These are the events of our big camping trip up in the Colorado mountains close to Estes Park in the Summer of 1999, and perhaps explains why I haven't been camping since:
We left on a Friday afternoon, and came back on Tuesday, somewhat refreshed yet also the worse for wear. The outhouses stunk, permeating the air like a thick fog. The only way we could use them was to put perfume on a bandanna and wear it around our faces before going in.
On our second day there, everybody was just kind of sitting around. I sat next to my brother Terry, who was lounging by the campfire pit, sucking tar into his lungs in the fresh mountain air, and I asked him, “So what are we doing today? I’m bored!”
“Gary,” he started with that annoyed tone, “I like this!” He motioned to the mountains and the sky with his hands. “I came camping to relax,” he explained. “I like being bored like this! I never get a chance to be bored at home!” He then explained to me that there were no “plans,” and that everybody was just “doing whatever.”
So when my nephews Jason and Alex asked me if I wanted to go hiking and exploring, I said, “Sure!” And so we did, and we had fun for about a half an hour or so. Of course, on the way back to the campsite, Jason wanted to climb a rocky and rather steep incline. Again, I said, “Sure!”
Just a couple of feet up, I realized it was probably too rocky and steep, and the teacher in me spoke up as I said, “Guys, this is too rocky and steep. Let’s go around, or someone’s gonna get hurt!” It was only a few seconds later, I was lying on the ground next to a sharp, jagged rock and my right arm was split open with about a five to six inches long gash!
I’m surprised I managed to stay so calm! That’s good, ‘cause Jason was freaking out plenty enough for the both of us! I managed to keep the wound closed with my left hand while we ran back to camp, which was thankfully only a few minutes walking distance. Jason was the first to make it back, exclaiming that I had gotten cut, and that it was “really bad!” Both Scott and Terry apparently thought Jason was making a mountain out of a molehill, and that they could fix my wound with a band aid and some anti-septic.
When I arrived a few seconds later, Terry smugly and jokingly asked to see my wound, with a knowing grin on his face, sure that Jason was exaggerating. I calmly showed him my arm, and that’s when his eyes bugged out like some bad actor in an old William Castle movie! “Oh my God, Gary!” he shouted. “That’s really bad! Oh my God!”
I tried to assure everybody, particularly Terry, that I was okay, and so while holding my arm closed, I tried to show that I was calm and in control of my faculties by saying something like, “Look, I’m fine you guys. I know I need stitches, but I’ll survive, okay? I’m fine!” I found it amusing that I had to try to calm Terry down instead of the other way around!
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| Terry dresses my arm |
But Terry would have none of that kind of "I'm fine" talk and continued freaking out! “Oh my God, Gary! Here, sit down! You’re gonna faint! You’re in shock! Somebody get him a blanket! Here, have some water! We’ve got to get you to an emergency room right away!” Of course, by this time, my gash, which looked much worse than it felt, along with Terry’s uncontrolled rantings, had scared the kids, and had Alex in tears. God, how I love those guys!
I tried to reassure Terry I’d be perfectly fine until we got the emergency room. “I’m not in shock, I’m not gonna faint, I’m not gonna die,” I promised him. I was even clear headed enough to explain that I had all my insurance information on me and that I was keeping the wound closed, and the bleeding had pretty much stopped.
Brian drove us to the hospital, with both Terry and Alex tagging along to the Estes Park Medical Center. While Terry ranted about how some horrible tragedy always befalls them on camping trips, Alex was bawling, bless his wonderful soul. Something like this makes you realize how much you mean to others!
They put 18 stitches in my arm, and all the doctors and nurses marveled at what a “beautiful cut” it was, so clean and straight and “perfect.” They couldn’t believe that a jagged rock had even caused it.
After the split-arm incident ended the weekend on a downer, we then went to Estes Park on Monday, did sightseeing and shopping, and I took pictures of everybody. It rained shortly after we arrived, so we had to cut it short, but Scott and Angie were kind enough to stop in front of the Stanley Hotel since they knew I had my heart set on taking a few snapshots of the infamous hotel that was the inspiration for Stephen King’s The Shining and for that novel’s spooky Overlook Hotel. They even filmed most of the TV miniseries version of The Shining at the Stanley Hotel, and I managed a few pictures in the rain.
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| The Stanley Hotel, inspiration for Stephen King's "The Shining," and Steven Weber in the TV movie that was filmed there. |
Then we went back to camp where it rained for several more hours, making our last full day there the worst one. The groundskeepers, a crotchety, old couple, did their best to make our stay a horrible one. On the very first day, I could tell they were having difficulty remaining polite when they complained about our parking and explained how the one spigot with running water was not for brushing our teeth. “Get the water in a container and brush your teeth elsewhere,” they warned us. Saturday we stayed up late telling jokes and stories around the campfire, and Sunday we stayed up till midnight singing songs, and just having a grand old time in the outdoors. I loved it! Monday morning, the crotchety, old lady informed us that we were too loud, and that the other campers had complained. She said we could be noisy until 10 PM, and then we had to be quiet and considerate of the other campers. She also told us, twice, that somebody had pooped on the floor in the men’s outhouse, and considering that she told us this twice, I’m certain she was accusing us. They were also rude to Heather when she tried to throw some garbage away in the dumpster.
Needless to say, we hightailed it out of there as early as we could on Tuesday, leaving several hours before our 1:00 deadline. We cleaned up our camping spots of any and all debris so the crotchety, old couple wouldn’t have that to complain about as well, and loaded up our cars, trucks, and vans. The only thing we left was some wood, and can you believe it, the old guy complained about that! Well, Terry found some people who wanted it, and so they came and got it. The old campgrounds keeper was just gonna throw it away, and was complaining about it, so this at least took that task off his hands.
The old woman then puttered up, raking some tree bark near our cars, and muttered to herself, but within earshot of Scott, that we “leave a bigger mess than 40 boy scouts!” That was after we had cleaned up our campsite, and it left all of us, including Terry (who we sometimes compare to Felix Unger from The Odd Couple) wondering just what mess we could possibly have left behind. Was she another Joan Crawford? Did she want us to polish the trees? Well Scott assured her after hearing her rude comment, “You don’t have to worry, ‘cause we will NEVER be back here again!” And we won’t!
I probably shouldn’t get so upset, but our campsites were SPOTLESS when we left. I mean, here’s a campground where they expect you to literally sweep the dirt before you leave, and if you want to have a good time around the campfire, which is part of what camping is all about, you better not do it too late, ‘cause it’s “lights out” at 10 PM sharp. If I wanted to follow this many rules, I could have stayed home, thank you! To make matters worse, the bathrooms are so foul smelling, it even penetrated my continually plugged up nose!
Why would people go camping and then complain about other campers singing around a campfire? Isn’t that what camping is for, to get away from it all and enjoy yourself? It’s not like we were drunk and foul. We were just singing songs around a campfire! And it’s not like we stayed up the entire night. We had quit by midnight. I don’t mean to interrupt anyone’s “beauty sleep,” but this is a vacation, and we’re all supposed to be “roughing it” somewhat. If you want to go to sleep and not be bothered by campfire songs, then go back to the suburbs!
And excuse me, but if you’re really tired, and need sleep that badly, you can certainly sleep through a few campfire songs. I certainly could! We weren’t that loud. If you can’t sleep through it, then I guess you really weren’t all that tired after all! I think sometimes people just want to complain. It’s their lot in life! If there was nothing to complain about, then they’d have to make something up... kind of like they did here. There we were, laughing, singing, reminiscing, and creating new memories that will last our lifetimes, and they wanted to squelch it so they could get a couple more hours of sleep. Sleeping is not what camping is all about! If camping is about anything at all, it’s about what we were doing!
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