
This was my boys’ (ages 5 and 3) first time ever camping. So it was an exciting one-nighter. It was over 70 degrees in the mountains and we found a nice out of the way spot with 12 sites. Just one was taken so we still felt pretty isolated.
I thought it would be good to teach my boys about ‘leaving no trace,’ respecting the outdoors and how to build camp. We covered topics such as how to build a fire, how to avoid falling in the fire, and how to put out the fire. We touched on staying on the trail, not picking the wildflowers, and peeing downhill (rather than uphill and having flow-back). We spent lots of time on the art of making smores. And in true camping fashion, we toasted repeatedly to the great outdoors. I had three Fat Tires while my boys downed a couple grape Juicy Juices each.
Unexpectedly, we had numerous discussions about gravity. The three year old likes to throw things and has an arm like Nuke LaLoosh (Bull Durham pitcher – he’d hit the mascot more than the catcher’s mitt). Drew kept throwing mini-boulders in the air. Straight up in the air. He narrowly missed hitting himself in the head at least three times. And then at least three other times he nearly knocked Will out. And Will was standing behind him!
They don’t teach stuff like this in the wilderness books.
The most popular topic of discussion was bears. Not teddy bears. Will brought his kitty cat and monkey while Drew had his brown dog, blue dog and snake. No teddy bears needed. Nope, our convo was on real live black bears. The biggest signs at the campground entrance were, “This Is Bear Country.” I tried to remember what you are supposed to do if you encounter a bear:
Luckily I haven’t encountered a bear anywhere other than a zoo, a circus or on the football field (Da Bears!). But I do know what to do about the furry wild ones and gave the boys the bear avoidance and encounter tactics they need to have a pleasant flight.
Will and Drew kept asking if we could go on a hike to look for bears. After telling them at least ten times the last thing we want to do is run into a bear, I sent them in the tent to play so I could get dinner together. I cursed the author of “We’re Going on a Bear Hunt” while I listened to them chit-chat.
Will is the older one and decided he’d educate Drew more about bears.
“Drew, do you know what bears like to eat?”
“Yes!! Honey!!”
Will said, “Yes, but do you know what they like even better?”
“Nooooooooooooooooooooooo.”
I could imagine Will’s face leaning in close with a big smile as he said, “Bears like to eat Drews! And guess what? You are a Drew!!!!”
“Noooooooooooo Will Will, no! Bears don’t eat Drews!”
Laughing hysterically at himself, Will countered with, “Yes they do! They love to eat Drews! And you are a Drew!” Will is good at making sure his victims clearly understand their peril.
After a few minutes, it got eerily quiet in the tent and I peeked in to see what they were doing. To my relief, they weren’t spreading honey all over the inside of our tent and were instead playing with the flashlights. I went back to the meal making and about one minute later Will started screaming in pain and yelled, “DREWWWWWWW!”
I rushed over to find out that Drew forgot all about the gravity talks and threw a flashlight in the air (our tent has about 5-1/2 feet clearance). What goes up must come down on Will’s head.
I gave Drew his what-for and luckily Will’s head was fine. So I gave Will a quick lesson on Karma and told him he ought not to suggest Drew will be a bear’s late night snack.
Despite the threat of bear attack and objects falling out of the sky onto our heads (from Drew’s hands), we had a safe and successful overnight camp trip. Only in Colorado can it be seventy degrees one day and snowing when you wake up in the morning. The kids looked awfully smug in the warm car while I broke camp in a windy flurry of snow.
As we pulled out of the campsite, the kids asked why we were leaving. I turned around to look over the seats into their eyes.
“Polar Bears!”
My commute to work is about twenty minutes during rush hour. My office is less than five minutes west of LoDo (lower downtown Denver) in the Highlands neighborhood. I usually take I-70 because I like speed.
I have only gotten pulled over by a cop for speeding once in the last ten years. But I am the king of getting caught by those damn photo radar vans. They are usually parked on side streets and will getchya if you are about seven miles per hour over the limit. Half the time I notice the big flash going off. I don’t notice the other times because I am too busy zipping along side streets, probably speeding up to make it through a traffic light. It is always such a joy to get mail from the City and County of Denver with a picture of my mug behind the wheel. My expression is always one of the following:
Luckily I haven’t been caught with my finger in my nose or eyes closed. Not that those things happen, but you never know.
I rarely have my kids in my car (Toyota 4-Runner). They are usually with their mom in the daytime or we are all together as a family so we take the Party Bus (Honda Odyssey). But now and then I take them in my car somewhere. I realized I must have a lead-foot in my car because the kids always refer to it as the fast car.
“Daddy daddy, are we going to take the fast car?”
“Both cars can go the same speed son.”
“No way daddy! Your car is way faster than the blue car! Yah, we get to take the fast care! We are gonna go really really fast!”
I gotta tell you I am extremely careful driving with or without my kids, but I suspect I do drive a little different in the 4-Runner because it’s mine and I’m used to zipping around in it. But there is something to it when you hear your kid say, “Daddy, slow down.”
“Why? You said you like to go fast and besides I am only going five miles per hour over the speed limit.”
“Yah, so that is why you have to slow down. Five is too much!”
There would be a red light ahead, so I’d slow down to a stop at which point my little guy would start yelling at me.
“Daddy, go! Go daddy go! Don’t stop!!”
“Drew, the light is red. I can’t go til its green.”
Then my smarty pants older kid would show off his rules of the road knowledge and say, “Well then turn right daddy. You can go right on red lights. Go right!!”
“Dudes, first of all, if we go right, we will be going the wrong way. Second of all, what do you want me to do about that car in front of me? Run him over?”
In unison, “Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesssssssssss! Run him over daddy! Smash into him!” Hilarious cackling like a couple of Dr. Evils in car seats.
I’d turn around, putting one arm on the seatback next to me to look and laugh at them.
“Turn around daddy! The light is green. You have to go!!!! Put your hands on the wheel. Both hands on the wheel!! Go fast!!”
Some parents have kids that are going to be doctors when they grow up. I’ve got a couple of psychotic drivers’ education teachers.
Oh yeah, what does this have to do with smelly asparagus pee? I have to drive by a Purina Dog Chow plant every morning. With this great weather lately, I’ve had the windows down and sunroof open. Imagine one of those giant 50 lb bags of Purina Dog Chow. Open it up and stick your head in there. Clasp the bag shut around your neck with your hands. And then inhale deeply three times. That is what you would get if you drove by the Purina Dog Chow plant in Denver.
If I’m lucky, I’ll get a quick antidote on the way home from work. About two miles past the disgusting dog chow smell, there is a Safeway Bakery and distribution center. They tend to bake in the evenings, I guess so the goods can ship overnight to the grocery stores. If I’m really on the ball, I’ll put up the windows, close the sunroof, put the car circulation on that internal recycle button and blast the air conditioning as I drive past Purina smell-hell. Then, about a mile past Purina, I’ll put down the windows, open the sunroof, turn off the air, put the button on outside air, get in the right lane, and slow down to 55. And take in the sweet smell of fresh baked goods.
The problem is if Safeway isn’t baking. Purina still finds its way into cars, even with all the windows open and going 85 MPH. We don’t have a dog anymore. But I’ve always wondered if dogs freak out when they are driven by Purina. I can handle the bakery smell just fine. But I get all antsy when I drive by a brewery and smell those hops. Or a pizza place. Yum.
The silliest thing is those brat and hotdog carts outside of Home Depot. I could have just eaten a huge meal and be stuffed to the gills. Then I’ll stop over at Home Depot to pick up a flux capacitor or something and get a whiff of one of those cheddar-brats. And they are only a buck-fiddy! You may as well release the hounds at Purina!
Anyway, I’ve gone from smelly asparagus pee to dog food. What stinks in your neck of the woods?
