Planning A Get-Away
By Mr.e

A camping trip, ah ... Just the thought of getting away from it all and avoiding the rats was pretty close to a religious experience. And the much needed break hadn't even begun. If the mere thought of a real break elicited such strong emotional responses ... I just kept right on day dreaming.

Setting a date and blocking out one week on the calendar for that break from the routine was wrought with unpleasantness. The prospect of a blissful getaway requires deliberate planning to ensure that one gets away with enough stuff to enjoy the getting away, and staying away happily for the allotted length of time depends largely on that planning.

The search of long forgotten camping gear in the hot and musty smelling crawl spaces was hell on hands and knees and the few whacks to the head when I forgot where I was didn't improve my disposition. A list of things that seemed prudent to take along was compiled. That this list seemed a bit on the lengthy side didn't phase this writer in the least; giddy with the certainty that this time all that stuff would not be schlepped about on his back in a cheerfully colored and overstuffed expedition sized backpack. The beast of burden: the family car.

The tent finally located, a frenzied exercise in awkwardness ensued in the back yard (setting up the tent) while trying to match the skill and speed long ago packed away with forgotten gear. Emotions like confusion, frustration and despair washed over this scribbler in his frantic quest to assemble the poles into equal lengths. I even questioned whether he'd used some of the now missing pole sections to roast marshmallows and abandoned them in some fire while under an evil influence the last time out? After quite a bit of head scratching and some cursing a look over myleft shoulder revealed the missing pieces.

No sooner was the tent set up and cleaned than the heavens opened up. The next morning this dogged camper tipped the puddle out of the tent, and set it out to dry.

Then it rained again.

An omen of things to come? What would sleeping three in a two man tent be like? Would the car double as sleeping quarters? These questions nagged on and worried at the edges of the sweet daydream of getting away.

A few shopping trips and some repairs to vital gear later, things were beginning to look up. Nothing was missing and everything on the list was ticked off. Even the feather duvet and four pillows made the grade, a must.

The family car finally stuffed with essential stuff, the long awaited holiday began with a patience testing crawl through snarly city traffic towards the more open road.

Eventually reaching that open road, the scenic views were shrouded by the steady rain that had dogged our bumper since we left. Another omen? So we didn't see what we wanted to on the way out.

At one little ancient hic-up along our route we stopped for something to eat, craving food on the open road. The place was clean but relatively empty, a couple of stout German tourists working on some banana cream pie; clockwork Grey Hound traffic this dives' main claim to economic viability.

We ordered fries and a milk shake. The sound of fries in the deep fryer lulled us into a sense of contentment and we looked forward to a plate of real fries. The milk shake arrived first, a promise of things to come.

Then the fries arrived. They looked good, they smelled good, but they didn't taste sogood. The golden skin disguised a starchy and unpalatable core of raw potato!!! At $2 per serving of fries and $4 for the shake that bill amounted to highway robbery; kicking hungry and weary travelers right in the stomach on these stretches of lonesome byways.

Hey, in a few hours time we'd be our little tent would be snuggled up right next to the in-laws Winnebago. While not camping in the strictest sense, the break was great and it didn't rain enough to dampen our fun and sleeping three in the two man tent was OK too.