Better Camping requests for 2011: 10 improvements campers need for the New Year

by Jim Bessey, editor

Good thing this air mattress is...   from keith011764

Raymond Alexander Kukkee and I agree -- "we like camping better." But camping isn't perfect; some things could be better. The New Year is here, it's 2011; time to consider improvements we'd like to see for a better camping experience.

Big Stuff:

1. Low-price Late Check-out fees ~ Why should your final day at a campground be spent frantically packing? For weekend campers, this means Sunday morning is not for relaxing, but for breaking camp. If there isn't anyone coming in to take your site that day, why not a simple $5 late check-out fee? Hell, even $10 would be fine. Just let us relax a little before we head home.
2. Kinder, gentler pool-use policies ~ Yeah, yeah; we know it's all about the Insurance Companies. We get it. But "Two adults must be present, not IN the pool, for any swimming"? When my son and I camped during the week last year, this meant that we had to FIND HELP in order for either one of us to take a dip. There has to be a better way.
3. Much better use of photography for campgrounds ~ Let's face it: most campground websites' photo galleries just plain stink. Why don't you guys take some new pictures? Why aren't there decent aerial views of most campgrounds? What happened to the promise of hi-tech "virtual tours" for travel destinations? Maybe some of the big-budget RV parks are doing it, but I haven't seen any progress here in upstate NY yet. We want to know what we're getting into before we get there, okay?
4. Better miniature golf course maintenance ~ Our gang always plays mini-golf when we go camping. It's one of our things. Even at the nicest campgrounds, those little golf courses are generally crummy. Why? They made the space, put some money into it in the beginning, and then walked away? I know they aren't huge money-makers for campgrounds, but it matters to us. If the windmill is supposed to turn, it should, dammit! And how about some fresh "turf" every few years? Is that too much to ask?
5. More patio pull-thru sites for big rigs ~ What a great idea: Add a simple concrete or paver pad next to the pull-thru driveway for Class-A motorhomes. Maybe a nice picnic grill, too. I've seen this here and there. Most places insist on "no carpets" and fight with campers about infractions all the time. This nice, thoughtful improvement makes the campground look good and solves the dead-grass issue perfectly.

Little stuff:

1. Reasonable prices for firewood on-site ~ We're a captive audience, and most parks have those annoying signs urging us not to bring in "contaminated" firewood from outside the area. They don't want us to burn construction debris, either (not that I pay any attention -- I save all sorts of lovely hardwood and softwood cut-offs all year long for burning). So, if they want us to buy their firewood, keep the price down. They'll sell more firewood, and their customers will appreciate the courtesy.
2. Dependable Wi-Fi ~ How many times have you lost the signal when you access the Web while camping? If a campground is going to offer internet service, then make it good. Buy a decent router and install a strong repeater system. Campers will talk about the great signal strength among their friends. It's just plain good for business.
3. Good, hot, drinkable coffee at camp stores ~ Why is campground coffee so bad? Is there a secret rule somewhere? Clean the pot. Buy some decent coffee. Use a coffee service, even. We campers love our coffee, and we don't suffer bad coffee quietly. Pretty please?
4. Simple, easy, quiet air mattress inflation ~ There must be a way. I'm serious. Are you listening out there, Inventive Geniuses? Those annoying, whiny, slooow DC-powered mattress pumps are so old-tech. There must be something out there similar to the way a life-raft inflates, something affordable that would fill up a queen-size bed in 20 seconds. I'd buy it!
5. Improved tent-flap zippers ~ Needs no explanation. We've all been there.

So that's my list, large and small. Some pet peeves, and some wishful thinking. I'm not asking for cleaner restrooms, or actual hot water in the showers, or big discounts for repeat customers. Just some give and take to make our collective camping experience better for 2011. I don't think I'm being unreasonable, do you?
_______________________________________________
What are your ideas for Better Camping? What drives you crazy when you're camping? What nifty invention would make your next camp outing cooler? If you're a campground owner, I'd especially love to hear from you. Happy New Year!

Which is better camping: Tents or RV's?

by Jim Bessey
 
There are two distinct worlds of camping: tents and RV's. Each is as different from the other as Democrat and Republican. Emotions run strong in both camps, and proponents of one often disdain supporters of the other. "That's not camping!" the tenters say to the lazy, pampered residents of recreational vehicles. "But when it rains it pours," responds the RV lovers.

I've done both, and I'll take a roof over my head every time.

Purists will tell you it isn't camping if you aren't roughing it. Their ideal comes straight from a Coors Lite commercial: pure mountain stream, isolation, Jeep Wrangler in a clearing with a breeze wafting through the towering pines, and fresh-caught trout frying on a white-gas grill. Just you, your sweetheart, a playful Golden Retriever, and a couple thousand dollars worth of fancy gear from Adirondack Outfitters immersed in the pristine beauty of Nature, capital N.

I've lived in that picture, and even felt the condescending distaste for families who claimed they were camping in their luxury Winnebago's. I'm older now, a bit more tolerant, and have learned the wisdom of keeping my wife and children happy during vacations. By the time we'd bought a cavernous tent, screen house, stand-up grill, folding tables and a fleet of camp chairs I realized that we were no longer "roughing it" at all, merely postponing the inevitable. We bought a twenty-foot trailer the next summer.

We travel and camp in relative comfort now, and spend far less time worrying about the weather forecast. We can decide to leave on a few hours' notice, and don't have to venture into the mountains or find a suitable meadow by a babbling brook to achieve vacation success. And we don't have to pee in the bushes anymore.

I love having a bathroom! My wife loves it more. She never accepted the concept of visiting a thicket to attend the call of Nature. I have to admit that stumbling about in the darkness with a feeble flashlight, searching for a proper place to relieve myself has long since lost its original charm. We brush our teeth in a sink now, and use real toilet paper. We can even take a shower in the tiny stall if we want to. Running water is such a fine amenity!

Power was always a problem when we were tenting... keep reading.


See this story as it appears on Helium.com
Reprinted from an earlier column. All rights reserved.
_______________________________________________

Would you rather camp in a tent in the wilderness, or in an RV in a campground?

Towing a travel trailer: A brief encounter and a "what if?"

by Jim Bessey, editor

I've talked about travel trailer towing safety at length in these two posts:

Before you go: Safety checklist
On the road: Safe towing tips


Just last week, I had occasion to be very happy that I was not towing the camper. Here's what happened...

Why, oh why, do moronic drivers pull out or turn left directly in front of me on the road?? Please tell me.

Saturday, on the way to our reunion picnic, some idiotic woman made a sudden left turn from the oncoming lane directly in front of my 55-mph-moving bumper. I feathered the brakes and hammered the horn. I actually saw her brace for the impact!

Had I been moving a bit faster, or paying as little attention as she was, my SIX THOUSAND POUND truck would have plowed into her passenger-side door, perhaps all the way into her seat -- most likely fatal for her.

We'd have suffered bruises from our seat belts and the air bags, and the truck would have been totalled. But she would probably have been dead.

Why? Was she on the phone? Texting? Doing her make-up? Daydreaming?

I drive a big truck, with bright white daytime running lights blazing. I'm careful, perhaps a bit compulsive about defensive driving (with good reason?), and rarely exceed the speed limit. When I'm pulling my 4000# camper (for a total of five tons, if you're mathematically-inclined), I'm downright paranoid.

I'm 50 years old, have driven nearly a million miles (not kidding), my brakes need some work and my reflexes aren't nearly as good as my teenage son's are. Yet every day, invariably, someone along my way seems to dare me to hit them. I haven't killed anyone yet; but I wonder...

Will the day come when I'm a half-second too slow on the brakes? When I just happen to be distracted for the slightest moment? When someone really DOES cut it just too damned close?
If I had been pulling the camper on Saturday, there's no way in hell I could have avoided hitting that woman who turned in my path. That would have ruined my vacation, and probably the rest of her life (or ended it). I pray it never happens that way.

Does this only happen to me? Somehow I doubt it. Does it happen to you?


This post originally appeared as a forum reply on Helium.com, here: I just gotta Rant... _______________________________________________
Have you ever had an unfortunate on-the-road incident during a camping trip? What happened? Was your vacation ruined?

Here's a good guide from Amazon.com: Towing is not for the faint of car; Be careful when choosing a vehicle to pull trailer.(Financial Wire): An article from: Winnipeg Free Press

10 reasons why YOU might love to go camping

by Jim Bessey

Why bother camping at all?

Fall camp at secluded site, Holiday Hill Campground

Everything about Home seems better -- certainly the facilities, right? And there's bugs, and mud, and it always rains. So what's the point? Why would anyone want to pay for the privilege of roughing it? And yet, every good-weather weekend, wherever you live, thousands of people head off with tents or campers, even motor homes, to find a spot (secluded or otherwise) so they can go camping. Anyplace but home will do.

Here are ten reasons why we go camping, and why you might like it, too.

1. A change of scenery. Sometimes that's enough. No-four-walls is even better.
2. To commune with Nature -- because for whatever reason, we almost never think of doing that, otherwise. The sound of raindrops on canvas, or the beauty of a few million stars in a pitch-black sky; priceless.
3. To hang out with our friends and family somewhere else, where none of us is the "host," yet we are all still gathered together. Who washes the dishes? Maybe you can flip for it.
4. To leave the TV off. The best way to do this is to remove the option to turn it on in the first place. Camping is great for that! Radios are okay, but not too loud. That's the rule.
5. To get away from all the ordinary crap that clutters our daily lives at home. All those to-do lists and chores will still be there when you get back. Forget them for a few days or a week. Chop some firewood instead; it's good for you.
6. To force our kids to spend time with us. For many of us, you have to remove A LOT of options from the kids in order to make "time with the parents" appealing. Little do they know, we're pretty good company when you give us a chance. Hey, remember "board games"? Yeah, those are cool.
7. So we can have campfires and roast marshmallows. Two great things you never get to do at home! Why can't we have campfires at home? Good question, isn't it?
8. Camping gives up permission to sit in chairs and just hang out, alone with a book or in a ring of seats with 20 friends around a big fire -- it's all good.
9. Maybe there are hiking trails, or fishing ponds, or horseshoes, or a big pool, or paddleboats, or fireflies, or playgrounds, or group bingo, maybe even karaoke. You won't find most of those at home, will you?
10. Reason #10 should be a big one, right? There must be ONE totally awesome most compelling reason to go camping. "Because we hate hotels and they are expensive." How's that? I'll bet there are dozens of other great reasons we love to go camping. What's your #10?

_______________________________________________ 
Want to share a great camping experience? Ask me about a possible guest post.

Please don't hate me, but I simply must share this camping tip with you

From the file marked "things that make you say hmmm..."

Over the preceding months I've tried to offer you some helpful camping tips, along with other related articles, pictures and stories. In addition, down the page a ways in the sidebar, I've linked to a number of blogs of similar theme. I've found these blogs and lots of great article ideas by subscribing to a Google Alert for "camping tips."

Every day I get a nifty email from Google listing all sorts of interesting postings from around the world that are somehow related to camping tips. Sometimes the relation is tenuous at best, with the words "camping" and "tips" separated by other words that veer off into unrelated topics. These alerts are always informative and often entertaining.

Some days one or two of the offered snippets leaves me scratching my head. Today was one of those days. Rather than scratch my head some more and risk further hair loss, I've decided (just this one time) to share the puzzling text with you. Perhaps you, better than me, can fathom its meaning.

Here's the snippet included in today's camping tips alert (all links omitted):

Go camping predominantly. The pre-eminent mode to grasp the bodily is to spread out not numerous days camping together. And what can be more affectionate then sitting together approach tense close axe and watching the flames?

I sincerely detect a wonderful tip for romantic camping here. It's in there somewhere. Granted, it's only a snippet of the original posting, so other contextual clues might be missing. I do love grasping bodily and watching the flames. However, the whole "tense close axe" concept has me concerned.

Okay, maybe I'm being mean. I realize that the Internet is indeed a "world wide" web. For some, our befuddling language presents translation challenges. Still, this camping tip hints at well-intended and thoughtful insight. If I could understand the author's intent, I'd be happy to link to the original post.

Ideas, anyone?

Posted by Jim, who really isn't a mean person.
_______________________________________________

Can you help me translate the quoted camping tip? Your Comments always welcome.

Why is winter so long?

...and summer so short?

Our little camper -- a nearly 30-year-old, 19-foot restored Shasta -- sits in the yard beside our garage. She's sinking into the soggy sod right now, after spending the bitter months shrugging off the wind and snow, mostly unscathed. We've had a few days with temperatures in the low sixties recently; makes me glance longingly at our old trailer, hoping for warm nights and 9 pm sunsets soon.

I no longer love winter. It's too long. We're just far enough north here, near Lake Ontario, that the cold and gray months encroach on the end of fall and the first half of spring. We joke that spring is about two weeks long. Our "leaf season" is longer than that, but prone to early snowstorms. I used to love winter -- when I was young and single and could afford to go skiing.

Now I spend the weeks following Thanksgiving waiting for summer. It's a long wait, punctuated by the six weeks of Christmas and a couple of oddly-scheduled school vacations. Once Santa has finished flying there's that long no-real-holidays time. Who celebrates Groundhog Day? It often snows on our St. Patrick's Day parade.

I hate driving in the snow anymore. We used to brave blizzards to go skiing; now that I'm older I can't see through the flakes as well. I'm approaching a million lifetime miles of driving, with about a third of them in snowy conditions. I've paid my dues, haven't I? Someday I may actually have to consider "flying south." What a terrible thought.

The only consolation to New York's seemingly interminable winters is that they force you to appreciate summer. You hear that from people who simply refuse to move to warmer climates: "I'd miss the seasons, and get sick and tired of warm sun." While that's probably true, it's probably also a fairly lame rationalization. While I'm not sure I could stomach the air-conditioned lifestyle of Floridians, I'll bet I could make do in Honolulu.

My home, however, is here in upstate NY. Most of my friends and almost all of my family are all here. Moving is expensive, emotionally demanding, and ultimately life-altering. I'll stay here, as long as the bank doesn't reclaim our house. In that event, we'd have to live in our little camping trailer. That would probably take most of the fun out of camping.

The summers here are too short, though. That's just a fact. When you balance "perfect camping nights " against "gloomy winter days" the scale always hits the table hard on the "gloomy" side. It's not uncommon for us to suffer through a solid week of sunless days between October and April. I honestly believe that people have "solar batteries" that need to be recharged regularly. I do, anyway.

For me, the beginning of NASCAR racing season signals that summer is almost here, somewhere -- Daytona, at least. All the early races are in winter-warm states at first, so we see "summer" long before it arrives in NY. Then the Masters teases us with gorgeous verdant fairways and brilliant azalea blossoms. It's hard for me to watch, when we still have bare trees and brown lawns.

Then suddenly, after a couple of "fooled ya" days above seventy degrees, it's summer in New York. The willows burst into pale green abundance first, with the hardwoods last to follow. Before we know it, the days are fourteen hours of sunshine and we're complaining about the heat. We think about buying air conditioners, knowing we won't need them for long. Our lawns need mowing twice a week.

We launch some fireworks, grill some hot dogs, take impulsive trips to nearby campgrounds , leave the TV off, and stay up 'til midnight because it's too nice out to go to sleep. We spend two weeks watering our browning lawns, worrying needlessly. And then, quietly and with little warning, our local NFL franchise team arrives for training camp at St. John Fisher College.

You know what NFL means, don't you? -- "Fall." Just like that, our summer is nearly done. We savor the final few days in the eighties, or maybe even above ninety degrees, while the merchants scream "back to school!" My wife and I frantically try to decide how we'll spend the Labor Day weekend -- camper or no camper ? Home or away?

Then the school buses return for their endless trips up and down our hill (the high school is just down the road), and we know it's over. Another summer is gone, the fleeting weekends already fading memories. We begin to watch TV shows again in the evening. We check our tires to make sure we have good "snow tread" left, and gas up the snow-blower. We park the camper in the side yard, and drain off the water lines. I think about writing an article for Helium titled, "Tips for storing your RV camper for the winter." There's that word again: winter. Where did the summer go?

copyright 2009 - all rights reserved
_______________________________________________

How about you? Do you have an opinion about camping and weather you'd like to share? If you'd like to submit your thoughts for posting, you can reach me via Comments or by using the link at the top of this page.

See my article about RV camping on Helium.com

"Deer Santa, Please spare me from camping and hunting"

by Grace Alexander guest columnist

[Editor's note - Grace is a full-time freelance author and editor.
This is her fourth installment, and is exclusive to Just Camping Out]

Oh, Deer Me….

All together, friends. "I hate camping!" I can't hear you! "I HATE -" OK, OK - whatever, I can see the only person joining in is the old lady in the corner with the church dress. Hey, when I get done ranting do you want to split a cab back to civilization?

It's December here in Texas, and that means camping and deer hunting to my hubby. He can't understand my aversion. It's not like he's asking me to get out of the tent at dawn and climb up into a deer stand where my toes and fingers go numb and fall off and I have to pee into a beer bottle. His point of view: I get to stay in the nice cozy tent. He can't see what my problem is.

My problem is that once he is done tramping in and out of the tent ten times looking for stuff he left in the truck, the tent is no longer either nice or cozy. Mud is tracked all over, the cold is flowing in, and he is no longer in said tent to warm it up with his insanely high body temperature (the sole saving grace of camping, and still not as good as a nice hotel with bed sheets and CH/A). Puhleeeze.

Photo: three deer elude hunters and campers by hiding in Jim's backyard

Sigh. See, I hate hunting, too. Don't get me wrong, I'm not a 'you're killing Baaaaambi, waahhhhhh' advocate. I could care less, especially if you plan to eat it. Just spare me the draaaaaaama. The intrigue. The sneaking through the bushes, freezing if a twig snaps and doing that little thingy where you point two fingers at your eyes, then jerk a thumb at two o'clock, like you're deep in enemy territory. C'mon. It's not like the deer are planning a sinister counterattack.

The whole deal about covering yourself with doe pee, baiting a clearing with corn and waiting in the screened hideaway with a high-power rifle and a sniper quality scope just strikes me as a little lame. Seriously. When did they take the 'sporting' out of sport?

I used to know this old guy from Colorado. You know all Texans think they are the world's greatest hunters, macho redneck he-men, right? This little scrappy guy was laughing, and told me how they hunt deer in the Rockies.

"You ride a fast pony" he said, "and you use a heavy pistol. You HUNT them, you don't lure them in and pick them off! What the heck is wrong with you people?!"

I had to spirit him out of earshot before some good ole Texas boys took offense… but I thought he had a point. Shhh! Don't tell hubby!

Copyright 2008, all rights reserved - Grace Alexander for Just Camping Out

Read Grace's Profile on Helium.com
_______________________________________________

Sorry, Grace, but I couldn't resist adding a shot of the deer that visited our backyard this past Thanksgiving. Seemed to fit your topic quite nicely. Here, hold my gun for a minute while I find the camera for another picture. -grin- ~Jim

Of Tents and Men

by Grace Alexander guest columnist

[Editor's note - Grace is a full-time freelance author and editor.
This is her third installment, and is exclusive to Just Camping Out]

Hi! Yeah, it's me… back with yet another reason that I (you guessed it) hate camping.

We can send a man to the moon. We build bread makers that mix, proof and bake at the touch of a button. We have computers so advanced they make even a techno cripple like myself look like I actually know what I am doing.

We can't, apparently, produce a tent that anyone short of an astrophysicist can assemble in less than four hours. We also, or so it would seem, are incapable of manufacturing a waterproof shelter.

It's not just the tent, really, when you get down to it. It's the idea that the man has to be the one to put up the tent. Unfortunately, tents come with instructions, and we all know what that means. Instructions are like maps, good for stuffing in the glove-box or using as kindling to start the fire.

These are barely intelligible, anyway; as if the originals were written by a (what else) astrophysicist, translated into Japanese for no discernable reason, then translated into Russian for greater ease of translating back into fourth grade English.

Photo: actual assembly instructions for a Columbia camping tent

The directions seem straightforward at first, such as 'put the end of pole A in the end of pole B' and 'thread pole C through pocket D.' Problem is, they invariably have sticky circles with the letters affixed to help you determine these slots and tabs, and the inspector who works in the miserable warehouse where they pack these miserable things invariably mis-stickies a few of the poles, causing more confusion.

This is the point at which the man becomes frustrated, and starts striking the ends of the poles with a hammer in order to force them to fit according to the little adhesive green circles stamped with letters of the alphabet. The woman must dig the charred remains of the instruction manual out of the fire and take the hammer away from the enraged male, giving him a beer and encouraging him to go take a load off.

Four hours later, the tent is assembled, and everything is moved inside just as it begins to rain. Everything placed in the tent to keep dry is promptly soaked, and the weight of the waterlogged material bends one of the flimsy aluminium tubes abruptly in the middle, collapsing said tent on top of its occupants.

From the wreckage the head of the household speaks - "I knew I should have done it myself! Women have no place putting up tents…."

Copyright 2008, all rights reserved - Grace Alexander for Just Camping Out

Read Grace's Profile on Helium.com
_______________________________________________

All I can say, honestly, is "I can relate - been there!" Good thing I have two smart kids who don't even need to read those instructions (see photo, above: it's real!) ~Jim

Debunking Blueberries for Sal (Of Bears and Camping)

by Grace Alexander guest columnist

[Editor's note - Grace is a full-time freelance author and editor.
Her new column is exclusive to Just Camping Out]

In case you don't remember me, I'm the one who hates camping. Today, I am listing another of my objections to this strange tradition. That would be bears. Unfortunately, when it comes to camping out, bears are the rats of the campground - pesky, fearless and eager to sneak the crumbs…only in this case, the crumbs can mean the entire contents of the garbage, the cooler, or possibly your tent.

Don't give me that Blueberries for Sal propaganda. Why would a bear be content with a few berries when it could feast on blueberry-fattened human? In my opinion, Blueberries for Sal should be on the banned books list as it can lull people into a false sense of security.

For those of you who haven't read the delightful but erroneous book by Robert McCloskey, the story line runs something like this - Sal and her mom go to pick blueberries on Blueberry Hill. They become separated and Sal ends up following Momma Bear, while Baby Bear trails along after Sal's mother.

They cheerfully tromp along eating blueberries all 'round, then parents and progeny reunite happily. THIS IS RIDICULOUS. I am afraid this book may have caused countless bear encounters to go horribly wrong.

I humbly present the HOW TO DEAL WITH BEARS WHEN CAMPING checklist, annotated by myself for clarity and reader usability. I have carefully researched the key points from several Game and Fish Department bear safety guides, combined them with my common sense as a mother, and sincerely hope this post will serve to undo some of the damage inflicted by Blueberries for Sal.

Hang food and garbage out of reach. Never intentionally feed wildlife. (OK, I don't think Sal's mother was intentionally feeding the baby bear, he was more like sneaking berries out of her pail and she thought it was Sal, but still….)

Store all food, toiletries and other scented items well away from sleeping areas and unavailable to bears. (The illustrations show Sal's mom all dressed up and what do you bet she had perfume on. And who wears a skirt hiking?)

Walk or jog in groups. Pay attention to your surroundings when hiking, jogging or bicycling. Supervise your children and keep them in sight. (Well there's the main problem right there. Obviously Sal's mom never read ANY bear safety literature - and living in Maine, too!)

If you are confronted by a bear don't run. Stay calm, continue facing it, and slowly back away. (OK, Sal's mom gets Kudos here. She did manage to stay reasonable calm - eerily calm in fact, considering it only should have taken a little logic to figure out that if she had the bear's cub, Momma Bear probably had hers…)

Try to make yourself look as big and imposing as possible; put young children on your shoulders. (This is an ACTUAL TIP from the Arizona Game Department - it goes on to say make as much noise as possible. I'm sure the screaming from the child about to be eaten first would do wonders to scare the bear away.)

Finally, my favorite 'bear encounter tip' of all time - Remember, you can't outrun a bear. However, if you can outrun the other guy, you should be OK. If you can use him as a springboard to get up into the tree, that's good too.

Hopefully these tips will serve to make people realize that a merry day picking blueberries with the bears JUST AIN'T GONNA HAPPEN.

Remember the bear guy? Swore up and down you just needed to try and UNDERSTAND the bears, and what happened to him? GOT ATE BY A BEAR. (What's worse, he took his girlfriend down with him. Now, that was just plain wrong.) I bet he read Blueberries for Sal as a kid.

Copyright 2008, all rights reserved - Grace Alexander for Just Camping Out

Read Grace's Profile on Helium.com
_______________________________________________

Personally, I love blueberries. On the other hand, bears scare me, though they are indeed adorable from a distance. I've never seen one near our local campgrounds, but you never know. Bears are sneaky. I'd better read the book, just to be safe. Maybe someday I can convince Grace that camping can be good fun. We'll leave the blueberries at home. ~Jim

But, honey, campgrounds don't have room service

by Grace Alexander guest columnist

[Editor's note - Grace is a full-time freelance author and editor.
Her new column is exclusive to Just Camping Out]

I hate camping. I am the only person in my family who hates camping, so it is a lonely existence. I've been told that I am unreasonable, a poor sport and a wet blanket, so I have decided to state my case.

You don't have AC or heat, depending on the season. You have a hard lumpy bed no matter how many rocks you chunk away from the sleeping bag portion of the tent, and someone invariably forgets their pillow, or dunks it in the creek while attempting to see if it will function as a flotation device, or inadvertently sets it on fire while trying to warm it up on the charcoal pit. Therefore as the mom I have to sacrifice my pillow and prop my neck on a rock. Which I have to re-fetch from where I chunked it two hours before. Which I have to explain to my husband why I am bringing said rock back INTO the tent, and wrapping it in a towel.

Also, I am in charge of cooking, which blows. I don't personally feel that hot dogs and marshmallows and beer four times a day qualifies as a meal, but the limitations of a charcoal fire in a pit are kind of severe. Plus I don't think a cooler filled with water that used to be ice is going to keep food cold enough to ward off horrible food borne diseases, so perishables are out. Hubby and the kids eat hot dogs, roast marshmallows and drink beer all day (OK, OK, the kids drink ROOT beer) and I nibble on crackers and drink as little as possible so I don't have to brave the bushes to pee.

I chase kids all day, lugging a assortment of first aid accoutrements, and sweating. At sundown I am exhausted, but of course the kids are on a sugar high due to the nineteen and a half s'mores they consumed and insist on running about in the dark screeching. By the time they fall asleep, I am too tired to even mind the rock pillow. Of course, this is when hubby starts snoring, since the outdoors gives him allergies. It is too hot or too cold, depending, and there are NOISES all around. Plus even if it is dead winter a lone mosquito survivor will find me and bite me multiple times. No one else will have even one bite. Ants also apparently found the missing half of s'more glued to the underside of my sleeping bag.

On the drive home, kids are overtired and cranky, and hubby is unbearably jolly. "Wasn't that a blast?" he asks. "And such a cheap way to vacation!!" I don't answer. I am adding up the receipts for gas, first aid supplies, the tire that blew out and two cases of beer and realizing I could have had a whole weekend in a Holiday Inn and eaten out three times a day. I'm talking the one with the INDOOR pool.

Copyright 2008, all rights reserved - Grace Alexander for Just Camping Out

Read Grace's Profile on Helium.com
_______________________________________________

I'm not sure I'd want to go camping with Grace and her family, but I do enjoy her writing immensely. I'm pleased and proud to host her new column here. Do you think there's any hope for her -- any chance we might win her over to the "I love camping" camp? ~Jim

Sometimes pedestrians DON'T have the right of way!

At least five people nearly died earlier this evening, because one driver decided to yield to pedestrians in a very dangerous way. You won't ever read about it in a newpaper because nothing horrible happened. My kids, however, can attest to my bad language under heavy stress.

Do you drive through controlled intersections at full speed? Luckily, I usually don't. Tonight's incident occurred on a busy four-lane highway under a standing green light. I doubt I was going faster than about 45 mph (in a 55 zone) at the time. In addition to the four through-lanes, this highway has two dedicated left turn lanes, one from each direction. That way, you can be out of the way while you wait for the all-clear.

The offending driver, coming at me (northbound) from the opposing left-turn lane, was trying to beat me through the intersection. I was going straight, headed southbound in the right-hand lane, with my two boys in the other seats. He stopped directly in my path, perpendicular to my 6,000-pound truck. Why? Because the driver realized, well after committing to this ill-advised turning attempt, that the crosswalk contained two pedestrians: appeared to be a dad and daughter walking their bikes. Pedestrians "always" have the right-of-way, goes the common wisdom. So he stopped to wait for the walkers. Stopped right there in front of my moving vehicle. Brilliant.

Keep reading...

Why are you still reading this?

What makes others read our blog ramblings? How can we attract and keep readers? A good friend sent me the link to a recent guest posting on Write to Done ("...articles on writing, twice weekly"). The author is Shilpan Patel of Success Soul, "whose meteoric rise in the blogging world has attracted much attention" [blog author].

Don't miss 7 Certain Ways to Crucify Your Content by Shilpan Patel. His words are short and direct, and his advice rings true.

BILLIONS RAISED FOR BIG OIL RELIEF FUND!

DATELINE 10/28/2005: ExxonMobil posts all-time record third-quarter revenue and earnings. (Source for all quoted statistics, IndyStar.com/Business/, Oct 28 ‘05). Corporate gross revenues and the resulting net profit for the world’s largest publicly-traded oil company set a new high for any single-quarter in industry history. Exxon is the first company to ever earn $100 billion in a fiscal quarter. The oil giant’s resulting profit from those sales, $9.92 billion, also marks a new line in the sand. While these numbers may not match the devastation wrought by hurricanes Katrina and Rita, they certainly provide ample fodder for conversation and consternation.

Millions of Americans, inspired by emotional news coverage of the Gulf Coast’s calamity, poured out their hearts and their hard-earned dollars to help aid enormous relief efforts there. More than one billion dollars has been donated by both private citizens and corporate boards, largely to the American Red Cross and the Salvation Army. Little kids and school groups held car washes and bake sales. Celebrities sang and entertained and answered phones on numerous televised specials. Rotaries and ministries organized major charity fund-raisers. Regular folks made small sacrifices in their daily routines to divert a few hours’ pay to Hurricane victims. People with deeper pockets wrote very large checks and sought minimal publicity for their largesse. The nationwide display of caring and generosity reassured us all: we are a country that takes care of its own. We answer the call, big time.

Meanwhile, Big Oil was raking in money faster than it could be counted, literally. Taking windfall revenues and profits from the same citizens who had already pitched in more than their fair share. Wildly escalating retail gasoline prices created high stress and market anxiety, sending ripples throughout the nation into every nook and cranny of our economy. Gas station operators and employees, ordered to raise retail prices as much as fifty cents per gallon each day, suffered the mid-directed wrath of frightened consumers. Small business owners desperately tried to figure out how to cope with uncontrollable fuel costs, knowing it would be nearly impossible to pass on such outrageous price increases to their equally-stressed customers. The entire U.S. economy see-sawed on the hard edge of panic. All the while, the oil conglomerates tallied-up the take.

After the two hurricanes had wreaked their havoc in no less than four states, in towns and cities big or small, thousands of people were left homeless and hundreds lost their lives. Power outages darkened whole regions, and unprecedented flooding saturated thousands of homes and businesses. Americans lost their homes, jobs, cars, pets, cherished possessions and priceless records. We watched heroic rescues and listened to heart-rending tales of trauma. Rich or poor, white or black or whatever race, young or old, single or married — no demographic escaped this tragedy, despite attempts by some in the news media to slant the story somehow. The rest of us, not directly affected by the storms, reached out with our hearts and our paychecks.

At the same time, consumers coast to coast poured billions into their gas tanks, without recourse. We still had to drive to work, to school and soccer practice, to the store or to Grandmother’s house. Deliveries still had to be made, busses and taxi services had to run, planes had to fly and trains had to keep their schedules. Factories burned fuel and made crude oil into the thousands of products we all need to live. Farmers tilled their fields and brought in their harvests. We do, after all, have a country to run.

The money had to be spent for the barrels of fuel we had to burn or consume. For the three short months following nature’s fury, the numbers posted by Big Oil boggle the mind. ExxonMobil gross sales grew more than 30%; profits soared 75%. Royal Dutch Shell, next in line, jumped 68% with $9 billion net for the quarter. BP banked $6.5 billion. ConocoPhillips (up 89%!) and Chevron (a 53% jump) each added more than $3.5 billion to the pot. The industry as a whole is on pace to earn nearly ONE HUNDRED BILLION DOLLARS for the fiscal year. That’s $100,000,000,000. It’s a number that won’t even fit in most spreadsheets. Furthermore, it’s a number most of us cannot even comprehend.

Let’s think about all these zeroes for a minute. Third quarter, 2005: oil profits totaling somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty billion bucks. Is that really so much money? Aren’t they entitled to a fair profit, just like anyone else in business? Yes, and yes. We live in a free-market economy, where money-in-your-pocket is the reward for taking risks and tying up capital. But, thirty billion dollars? My fifth-grader can do the math: that’s THIRTY times all the money raised by all the big hearts and open wallets in America for disaster relief. Profit. Bottom line. Net Income. That thirty billion is what’s left over after all expenses and write-offs. It’s an amount greater than the GNP of smaller countries like Zimbabwe or Cameroon. Yeah, that IS a lot of money.

What could you do with $30 billion? You could commission and deploy six brand new aircraft carriers, and pay the salaries of all six crews for a year. (No other country on Earth can do that.) You could build an entire city for 10,000 residents, from survey to streetlights. City Hall, firehouses, schools, hospitals, factories, malls and movie theaters, and even a couple of adult bookstores; houses for everyone. Cars for everyone. With money left over to pass around. You could pay out a $150 million Powerball Jackpot: two hundred weeks in a row! You could buy a new Chevy Silverado (much nicer than the one I own) for one million of your closest friends. You could buy-out Donald Trump, Mark Burnett (creator, "Survivor" etc.), and Martha Stewart, too. Or you could finance research into cures for cancer, AIDS, MD, MS, CF, and heart disease, and have enough left to run a national advertising campaign for The United Way for a year. You could send more than one and a half million kids to an Ivy League school for four years. (There isn’t room for that many.) You could give every single person in the United States a crispy new $100 bill, and still buy an aircraft carrier with the change.

OK, it’s a lot of money. It’s an insane amount of money. Even Donald Trump would be impressed. The rest of us should be outraged. We all gave to this cause, willingly or not. We gave until it hurt, and still kept giving. I gave today, and I’ll give again next week. So will you. If I was the Chairman of the Board of any one of these gargantuan oil firms I would feel shame at the level of greed I had fostered. I would give some of it back. I would vote to give most of it back. I’d build a few new refineries first, and give my employees raises (not just the bosses), pay out some dividends, bank some capital for the future, and then give the rest back to the country that donated so much. I’d help rebuild New Orleans, along with a hundred other devastated communities. I’d help a few thousand displaced, distressed storm victims rebuild their lives. I’d buy them some ice cream, and some blankets. I would do all that and more, long before Big Government stopped by with insincere indignation and demanded I pay some sort of stupid Windfall Profits Tax. Because one thing is true about thirty billion dollars: it’s just a drop in the bucket to the raging monster that collects our tax dollars. But for the rest of us, it’s enough to make a difference.

[Copyright 2005 all rights reserved, Jim Bessey -Spencerport, NY 10/29/2005]

ooooooh, I hate when that happens!

Mondays are reserved for crabbiness. Not officially or anything, but that seems to be a common thread. In order to properly celebrate this theme, tonite I've decided to post some plain old rants. Not the long rambling kind, but the familiar one-liner kind. Here goes.

You know what really drives me up a wall? Lemme tell ya. I hate when the light turns orange just when I've decided it's gonna stay green. Do I stop or do I go? Will I spill my coffee if I stop? I hate that. I hate when I'm trying to back into a parking space (extended cab pick-up, mirrors only) and somebody drives right up behind me. Whaddaya think the two bright white lights under my taillights are saying? No, I can't see you in my mirrors now, either! I hate it when I'm just walking across a parking lot, minding my own business, and someone hits their little blipper-thingy and makes their car beep at me. I always seem to get caught off-guard by that one. It's embarrassing.

Other stuff: Waitresses who refill my coffee, just when it was finally cool enough to drink and I had the cream and sugar just right. Speaking of restaurants (diners, anyway), how about when they don't add up your check for you? How'm I supposed to figure out the right tip? Why should I have to be the Math Guy? I think it's funny when I order breakfast ("scrambled eggs and wheat toast, please") and the waitress says, "Don't you want the homefries? They come with it." No they don't. The cook puts them there. I don't want them. You eat 'em.

What else drives me nuts? Oh, yeah, I know: people who say, "That drives me nuts!" Maybe you better see a doctor. Either you're nuts, or you're not. Nothings gonna drive you there. You probably are nuts, since you said that. Pop-up ads, spam email, blinking banners promising free computers. OK, those do drive me nuts. Or maybe I'm just imagining things. Mostly I just ignore useless crap like that. Keeps me sane.

Back to parking lots: how about when all the spots are painted just the right size for a Cooper Mini, and I'm driving the big truck? Or when there's sixteen handicap spots for one stinkin' store? You know people are cheating on those, big-time. How about this: those stop-signs in parking-lot crosswalks. Are you really supposed to stop...or not? Or do you only stop when there's a person in the way? Seems to be about fifty-fifty, judging from personal observations. Is there a speed limit in parking lots? Is it the same for all parking lots? Can you get a ticket for going fifteen in a "ten"? How come some stores make their employees park in the very farthest-away spots, waaaay over by the dumpsters? Wouldn't it be better for them to park nearby, like there was some serious business going on inside? Just wondering.

How about you? What drives you nuts? Gotta pet-peeve? What is a "peeve" anyway? Talk to me. (I hate it when people say that!) That's all I've got for tonight, which is a heck of a lot more than I had last Monday. Fair enough. (I know, I know: you hate when people say that!)

Sometimes pedestrians DON'T have the right of way!

At least five people nearly died earlier this evening, because one driver decided to yield to pedestrians in a very dangerous way. You won't ever read about it in a newpaper because nothing horrible happened. My kids, however, can attest to my bad language under heavy stress.

Do you drive through controlled intersections at full speed? Luckily, I usually don't. Tonight's incident occurred on a busy four-lane highway under a standing green light. I doubt I was going faster than about 45 mph (in a 55 zone) at the time. In addition to the four through-lanes, this highway has two dedicated left turn lanes, one from each direction. That way, you can be out of the way while you wait for the all-clear.

The offending driver, coming at me (northbound) from the opposing left-turn lane, was trying to beat me through the intersection. I was going straight, headed southbound in the right-hand lane, with my two boys in the other seats. He stopped directly in my path, perpendicular to my 6,000-pound truck. Why? Because the driver realized, well after committing to this ill-advised turning attempt, that the crosswalk contained two pedestrians: appeared to be a dad and daughter walking their bikes. Pedestrians "always" have the right-of-way, goes the common wisdom. So he stopped to wait for the walkers. Stopped right there in front of my moving vehicle. Brilliant.

I mashed the brake pedal and tried vainly to check my left mirror for the chance to veer away into the left lane, with my hand firmly on my Chevy's very loud horn. By the time our truck rocked to a shaky stop we could see the front seat passenger quite clearly, since he was only a dozen or so feet away from my massive front bumper. Was he scared, or at least relieved to have escaped an almost-certain death? Nope, he was holding up the backs of both hands to us, middle fingers extended, and yelling a phrase that begins with "F" at us through the closed window. Stupid us, huh?

When do you have the right of way while making a left turn? When you have a green arrow for that turn, and/or the oncoming lanes are completely clear. Oh, yeah -- you might want to check the paralleling crosswalk, too! When is it a good idea to stop at right angles in the path of a moving truck? ...I'm thinking...um, never? In this case both walkers had yet to reach the section of crosswalk that Mr. Turnfast needed to drive across. The coast was clear for him to proceed. But we were the ones in the wrong, apparently.

Here's the thing. If another driver, travelling behind me at full speed and not paying quite enough attention, had struck my back bumper, then you probably could read all about this incident in the newspaper. Chances are very good that both pedestrians, all three people in the stopped car, and the three of us in our truck would all have suffered injuries or death. What if I'd been even a tiny bit distracted? What if I'd been going 55 mph, like many drivers do? (Read the laws in your state: most require "speed prudent for conditions" in a traffic-lighted intersection.) What if I hadn't removed about 500 pounds of tools from the back of my pick-up before my boys and I headed out that night? (Trying to save gas.)

Prudence. That's a very good word and concept to keep in mind when you're driving. The turning driver had allowed about a two-second clearance between his vehicle and mine for his important left turn -- plenty of time (I suppose) if no one was in the crosswalk. "Look twice, live longer" might be another good idea. After all, cars (and trucks) don't kill -- bad drivers do. Thank God no one died this evening. Enough said.