From September 13, 1989. – JDW
He was alone. He was unheeded, happy and near the wild heart of life. He was alone and young and willful and wildhearted, alone amidst a waste of wild air and brackish waters… and tangle and veiled grey sunlight. – James Joyce.
I, on the other hand, was not alone. Me, I was with Norma Louise. And I was not happy. We are going CAMPING.
It was not my idea.
As an adolescent I had been frequently fond of sleeping outdoors. Every summer, my little brother Tyrone and I would pitch a tent in the back yard, and we’d spend as many nights as possible in the “out-in-the-back.”
Then one day Mom came home from the grocery store and told Dad about a conversation she’d had with a woman who lived a quarter-mile away. Seems the lady had heard her daughter talking about another summer of camping behind their house with the boys from down the road.
And I haven’t slept outdoors since.
“But, it’ll be fun!”, Norma Louise assured me. “You’ll see. Fresh air, wide open spaces, starlit skies. Cooking over an open fire.
“We’ll get away from the city and the noise and the politicians and the handguns. You’ll love it.”
This is the same woman who talked me into horseback riding. https://www.jackdogwelch.com/?p=79
The way I look at it, if God had meant for me to go camping, he wouldn’t haven’t given me an apartment in Northwest Portland.
Camping is for the homeless.
To me, “roughing it” is being in a motel room at the end of the hall without the ice machine.
My idea of a wilderness experience is walking through the produce department at Thriftee Thritway.
It’s sitting on the front porch during a thunderstorm.
The Great Outdoors? Civic Stadium.
The plan was to drive to Ashland because Uncle Roger had gifted us with hundreds of dollars worth of tickets to the Oregon Shakespeare Festival. We’d find a place to camp, save large sums of money – another one of her ploys – and attend more plays than Siskel & Ebert see movies.
Norma Louise even managed to arrange for all the necessary equipment.
Did you know you can’t pitch a tent wherever you want, even in a state park? People were actually lined up – lined up – to find a place to sleep in the woods. And the government was asking for reservations weeks in advance. Who would’ve believed it?
Everywhere we went, we were turned away. There was, for us, no room at the Out.
So we pulled into the local franchise of KOA (Koncrete Over America). Game room. Playground. Swimming pool. Convenience store. Laundry facility. HOT SHOWERS. That was emphasized for some reason. Twelve-fifty a night. (Remember Motel 6?) Five miles outside of town.
“This is not what I had in mind,” Norma Louise said. She was clearly disappointed.
“Okay, so the desk clerk’s Grizzly Adams,” I responded in my typical;ly tactful manner. “But at least we’re in the woods.” And we were, indeed. Across from Nell Creek, away from the rest of the campground, aesthetically named No. 39B.
Across the way, I see a motor home pull into the park. It’s the length of a city block, maybe two-and-a-half stories with cathedral ceilings and a loft in the middle, a pop-out deck with hot tub. Lap pool. California plates. But you probably guessed that.
This land barge comes around the corner, and it comes around the corner, it comes around the corner until it keeps coming around the corner and pretty soon you can hear the theme song from “Jaws.” And it’s pulling a Porsche 928S on a trailer.
(Here’s a handy travel tip. If you are trying to get away from it all, leave some of your stuff at home.)
Back at space 39B. I swear the bushes have moved closer, like a noose tightening. And I think I hear something rustling in there.
Norma Louise has the fire roaring. She’s the only person I know who should file an environmental impact study before cooking outdoors.
“Isn’t this romantic,” she gushed.
And it was. Always has been. Girls and sleeping bags and tents out back.
Oh, yeah, you probably want to know about the Shakespeare Festival. I think Norma Louise said it best.
“Sometimes, culture makes me sleepy.”
Epilogue. To be honest, I’m more of an Oregon Country Fair kind of guy.
Ashland had good Shakespeare, often even great Shakespeare. But it was still Shakespeare.
After a few shows, I seem to recall we scalped the rest of the tickets and ate well in a couple of restaurants we couldn’t otherwise afford.