Friday, June 24, 2011
Camp Tales--Pt. IIII, Don't forget the Party Goods
In all my Crazy Partying Camp Tales, there's usually a certain amount of inebriation. Pick your potion: in Colorado, weed's legal with a permit (just sayin', ahem, cough, cough), a box of wine, or good ol' fashioned Fat Tire Ale.
A couple years ago, Dooder and I found this GREAT, completely isolated place to camp in northern New Mexico. In case you're going to camp there soon, let me give you some advice.
Unlike Colorado, where every camp host practically is holding up a sign saying, "Howdy! Come camp here, pard!" New Mexico couldn't be farther from that. It almost seems they're holding a sign that says, "Get the hell outta here."
After finding some rather alarming sites, littered with gang graffiti, broken glass and suspicious carcasses and bones laying around (hello, Ted Bundy), we finally found what appeared like a safe, clean place to camp out in the middle of nowhere. BUT, we were prepared, for we remembered to bring a case of beer. You have to get your priorities straight, folks. New Mexico is dry hot as in, imagine yourself in solitary confinement in a 9'x9' black box under the broiling sun. That's New Mexico=extremely thirsty.
Before 9:00 p.m., we'd polished off half a case. It started to get dark.
"Dooder, watch out for the . . ." I called out to Dooder (Skyvee is "dooder" and I am just "dude") as she tripped over the fire ring.
Then slightly later,
"Dooder, my head lamp is broke," I lamented in my husky-buzz voice.
"Bummer, Dude," Dooder mumbled, the delighful aroma of cannibus in the vicinity (NOT us, of course).
"I mean, it's REALLY broken," I lamented. "I've had this same headlamp for 15 years," I said, feeling dramatic.
"You got it on upside down, Dude," Dooder says.
Ah, yes, the campsite buzz, firelight euphoria that only a good trippy can bring.
Only, don't forget the beer. We didn't this time, but the year after we did.
We were in Leadville, CO, my favorite place. We'd driven all day, and were parched. We finally find a liquor store, go in, buy a 12 pack, some ice. We get out to the car, spend copious time spreading out the ice meticulously in our coolers, then drive off, leaving said 12-pack sitting on the curb.
Until we realize this four hours later.
"Doooder, where's the beer!? We're OUT OF BEER!!!!!" I cry in alarm back at the campsite.
"Why it's in the cooler," Dooder says in disbelief.
"No. NO, NO, NO, it isn't!!!!!!!"
A beer emergency.
Then back in the car we go, white-knuckling it to the liquor store at 9:00 p.m. and praying the beer is still there, which it isn't.
Some hobo had a great night that evening, prayers answered and a free 12-pack.
So my advice is: don't drive off and leave your beer on the curb, especially when "town" is a good 10 minute drive from your campsite.