Camping Ain't for Sissies

About seven years ago, my husband and I bought a gently used pop-up camper. We were very excited about this, envisioning trips to the many beautiful campgrounds in our Colorado Rocky Mountains.

We anticipated crisp starry nights, crickets chirping, the sky smoky from dying campfires; deep restful slumber, soothed by a nearby bubbling creek; then, bright sunny mornings, birds chirping and chipmunks scampering.

First thing's first, though. We had to get the camper home and parked. Towing went smoothly. Backing the camper into a spot in the narrow car-filled condominium complex parking lot - not so much.

This is where the wife code of conduct comes into play. You know the one I mean. First, you must silently acknowledge that your husband is genetically engineered with the capability of maneuvering all manner of vehicles at all times without the need for practice.

Second, your husband's genetic code tells him you can read his mind at each step of the maneuvering process thereby forgoing the need for verbal communication.

Third, the wife code of conduct, or WCC, clearly states that at no time can you loudly suck in your breath in horror at the impending calamity, whatever it is, nor can your face show any sign of dismay. The husband knows what he is doing.

No small animals were harmed during the parking process. I can't say the same for the neighbor's porch railing.

Next step - pop up the gently used camper and take a look. Picture encasing yourself in a box stuffed as full as possible with mothballs. Multiply by 100. No fair envisioning any type of facemask.

To remove the overwhelming stench of mothballs, here's what doesn't work: airing camper out for 90 days straight; Febreeze deodorizing spray; cedar blocks; Lysol; dryer sheets; boxes of baking soda; charcoal thingamabobs; lots of cussing by your husband; wishing real hard.

All camper parts seemed to be in working order. Time to purchase supplies. Completely abandoning any budgeting efforts, my husband enthusiastically purchased every camping and outdoor gadget he could find. You never know when you might need a duck call when camping, five different types of lanterns, or a thermometer/compass zipper pull for your jacket.

Finally, the time had come to go grocery shopping. What is it about shopping for camping food that brings on a fugue state? It's only when you get home that you realize somehow three bags of cookies, five bags of chips, and a crate of those little cereal boxes that convert into bowls came home with you.

$500 and one restless night later, we were ready to head to the mountains. But first, the SUV had to be loaded. If you've ever packed parachutes for a living, then you have an idea of what it's like to pack your smallish SUV with all your husband's new camping gadgets, your clothes, your bedding, your food cooler, your fishing poles, a cord of firewood, three cases of water and your crate of little cereal boxes. It takes planning and finesse. It takes patience and persistence. It takes the ability to surreptitiously rearrange whatever your husband just threw in so that everything actually fits.

Hitched up and ready to go, we ventured forth into Denver's rush hour traffic. Rush hour drivers have no sympathy for campers heading out of town, especially when the campers finally realize their pop-up trailer is riding on two almost flat tires. Why didn't my husband notice this before? I don't know. He's the genetically coded one. I was merely following the rules and forgoing the need for verbal communication.

Tires aired up and back on the road, we finally made it to the highway that will take us into the mountains. What a glorious late spring day! What beautiful misty mountains! What is that horrendous noise! With smoke billowing from under the hood, we pulled over to the side of the highway. If ever there was a time to embrace number three of the WCC...

Man.

This camping stuff is tough!