Camping without the s’mores, fire or camping
This weekend I went camping.
In the wilderness. This is my story.
It began like any other ordinary weekend when your friend forces you to trek to a remote mountain in Fredneck, Md., for her 22nd birthday.
For their birthdays, most vibrant college ladies prefer for to slip on a slinky black cocktail dress, apply raccoon eyeliner, and spend five hours on their hair, only to put it in a messy bun when they get extremely intoxicated later.
No, I got the one woman who decided she wanted to sleep in a tent. I would have loved to put on a sexy dress and strut mah goodies if I could avoid the dreadful night in store.
We left at around 3 p.m. I should have known then the terrible turn my evening would take, as my Backstreet Boys CD skipped constantly through my favorite song. URRRRRYBODY. Backstreet is back AW-RIGHT.
Anywho, we arrived at our initial campsite an hour later, and after walking a mile and a half, (which the birthday girl maintains was half a mile) we discovered that a rather elderly, dirt-ridden gentleman had taken up quarters.
He had no tent, but a sleeping bag he said he would set up on the picnic table and be perfectly happy, thank you very much.
He encouraged us to set up our tents and join him for the evening. He intended to camp a ways down, but his group had left him when his bike broke down.
Well, I know this was incredibly plausible and all, but my group decided, hey, why don’t we leave? As a side note, it was Friday the 13th. So after another half an hour drive, we arrived at our final campsite in the Catoctin Mountains, which was this gorgeous little pile of dirt for $30 per night. Golly gee, I’m already planning my honeymoon.
Upon driving up to the campsite, however, we noted a neon sign that informed us of a burn ban, meaning the five packages of hot dogs we brought would not be used, as well as the s’mores supply.
At this point, I was having a breakdown. I only attended this event for s’mores. Have you ever had a raw s’more? I tried it. The chocolate was frigid and too hard to bite, and the marshmallow popped out of the graham cracker, which my friend’s dog promptly swallowed. In fact, we kind of fed all of the treats to the dog. Sorry not sorry. We were bored.
We set up camp, and gathered around our fire. Oh, wait, we gathered around our flashlight, which, by the way, does not produce the same amount of warmth or comfort. After a few hours, before midnight I might add, the group went to bed and I was left famished, freezing and fed up. This was unacceptable.
I wanted sustenance. I grabbed my significant other, and we hopped in my car and drove to iHop.
Well, we got lost and found an iHop. And there, we feasted upon omelets and hotcakes.
I had a really excellent time, actually. As a leader, an editor and as a friend, I have little time when I’m not absolutely exhausted. But this was time I could spend.
We talked, laughed, and were able to relax. We returned to our tent at almost 2 a.m. completely satisfied. Then I slept on 40-degree gravel. But we huddled together for warmth. And it wasn’t perfect, but it was a story to tell.
Point being, don’t knock something because you think you’ll have a terrible time. Even if you do, you can laugh about it later. And that’s what college is about. #YOLO
And happy belated birthday, Lilah.