A wee bit of camping drama

Our camping trip was this week – it was supposed to be for two nights, but it was actually zero. There was a wee bit of drama.

The state park campground is in the heart of Napa Valley. Instead of our usual day hikes, we would visit nearby wine towns and indulge in eating, wine tasting and other decadent behaviors.

Weather was predicted to be reasonably cool. We got there in the early afternoon, and it was hot. No problem – this is California. It will cool off at night.

I have this amazing camping checklist – you know I do – and it includes everything we might think to bring, including the air mattress and pump. But the list did not include a checkbox to charge the pump, and what we had was a dead pump. I had a regular power cord and a car charger.

Our site did not have electrical hook-ups, so Dale went to the restroom and plugged it in there. He was either bored or looked suspicious loitering in the men’s restroom, so he returned to the campsite and said that wasn’t going to work. We could leave it charging in the bathroom unguarded, but he figured somebody would decide they needed it more than we did.

Dale decided to use the car charger. I said, and I quote: “Won’t that drain the battery?” He said in his manly, technical voice, “Not at all.” An hour or so later, the battery was dead.

The good news is we had enough charge to inflate the air mattress. Dale was pissed, presumably at himself, as is appropriate. I would have just parked my ass in the bathroom. I said maybe AAA will come out tomorrow morning – it’s not like we’re in the woods. Dale said yes, I guess that’s what we’ll do.

We were almost to happy hour when the bugs kicked in. Yellow jackets, specifically. By the time we started dinner, they were everywhere, so we ate in the tent, where one of the little bastards stung me.

In his haste to escape the yellow jackets, Dale took the steak off the grill too soon. Like raw. We had salad and baked potato, so we wrapped up the steak and put it in the cooler. He could have put it back on the grill, but those yellow jackets love steak, and they don’t care if it’s rare, medium or well-done.

It was around 6:30 p.m. and not cooling off at all. We were complaining about what a miserable night it was going to be and began to reminisce about other miserable tent experiences adventures over the course of our 40-year marriage.

He likes to bring up Lake Wallenpaupack in Pennsylvania, where I forgot the air mattress, and we slept on rocks. He dreamed he was a paraplegic. I recall a steamy summer’s night on the shores of Lake Guntersville in Alabama, where I dreamed he was stealing my oxygen.

About this time, he started blaming me for the air mattress pump. After all, I had a history of poor air mattress management. I created the checklist, so I guess it was my responsibility to do everything but sniff his underwear to make sure they were clean.

I was mad and said so. Why bring that up? Am I the only one who can charge a pump? And he said, “Well, I didn’t say anything about the heat.” Oh, so the weather is my fault, too?

As I started to explain the rationale for separate vacations, a neighboring camper came over and asked if we needed a jump start. We thanked him profusely and said perhaps in the morning. But then in a sudden vote of solidarity, we said yes, now! We’re leaving.

By the time the car was started, I had disassembled the tent. Dale let the car run while we gathered up all the loose pieces, giggling as we mushed gear into the car as fast as we could. Then we hit the road. We would be home in two hours and sleep in our own insect-free bed with the luxury of air conditioning.

Pulling away, we were still laughing, and Dale said, “I’m happy!”

I was surprised to hear myself saying, “Yeah, me, too.”