Pretty trippy picture, eh? I took it with my camera phone last week, right before Dooder and I decided to throw tarps over everything at our campsite because of impending rain.
Rain at the campsite.
You know, I HATE rain when you're trying to camp. What's worse is rain at above 8,000 feet, as you're just below the treeline, but that's fodder for another "Camp Tale," as we went a MYRIAD of places last week, into three states.
This particular picture was at Firehole State Campground in western Wyoming. What an awesome place. Except that we camped here over the fourth of July.
Ever notice that over the 4th, every hayseed on the planet comes out from under the rocks from which they hide to go camping? They're always loud; they always have screaming children; they always bring along a boombox, and they never shut up after 10:00 p.m., which in all campsites is "quiet time."
Of course, I had to suffer from Irritable Bowl Movement Syndrome at 3:00 in the morning on the 5th. I stumbled outta my tent, running to the header when I notice two less than salubrious-looking men, covered in tattoos and eyeing me as they stood outside of the bathroom.
"Don't mind me. I just have to shit my pants," I tooted merrily as I ran past. I didn't really say this; I didn't have to. And while I have NO idea what they were attempting to do (molest me, take my wallet? Carve me up into little pieces and toss me under a mesa?), they left shortly after hearing my alarming volley of ass-noises echoing from my stall.
Works like a charm. Who needs mace when you have IBS?
More later.
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