CAMP-ER-IFFIC . . .

Sad to say but all I really remember is eating a lot of grilled meat products.

No, no, I kid, I kid.
(But we did eat a lot of grilled meat products: Spam, hotdogs, Filipino barbecue pork, Korean barbecue pork and beef, steak and chicken tandoori.)

My borrowed tent was great, and since it did not rain, it did not leak -- praise the Lord! The best feature of this tent, aside from the little internal mesh pocket in which I could hold my little knick-knacks, were the outer flaps, which could be tied back to form little curtains. The inner mesh flaps, I kept closed in order to keep out vermin and creepy-crawlies, but with the outer curtains drawn, I could read my book about the National Security Agency (which conspiracy theorists like myself really should not be reading) and take a nap, and still feel connected to the rest of my fellow faux-campers. 'Twas my wee little refuge.

The early arrivers set up a massive tarp over the picnic table and firepit = BaseCamp. BaseCamp was great. 'Twas there that we cooked, ate, drank, mollified cranky babies and played SuperScrabble. "Unquilted" is not a word. Nor is "tif." Nor is "coam." But that doesn't stop people from trying, does it? Our conclusion is simply that we have to start playing faux-Scrabble, like our pastor. He cheats. He tried to spell "joke" as "jowk."

Soy and Jaime slept in the Taj Mahal, a/k/a The Borgata Resort and Spa. The couple occupied a four-person tent high enough for me to stand in. (No snickering permitted.) First, they laid down those foam/rubber mat that puzzle-piece together, like on the floors of children's playrooms. Then, they laid down a large Korean faux-mink blanket. It had designs of creepy-looking deer on it. Then, they placed mosquito coils around their tent and BaseCamp. Then, they sprayed area bug repellant around all of the tents and BaseCamp. Then, they returned to their car and pulled out all manner of goodies which one does not really require for faux-camping, but sure came in handy: a bottle of oil, which looked like pee; a portable propane grill in the style of the George Foreman, but bigger and better; countless retractable poles and tent stakes; small lap blankets; a beach umbrella; a large gas lantern; Korean snacks like Korean beef jerky, shrimp crackers and dried squid which would have been really great had someone remembered to bring beer; a double-seated lounge chair; jars of sliced jalapeno peppers, sour pickles, and onion relish; and ramen noodles in a cup. Note to self: travel with Soy and Jaime as often as possible.

C was not himself. Normally he is very prepared, nerdily setting out everything he needs for a trip several days in advance. But last week, his regular scheduling was thrown off course by an unexpected golf outing and the winning of several hundred dollars worth of luxurious golf gear. This severely impaired his ability to remember to bring the things he was assigned to bring. Halfway up the Bear Mountain Bridge: "Shoot! I left our share of the bottled water on the kitchen counter!" Just as we got on the Thruway: "Damnit! I didn't bring dry firewood!" In response to my question on Route 212 ("You brought corn, didn't you?"): "Oh my God. Corn." Three-quarters of the way down Route 212, we found the Hobo Deli and popped in to purchase firewood and water ... (and the bananas that I forgot to bring). But then right as we left the Hobo Deli, I ventured to ask: "You brought coffee, didn't you?", to which C replied, "SH*T. I NEED COFFEE." How fortuitous that there was a Stewart's Shop beckoning to us down the street. Of course, we had too much firewood, and the perfect amount of water, and no one ate that many bananas, nor did anyone miss the corn. But thank God for the coffee ... and C tells himself, "next time, I can't let my concentration be thrown off."

Saturday morning, my spirit was willing but my body was definitely unable. I ate a hearty breakfast: Spam and eggs and half a bagel and sludgy coffee. I had filled up my Camelbak (made for a woman's proportions, they say), double-knotted my hiking shoes, and was all set for some vigorous, mind-clearing, lung-enlivening climbing. I was going to kick Mt. Tremper's butt and take prisoners. But no. A little bit past the halfway point to our appointed destination, my knees gave out. Awful, awful, tear-inducing, gut-wrenching pain with each and every step. Every pause we took was agony because I knew that with each moment of rest, my damn knees would stiffen up and would eventually refuse to bend. Finally, we stopped for an extended break, but by then, I was inexplicably light-headed, nauseous, woozy. I looked at JKA's face and saw black spots all over her. I looked down at the ground and it spun. I looked up at the sky and couldn't see the ends of the trees. "How could this be?" I asked myself. "I run, I bike, I stretch, I am active, I eat well, I take vitamins, I ate breakfast. This is madness. I think I'm dying. What if I faint and they have to carry me down? What if I fall over the edge of the trail and they have to crawl down to retrieve my lifeless body? Madness, madness, madness." I scarfed down a s'mores granola bar -- damn, I hate those things. I swallowed a handful of almonds. I chugged from my Camelbak. I knelt on the ground because my legs wouldn't hold me up anymore. My poor compatriots, forced to turn back because of me and my failing body ... I don't know what I can do to prevent this from happening again next time. Heck, I don't know why it happened on Saturday -- I've lumbered up Cadillac Mountain in Maine on my hands and knees, acquiring all manner of scraped skin and thorn scratches and torn fingernails and never felt as crappy as I did this weekend. Maybe I needed more Spam.

Twenty-five cents for five minutes. That's what you had to pay to take a hot shower. It was worth every quarter. I had thought I could go the whole weekend without showering. That's what deodorant and baby wipes and smoky barbecue and baseball caps are for. But no. After Mt. Tremper kicked MY butt, I felt I deserved some pampering, if only for fifteen minutes standing in a rustic shower wearing flip-flops and hurriedly trying to wash the suds out of my hair with really really soft water. It was scrumptious. A hot shower surely does erase all ills. Well ... it doesn't take away knee pain, but it does wonders for a demoralized spirit and greasy hair.

There's nothing like being in the great outdoors to really bring out the animal in humans. As expected, about 22% of our conversation this weekend centered around bowel movements. Almost everyone had one. A select few were constipated. One person constipated him/herself, probably as a sort of defense mechanism against public bathrooms that don't have completely enclosed stalls. Stage fright, you know. I completely understand. For me, it's all about relaxation and focus: you eat breakfast and drink some coffee, then you relax. I sat in a camp chair, holding a Noodle on my lap, easily conversing with my campmates until it was time. When you gotta go, you gotta go. The Alien was constipated, but he's only a year old and everything he eats is mushy, so I don't know what his story was. The Boy Noodle seemed slightly constipated as well. He kept producing perfectly round and hard little turds every hour on the hour. It was amazing -- he's like a little turd dispenser.

I love sleeping in sleeping bags. It's like I'm in a little zipped-up pod, my own personal mini-furnace (and that's NOT because I farted in it, although if I did, it's no one's business but my own). Saturday night was a bit chilly and damp, so I put on my fleece jacket instead of using it as a pillow, slipped on some socks, and burrowed deep inside my flannel-lined sleeping bag. I even tucked my hair into the bag with me, so that no part of me would be cold, not even my split ends. It was fantastic. I felt invisible and safe, and not even the buzz-saw snoring from the other tents could disturb me.

Weekend getaways such as camping are interesting. On the one hand, you get a small glimpse into the workings of your friends. In my case, for example, one such glimpse would reveal that my knees don't work. And surely, being forced to live in close quarters with people for an extended period of time without a couch and a television and any food other than grillable meat has the potential to tingle some nerves. But for the most part, there is comfort to be taken in the quick establishment of a routine: start the fire, cook food, eat food, clean up, go do something, come back, start the fire, cook food, eat food, relax, play Super Scrabble, sit around and shoot the breeze, sleep. And being away from the real world (I didn't know Julia Child died! I missed the Opening Ceremonies! I didn't know all those people died in Hurricane Charley!) is surreal and creates a sense that we are in a mostly happy little bubble, with no cares but for "do we have enough meat to grill?" Returning from our trip, some of us felt a bit of withdrawal. No more cooking for gobs of people, no more mass hiking, no more giggling at each other's snores, heard through the skin of our tents in the dead of night. So of course, despite our raging exhaustion, we got together to order dinner and play another round of SuperScrabble. "Tippy," we did not believe was a word, but Merriam-Webster says it is. I still don't believe it.

Hmmm. Maybe "unquilted" IS a word. Can toilet paper be unquilted? I shall have to research this some more ...

I have resolutions for my next camping trip:
1. Spend more time alone. I cannot feel rejuvenated when constantly surrounded by people, even those most dear to me.
2. Eat less meat. This is difficult because really, there's nothing like meat on a grill that just satisfies the camping soul. But we can't forget the corn next time.
3. Wear my knee brace during physical activity. Even if I look like a big geek and get dorky tan lines.
4. Bring smelling salts or an epinephrine injection (just kidding). Never again will a group turn around because of me.
5. Pack more footgear. Hiking shoes will get wet and muddy. My toes will get cold in Tevas. Wearing the same t-shirt three days in a row is fine, but wet and dirty feet ... that's just not kosher.
6. Don't wear my shoes into the tent, even if there's plenty of room. Damn hard to shake out the dirt, even if I'm not the one doing the shaking.
7. Don't bring toiletries. I'm not really going to lotion my face or my body. I'm not really going to floss. And I can wash my hair with bar soap for one day. Even if it costs me (or rather, costs M 75 cents.)
8. Memorize all the words that begin with "q" but do not require a "u." And get the quadruple word score.
9. Bring more hotdogs and Spam. This does not necessarily conflict with Resolution #2 because as we all know, hotdogs and Spam might not really be meat.
10. Bring beer.

Next stop: Maine or Camp Smith.