It’s May. That means it’s officially time for summer trip planning. When you get vacation on the brain. When all you think about is bending the laws of physics so you can fit 32 tons of luggage into a vehicle cargo area that can barely hold three grocery bags.
We have all manner of things planned to keep a travel-planning nut like me busy. But first up this month is something I got talked into: a camping trip with family.
This combines two things I don’t like to do when I travel: camp OR go with family.
I know that sounds terrible. Because millions of people love to camp. But it just hasn’t been my thing in a long while. And family are great, but when I travel, I really just like to go with my wife and daughter. Maybe the dog.
Extended family are wildcards. They make a neurotic planner like me – who is into controlled situations, precise itineraries and low-drama – shutter at the unknowns and variables.
Combine the camping and family, and I’m not sure I’ll survive it.
But my daughter has been asking to try it, and she said it one-too-many times in front of family. In particular my brother. He sees this as the golden opportunity to indoctrinate my “poor child” into the ways that we grew up with, but that I have now forsaken.
My brother is also using this as an opportunity to test out the aluminum-sided teardrop trailer he built, complete with air conditioning and a reconditioned sailboat oven that he meticulously restored. Maybe he’s trying to make his camping trips more like sailing. Who knows?
“Can you actually cook out of it?” I made the mistake of asking one day.
“Of course, you can!” he replied. “It’s a British-made Taylors Cooker that runs off of paraffin, which most people don’t realize – because most people are morons! – is actually a fancy British way of saying ‘kerosene.’ Paraffin is an incredibly efficient way to heat a stove, and I am telling you this because you are probably one of those morons. I will have you know that with one small cannister of paraffin I can continuously heat this oven for more than 600 years!”
Conversations with my brother involve lots of information that did not need to see the light of day. They are also backed by hyperbole that some would say are lies.
“And what exactly can you fit in there?” I further asked while further falling down the paraffin rabbit hole.
“Well … you could bake a pie!”
“A pie?!?” I said with a snort. “Do you bake a lot of pies on your road trips?” I pictured my gruff and grizzly-looking brother with his motorcycle buddies at some wretched campground. A bunch of equally gruff and grizzly-looking guys marveling at his scratch-made blueberry pies with their intricate pie crust lacework on top. “Behold the power of paraffin!” he would declare.
“No, I don’t cook pies … but I could!” he said. “Come to think of it, I’m gonna’ bake a Taylors Cooker pie on the camping trip.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“I don’t know yet because I haven’t invented it. But it will be great because … you know … paraffin!”
The little travel-planning voice in my brain said: “Pack snacks and pre-cooked sausages.”
Because we have no camping gear of our own, my daughter’s own planning skills kicked in and she borrowed a bunch of stuff from her aunt on my wife’s side. My sister-in-law tends to be 180 degrees the opposite of my brother on camping. This means that while he thinks a rock will make a perfectly acceptable pillow, she believes that you need cots and goose-down and the kind of setup that European kings and queens used when they would go on journeys.
My daughter procured a tent that is about the size of a zip code. It comes complete with a full-sized vestibule, as well as a tea room, a greenhouse, a changing and de-lousing area and a small observatory for star-gazing and craft-making.
In addition, she finagled cots, cushioned-pads, a lantern, and some other equipment that will not fit in a cargo-hold that barely holds three grocery bags.
“We can’t show up to a campsite with all this stuff!” I told her. “Your uncle will never let me hear the end of it. He camped once with nothing more than two plastic bags and a fork!”
The tent is very different from how I used to camp as a kid when we would take extended trips with my dad. We were often venturing out on long hikes in remote areas, and that meant small, light-weight tents designed to be stuffed into backpacks. Or your pocket. They were so tight inside that if you wanted to roll over, you first had to convince everyone else to do it at the exact same time. The rain tarp leaked, and it gave off the kind of aroma that would keep bears away for miles.
And now we were going to show up like a bunch of “glampers?!?”
That trip is coming up in a couple weeks, and I’m busy planning. How to get the 17 tons of borrowed camping equipment into the car. What kind of food to bring so we don’t have to eat the paraffin-soaked pie. How to survive campfire tales with my brother where he expounds upon the greatness of the British sailing stoves. And maybe most importantly, how soon our NEXT trip will be … sans extended family and tents.