March 4, 2022
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Dirty Soda And A Free Cup At HuHot
1 day ago
Showing posts with label camping. Show all posts
Showing posts with label camping. Show all posts
Friday, March 4, 2022
A Solo Trip to San Simeon
Sunday, February 6, 2022
The Adventure Beast Rolls Again
February 6, 2022
This weekend, after visiting Nicholas, I continued up the coast to meet up with my sister and my youngest daughter in San Simeon. We checked into the campsite (where we did 'van camping' instead of tent camping--an acceptable facsimile of camping for this bug-averse girl), and then headed into Cambria where we checked out the incredibly cool and strange Nitt Witt Ridge, pictured below. We ventured out to the ocean afterward to catch a beautiful sunset. The next day we got up and hiked along Moonstone Drive, making sure we got our feet wet now and again along the way. (Truth be told, I got more than just my feet wet, because I wanted to get a photo of me getting splashed by the incoming waves.) I was very impressed with how well the Adventure Beast stood up to the journey, and am looking forward to many more in our future. It was a successful weekend--as is almost any weekend when I get to see the ocean and family members I love.
Sunday, May 2, 2021
An Adventure, Indeed!
May 2, 2021
A couple of months ago, my youngest daughter and I decided to co-invest in what I like to call a 'project van'. Danielle is really excited to design and create an ideal travel space to go out and do some exploring now that she's graduating from college; I am really excited to have a relatively comfortable and inexpensive way to hit the beach or chase waterfalls for a weekend here or there. This weekend my sister Lisa and I decided to take my Adventure Beast traveling van out for her maiden voyage. Even though the van still needs to have a little work done to shore it up (it's definitely seen its share of miles with its previous owner), I wanted to drive it and get a sense of what problems might present themselves so I could report back to my mechanic when I take it in.
On the whole, the Adventure Beast did beautifully. We picked a weekend when the weather couldn't have been better. The van was a champion driving up to Sequoia and we set up camp Friday evening, cooking dinner on the firepit and then settling in the van to sleep for the night. It was pretty convenient not to have to pitch a tent; the back seat lies flat for one bed, and the center chairs are taken out so that we can lay down a foam mattress for a second bed. I will say that my sister and I fit perfectly, though I'm not sure anyone much taller than the two of us would fit quite as comfortably.
Saturday was our big hiking day. We had intended to hike up to Morro rock, but the signage indicated that the hike would have been a much longer one than what we had seen when we looked it up online. We still had a great hike and saw the rock from a distance before changing plans and turning around.
Lisa knows that pretty much the only reason for me to hike is to find waterfalls or rivers, so our second hike was about finding a beautiful water source. As we were heading up to our next scheduled destination, the Adventure Beast protested--the only time on the trip it did. The elevation, combined with the air conditioning, got the best of the vehicle and it started to overheat. We pulled over to the side of the road and decided to take a lunch break while we gave the van a chance to cool down.
We had just finished up our lunch and were idly relaxing--me sitting in the passenger seat with my feet dangling out the open door, and Lisa standing outside nearby. Suddenly, nearly simultaneously, I heard an incredibly loud CRRRAAAACKKK!!!! and Lisa yelling "Look out!!!" and she dove toward me. Just out in the near distance in the forest, a tree split about two-thirds of the way up its approximately 80-foot trunk and the top crashed thunderously and dramatically to the ground, just inches away from the back of the van. The impact of the tree hitting the ground shattered the wood into sizable logs and shards of lumber that littered the area. On the way down the tree hit a huge metal sign, which no doubt changed the trajectory of the falling tree just enough to avoid us and the van. We were really very lucky, but it definitely got our adrenaline going! I don't know many people who have been up close and personal with a tree falling in the forest, but I can't say I recommend it.
After looking around incredulously and calming ourselves down a little, we decided to get back on the road and find the calming serenity of the waterfalls. We actually decided to change courses and go back downhill instead of continuing up in elevation because of the Adventure Beast's seeming reluctance. Fortunately, we happened on not just one but two beautiful spaces to hike to waterfalls. Both were well worth the journey.
After heading back to camp, we set out to cook a delicious campfire meal, which we ate while gazing up at the multitude of stars in the sky. It was a peaceful way to end quite an adventurous day.
All in all, despite the quite unexpected tree nearly crushing us, it was exactly the weekend we hoped for. There are still some mechanical issues that need to be addressed with the van, but this trip showed me that it's going to serve exactly the purpose I had hoped for it. I'm looking forward to many more adventures ahead.
Wednesday, August 18, 2010
A Little Closer to Private Benjamin Than To Grizzly Adams
August 18, 2010
I'm not much of a camping kind of a girl. I'm not exactly a princess, but, you know...I don't like to get my hands dirty. I'm a fan of creature comforts, like a bed, and doors. Floors, too, for that matter. Also, I'm not a fan of sharing my living space with creatures and critters. We have a mutual arrangement, as it turns out, that works quite well. I'll stay in, and they can stay out. It works for us; we understand each other.
It's true what they say, that who you are as an adult is heavily influenced by your experiences as a child. When I was a young girl, I was involved in scouting and really loved it--Bluebirds, Brownies, and Girl Scouts. By my estimation, spent at least three and a half years learning to "Be Prepared". My mother, however, did not. (She was, in fact, a Girl Scout in her youth. I just think she got a little fuzzy on the motto by the time I was a Scout). When I was perhaps nine, my Brownie Troop went on its first weekend camping trip. That's when my aversion to camping was bred.
It wasn't even the dirt or the critters that were problematic--those aversions came later, perhaps as justification for not having to camp. The real reason, the real problem, was my decided LACK of preparation. I was nine, mind you. Still what you might call training ground for life. Even now, when my son or daughter (who are both well over the age of nine) want to go on a sleepover at a friend's house, they get the check list reminder from me: Did you pack your toothbrush? A change of clothes? Do you have a brush? A pillow? Don't forget your underwear! Inevitably, he or she will run back to the bedroom to collect up the forgotten items before climbing in the car. My mother, before my first Brownies camping trip, gave no such reminders. As far as I can tell, she didn't even look over the packing list given to the parents. For whatever reason, she just assumed that a couple of pairs of jeans and t-shirts would suffice. We threw those into a duffel bag, and on the designated evening, she pulled up to the house of our troop leader, who would be driving the group in her station wagon up to the camp site. I got out of the car and waved goodbye, and Mom drove away, probably off to tend to the other four kids at home.
So there I was, on my troop leader's porch. It was dark, and the porch light was on. I rang the bell, and she was immediately there to welcome me and invite me in. She asked me to stack my duffel and sleeping bag next to all the other girls' things so that her husband could pack everything on top of the car. I looked at her blankly at first, then panic began to set in. I didn't have a sleeping bag! How had my mother left me to go on a camping trip all weekend without a sleeping bag? My troop leader stared at me, perplexed. Had I really just shown up at her doorstop so woefully unprepared? This was in the days before cell phones, so she couldn't immediately get ahold of my mother to see if perhaps she'd just forgotten. She said sweetly, "Didn't your mother look at the list I sent home?" I could only mumble that I didn't know. Any more than that would have opened up the floodgates of tears that were threatening to fall. This was not how I wanted to start off the weekend.
My troop leader consulted with her husband, who dug around in his garage and found a spare bag I could borrow. Most of the other girls had pink or bright orange sleeping bags, some of them brand new, purchased for a first camping trip. Mine would be an old, faded army green bag, stiff and itchy, and borrowed from someone's dad. It was something, though, and at least I wouldn't have to sleep on the ground, curled up in a ball. Perhaps it wasn't going to be so bad after all. Then, my troop leader thought she ought to run through the check list to see if I had failed to bring anything else. I had my undies, I had my toothbrush. Minus the sleeping bag, I had managed to bring most everything else. Not quite, though.
I remember telling my mom earlier that we were supposed to bring two bars of Ivory soap. Mom thought it was silly for one little girl to bring two full-sized bars of soap for one weekend, so despite my protests, she sent along a little trial bar of soap. That, she reasoned should be plenty to keep a girl clean. However, we weren't just keeping clean with that soap. We were working on badges during our weekend, and learning how to whittle was part of the experience. Our medium? Two bars of soap. THAT soap wasn't intended for cleanliness at all. We were to have brought additional soap for that purpose. When my troop leader discovered I was missing that as well, she took her own daughter's bag and pulled out one her bars to put in my duffel. "Why should I have to give up one of mine just because she forgot hers?" she wailed, glaring at me while directing her question toward her mother. "Because it's nice to share," she said simply. Clearly, her daughter did not agree.
That was how I kicked off my first camping trip--the one I had been looking forward to with great expectation. I was completely unprepared, and I had incurred the wrath of the alpha-female of the group. The girls made fun of my 'man' sleeping bag all weekend and talked about me in whispers as I whittled away at someone else's Ivory soap. I was miserable and lonely and embarrassed. Not even the S'mores made me feel much better as I shivered in my t-shirt by the campfire in the evening. I was, naturally, without a jacket.
I imagine when I returned from the trip our troop leader probably gently counseled my mother to help me 'Be Prepared' for any of our future camping trips. I know she gave my mom the benefit of the doubt--"I'm sure you probably left so quickly you forgot that Donna hadn't taken the sleeping bag out of your car yet when you dropped her off."--when there was, in fact, no sleeping bag in the car or anywhere else. What I do know is that I never went on another scout camping trip, and that was probably as much my own wish as it was hers. There was very little about the camping trip I found fun, and I was in no rush to repeat the experience.
But here's the thing: it's not really the camping I dislike. It's the being unprepared for it I don't like. I realized this about a week ago when, for the first time in thirty years, I found myself camping, despite my reservations. My own kids, my youngest in particular, have felt a void in their lives apparently, due to a lack of sleeping in the great outdoors. (In fairness, my oldest, quite the princess-in-training, professed no such lack. She was, though, a great sport at helping me indulge the other two.) I would never have agreed to taking the kids camping had we not gone with my sister, camper and Girl Scout Leader Extraordinaire. Having taken her own kids several times, she was organized, prepared, and had the background and expertise to make the experience enjoyable and even relaxing for all of us. I found that, not lacking the basics, I actually enjoyed the trip, dirt and all. (There were good showers and bathrooms nearby--a real necessity as far as I'm concerned. My take on the situation would most certainly be different if those were not available.) Both Nicholas and Danielle were completely at ease, hiking and skipping stones on the lake, and pitching in with the cooking and cleaning up at camp. Bree will probably not make it a regular event in her life, but I think she found that camping out wasn't quite as bad as she thought it would be. And me? I don't need to go back every weekend, but I would certainly look forward to doing it again sometime. Perhaps an annual trip is in order. As long as I have my sleeping bag and my soap, I'll be set.
I'm not much of a camping kind of a girl. I'm not exactly a princess, but, you know...I don't like to get my hands dirty. I'm a fan of creature comforts, like a bed, and doors. Floors, too, for that matter. Also, I'm not a fan of sharing my living space with creatures and critters. We have a mutual arrangement, as it turns out, that works quite well. I'll stay in, and they can stay out. It works for us; we understand each other.
It's true what they say, that who you are as an adult is heavily influenced by your experiences as a child. When I was a young girl, I was involved in scouting and really loved it--Bluebirds, Brownies, and Girl Scouts. By my estimation, spent at least three and a half years learning to "Be Prepared". My mother, however, did not. (She was, in fact, a Girl Scout in her youth. I just think she got a little fuzzy on the motto by the time I was a Scout). When I was perhaps nine, my Brownie Troop went on its first weekend camping trip. That's when my aversion to camping was bred.
It wasn't even the dirt or the critters that were problematic--those aversions came later, perhaps as justification for not having to camp. The real reason, the real problem, was my decided LACK of preparation. I was nine, mind you. Still what you might call training ground for life. Even now, when my son or daughter (who are both well over the age of nine) want to go on a sleepover at a friend's house, they get the check list reminder from me: Did you pack your toothbrush? A change of clothes? Do you have a brush? A pillow? Don't forget your underwear! Inevitably, he or she will run back to the bedroom to collect up the forgotten items before climbing in the car. My mother, before my first Brownies camping trip, gave no such reminders. As far as I can tell, she didn't even look over the packing list given to the parents. For whatever reason, she just assumed that a couple of pairs of jeans and t-shirts would suffice. We threw those into a duffel bag, and on the designated evening, she pulled up to the house of our troop leader, who would be driving the group in her station wagon up to the camp site. I got out of the car and waved goodbye, and Mom drove away, probably off to tend to the other four kids at home.
So there I was, on my troop leader's porch. It was dark, and the porch light was on. I rang the bell, and she was immediately there to welcome me and invite me in. She asked me to stack my duffel and sleeping bag next to all the other girls' things so that her husband could pack everything on top of the car. I looked at her blankly at first, then panic began to set in. I didn't have a sleeping bag! How had my mother left me to go on a camping trip all weekend without a sleeping bag? My troop leader stared at me, perplexed. Had I really just shown up at her doorstop so woefully unprepared? This was in the days before cell phones, so she couldn't immediately get ahold of my mother to see if perhaps she'd just forgotten. She said sweetly, "Didn't your mother look at the list I sent home?" I could only mumble that I didn't know. Any more than that would have opened up the floodgates of tears that were threatening to fall. This was not how I wanted to start off the weekend.
My troop leader consulted with her husband, who dug around in his garage and found a spare bag I could borrow. Most of the other girls had pink or bright orange sleeping bags, some of them brand new, purchased for a first camping trip. Mine would be an old, faded army green bag, stiff and itchy, and borrowed from someone's dad. It was something, though, and at least I wouldn't have to sleep on the ground, curled up in a ball. Perhaps it wasn't going to be so bad after all. Then, my troop leader thought she ought to run through the check list to see if I had failed to bring anything else. I had my undies, I had my toothbrush. Minus the sleeping bag, I had managed to bring most everything else. Not quite, though.
I remember telling my mom earlier that we were supposed to bring two bars of Ivory soap. Mom thought it was silly for one little girl to bring two full-sized bars of soap for one weekend, so despite my protests, she sent along a little trial bar of soap. That, she reasoned should be plenty to keep a girl clean. However, we weren't just keeping clean with that soap. We were working on badges during our weekend, and learning how to whittle was part of the experience. Our medium? Two bars of soap. THAT soap wasn't intended for cleanliness at all. We were to have brought additional soap for that purpose. When my troop leader discovered I was missing that as well, she took her own daughter's bag and pulled out one her bars to put in my duffel. "Why should I have to give up one of mine just because she forgot hers?" she wailed, glaring at me while directing her question toward her mother. "Because it's nice to share," she said simply. Clearly, her daughter did not agree.
That was how I kicked off my first camping trip--the one I had been looking forward to with great expectation. I was completely unprepared, and I had incurred the wrath of the alpha-female of the group. The girls made fun of my 'man' sleeping bag all weekend and talked about me in whispers as I whittled away at someone else's Ivory soap. I was miserable and lonely and embarrassed. Not even the S'mores made me feel much better as I shivered in my t-shirt by the campfire in the evening. I was, naturally, without a jacket.
I imagine when I returned from the trip our troop leader probably gently counseled my mother to help me 'Be Prepared' for any of our future camping trips. I know she gave my mom the benefit of the doubt--"I'm sure you probably left so quickly you forgot that Donna hadn't taken the sleeping bag out of your car yet when you dropped her off."--when there was, in fact, no sleeping bag in the car or anywhere else. What I do know is that I never went on another scout camping trip, and that was probably as much my own wish as it was hers. There was very little about the camping trip I found fun, and I was in no rush to repeat the experience.
But here's the thing: it's not really the camping I dislike. It's the being unprepared for it I don't like. I realized this about a week ago when, for the first time in thirty years, I found myself camping, despite my reservations. My own kids, my youngest in particular, have felt a void in their lives apparently, due to a lack of sleeping in the great outdoors. (In fairness, my oldest, quite the princess-in-training, professed no such lack. She was, though, a great sport at helping me indulge the other two.) I would never have agreed to taking the kids camping had we not gone with my sister, camper and Girl Scout Leader Extraordinaire. Having taken her own kids several times, she was organized, prepared, and had the background and expertise to make the experience enjoyable and even relaxing for all of us. I found that, not lacking the basics, I actually enjoyed the trip, dirt and all. (There were good showers and bathrooms nearby--a real necessity as far as I'm concerned. My take on the situation would most certainly be different if those were not available.) Both Nicholas and Danielle were completely at ease, hiking and skipping stones on the lake, and pitching in with the cooking and cleaning up at camp. Bree will probably not make it a regular event in her life, but I think she found that camping out wasn't quite as bad as she thought it would be. And me? I don't need to go back every weekend, but I would certainly look forward to doing it again sometime. Perhaps an annual trip is in order. As long as I have my sleeping bag and my soap, I'll be set.
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