The Case for Camping

Stirring up the mud from the creek, we waded through cool water, scanning the edges of underwater terrain for shadows of fish, polliwogs, or snakes. Rambunctious minnows dodged our feet which were still clad in sandals, leather moccasins, and one pair only in socks that will never again be white. After all, we wanted the experience, but we didn't want to risk intimacy with a stray broken bottle or orphaned fish hook. The socks didn't provide much protection, true, but they gave my younger daughter some relief from the "ick" of the most squishy mud.

But before all that, we had loaded the bikes into the van, three piled one on top another, a confusing pyramid in the limited space of the van's body, trying to keep pedals from locking into spokes and tires from scraping the children's knees. Though squished, the girls insisted that they could ride like this for hours, and I thanked fate the park is less than thirty minutes away. I didn't worry when taking right hand turns because the bikes and children were packed so tightly, there was no room for avalanche or injury, so the ride went rather well.

The road in Bull Run Regional Park is lovingly flat for those of us who are not often or avid riders, and even the youngest could keep up with her shiftless bicycle. Now and then rain sprinkled through an odd summer sun that was neither too warm nor too evasive, and the breeze, a gift for bike riders, added to our enjoyment. I will not pretend there was not a certain amount of whining ("My legs feel like jelly!" and "Mom...can I be second?" "MOM! I don't WANT to be last!") and I can't say some of the whining didn't come from me, but mine at least came much later when in the evening I was reminded once again that my behind does not fit the shape of a bike seat, even with a gel pad.

Still, we rode from the entrance up to the camp store where I had a sudden attack of, "I don't want to leave here!" and ran in to see if they had cabins available for this coming weekend. And miracle of miracles, or fate of fate, which ever you prefer, there were, even though the 4th of July is almost upon us. I made the reservation (grinning so much I am sure the young man behind the wooden counter was getting nervous), made sure we could get a rain check if for some reason it didn't work out, and then pondered how I was going to sell this wonderful idea to my husband AFTER I had already drooled on the camp map and paid for two nights for which I was charged under $150.00.

A bottle of water later, we took the bikes over to the playground where the girls slithered happily through huge, cement tubes surrounded by enough sand to host a beach. I lay on one of the benches under the shade, sucking in the sounds of playing children and the imagined sighs of my husband whom I pictured not wanting to go "away" this weekend. I played over and over again in my mind how I would present my case, recalling that he had promised we would do this SOME time over the summer....we just hadn't discussed doing it quite so soon. Besides, there were so many things we could do in the park: hike, play mini-golf, build camp fires, swim in the huge pool with slides and fountains, fish, even an air conditioned cabin.... And all so close by. What was not to love? And if really was too soon, well, we could always take the rain check and use the reservation another time.

Ruminations on hold, I walked over to see my daughters engaged and covered in sand, crouching in the cement tube in some childhood realm that we as adults no longer have access to. I asked them if they were ready to leave. They were, and being hot (since there are no trees covering the playground and sand), asked to wade in the creek. They were excited when I said yes and discovered we could ride the bikes there as well. So we parked the bikes near a steep, inclined access to the creek, and slipping somewhat on packed clay all the way to the base, had the water take away our sweat from the days' exertions. And now, my cell phone, still in the van, was only a hundred or so yards away.....

The bikes back in the van, the girls buckled in, I made the call. I made the case.

And he said...

"Yes."

YIPPEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

Tick, Tick, Tick

I got to go on a charming hike this morning. It was meant to be an hour or so in order to give me time to get some other things done. It ended up being two and a half hours, none of which I regret, but some of which were spent in the discomfort of knowing I was, once again, completely lost and that time was, indeed, passing.

Now I have several theories of being lost in the woods on trails, one of which I have held true since getting lost driving in the Boston area: so long as you are on Earth, you are never really lost. My husband says this is rather a broad theory to live by, and in some ways, especially on days like today, I have to agree with him. When I called him from the trail and reminded him of my other theory, "Well it has to come out SOMEWHERE," he reminded me that "somewhere" might be a very long way off and did I really have time for that? Today he also said I would have to face a lengthy lecture from him when he got home. I really didn't mean to worry him. But when you are alone and thinking you are lost and you have a cell phone, it does help to talk to one you love....and of course, one who can look up locations on the Internet.

I wandered around quite a bit more, recalling that "not all those who wander are lost," and it turns out I wasn't so VERY lost, as is usually the case (it's not like I am hiking in the Shenandoah Valley or the Rockies by myself...I was in a county park), and along with his other good advice (like "would you PLEASE get a compass???") my husband advised me after looking up a map, "Well, you are not in Quantico, which is good. You will either end up in the middle of county woods or in a housing development." A few more miles of hiking, I finally did hear vehicles on a road--it had been deliciously but then rather disturbingly silent from traffic until then. Traffic and construction are a given in this area unless you REALLY wander out, and I was back to the familiar sounds of dump trucks. Eager to end my trot at this point, I followed the echoes, and of course, lo and behold.....a subdivision in the distance.

They were still building, and I had to jump some partitions and waddle through high grass before I realized suddenly I was in the back yards of gazillion dollar homes with 10+ acres of land per lot. I breathed relief that no residents came out to question why a sweaty thirty-something carrying a camera was meandering across their property, as I would have been quite embarrassed to admit that once again, I was indeed turned around, and this time in a park I had visited only twice before.

I used to get lost in a park that no matter where you got went, you ended up by a road sooner than later, and you could always hear the traffic. Today's park was a little different, and there were absolutely no signs to indicate the trails or directions. My mother called, mid-adventure, and when I told her where I was (or wasn't), she treated me to her usual hysteria complete with reminders that "they are all crazy out there." Apparently, in her mind, everyone is crazy except those who reside in Orlando, which seems rather odd to me considering the number of people there dressed like cartoon characters and princesses.

So in the end, my theory that I would come out SOMEWHERE indeed proved true, and I headed back down the main road towards the park and the parking lot. On the way, I was treated to a goose with her little ones heading towards a small pond housed on some rich person's front lawn, and so I took a picture. I wondered after if the owner would run out and question me, but no...nothing. I think if someone were walking around taking pictures of the front of MY house, I would want to know why, but maybe no one saw me. I would have just told them the truth--that I wanted to take pictures of their Canadian Geese. If they asked why again, I would have to delve into my wish to come back as a Canadian Goose in my next life, but that I would not want to spend that lifetime in their front yard. This might have taken several hours of explaining, so I am glad no one came out.

No harm done, then, except I annoyed and worried my husband, elicited some typical panic from my mother, and got ample blisters on my unprepared feet. It struck me that perhaps, even if I do buy a compass, I should write to the county and ask them why there are no markers on their trails, and maybe I will at some point. But after I relax a little and search for ticks.

Yuck. I hope I don't find any.