Ugh… Camping

Oh, the day was going along just fine. I’m realizing that my life is meant to serve as a warning for others. Pretty much convinced that if I’m involved with something, it’s gonna be a fucking fiasco.

395 South through California is hot this time of the year. Last year, when I did this route, I felt like I would die from heat exhaustion. It was miserable. This time I decided to wear shorts, no gloves, and a loosely zipped up jacket. It had the desired effect on 80% of my body. Well, lets look what happens when you ride for hours in a state that seems to have no ozone layer…

I did manage to find the same campground I stayed at last year. Nice space with a pretty pond…

As usual, it’s pretty and shady and cheap. I got here early enough to meet the guy running the joint. He charged me only $15 since bikes don’t take up that much space. Thank you Diaz Lake Campground! That’s about the end of my good times. Bugs bugs bugs goddamned BUGS! This time I chuckled at the PLAGUE warning signs. Now I’m just horrified by the aggressive flies and gnats!!!! Fuck! I seem to haves left the bug spray at home. Why, Jack, why would you do that?!

Tent goes up just fine, except I bent the fuck out of two of my stakes. Seems to be a vein of granite underneath my tent. I then decide food is in order. I get the rice going on the little precarious camp stove,s getting that basmati rice and water to a boil! I move slightly, shifting my weight on the picnic table bench, the movements showing the shoddy build quality of said table, and the thing shimmies like the bay bridge in an earthquake. Rice and boiling water fly across the table. Just in time for my camp neighbor to come over and warn me about the psychotic raccoons. It seems one broke into his tent and a fight ensued. Scary.

I reset the rice and water and go about uncorking the wine. The corkscrew goes in easy, but then becomes a battle of wills when I try to extract the cork I pull and pull and twist and pull. Fucker is lodged in there. I try again. The corkscrew tears out, shredding the fake cork. The bottle flies out of my hands and rolls across the table and into the camp stove, once again spilling my rice. I start swearing like a sailor, my neighbors look over at me, I wave back, and angrily, yet quietly go about my business. Eventually I defeat the cork…

And I’m able to keep tradition alive by having Indian food in the wild…

Drank this whole bottle, too. Not a great wine but, man, it went down easy.

That’s the night I had. At least the campfire started up right away.

Mornings always suck when camping. I apparently don’t sleep too soundly in a tent. I had help from the audiobook The Hidden Reality:Parallel Universes and the Fabric of the Cosmos by Brian Greene. Out like a light. No raccoon raids, and a nice breeze made for a pleasant evening.


After my instant coffee and a moist towelette bath, I’m ready to pack up my gear.

But first, I need to finish this damn blog post…


About heartajack

I'm a graphic designer and occasional filmmaker that recently discovered the awesomeness that is the Can-Am Spyder Roadster. In recent years I've become obsessed with food and learning how to prepare it. I make the best damn ribs...EVER.
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