The gods are toying with us
Hello World,
Well, here it is, almost the end of July, and it would be fruitless to complain about the horrible weather we're having around here. In fact, even if it was full of fruit, it would still do no good to complain about the weather, which seems immune not only to complaints, but threats, flattery, cajoling and even nursery rhymes. And if weather was a popularity contest, this week wouldn't even make it out of the dressing room before people pushed it down a flight of stairs, and not a jury in the world would convict them. Meanwhile, I came back from vacation to find that James Doohan, who played Scotty on "Star Trek," had finally been "beamed up" to that Great Space Station in the Sky at the ripe old age of 85. I said to Bill that now we'll never get any dilithium crystals, which like so many other things of the storied past, would be completely lost on people nowadays. In fact, one of my co-workers walked into my office today whistling "Mademoiselle from Armentieres" and I was thinking that there's a tune that really separates the men from the boys, as it were, and then some.
It really is true that I'm back home safe and sound from Vacation Land, and all in one piece, not to mention, none the worse for wear and all that besides. The whole adventure got off to an inauspicious start, when we packed up both cars and left the house with Bill trailing behind me, only to find that one of the Tempo's tail lights was out, in spite of the fact that it was just at the mechanic's two days earlier. We drove over there, but they were closed, and Bill had to scrounge around for a replacement light before we could get underway. I was glad it wasn't something more serious in the trunk area, which might have necessitated moving the 250 pounds of firewood already in there. We hit the highway later than we intended to, but it was all smooth sailing after that. In fact, this is the first time I can ever remember driving to Wildwood on the Long Island Expressway, and finding no road construction at any point along the way. I should have realized right then that the camping gods were only toying with us.
I had reserved two campsites, mine and the one behind it, so that we could bring both cars into the campground, and have no one crowding into my site where I wanted to put the tent up. That section of C only has three campsites, with a road on one side, and a hill on the other, so I thought there would be a good chance that I would have the whole corner to myself with both campsites. The camping gods thought otherwise, and installed a clump of rowdy hooligans in the other site, so that part of the arrangement was less than ideal. Luckily they didn't stay the whole week, although I can't say for certain that my midnight sacrifices to the camping gods had anything to do with that or not.
After we set up the tent, rain fly, clothesline and tiny spare tent for the extra campsite, we headed for the beach. The weather on Saturday was beautiful and tailor-made for spending the day at the beach, although we found the water somewhat murky and choppy, following some bad weather on Friday. But we still had a good time, and splashed around in the waves, which is something that you very rarely get to do at Wildwood, so we took advantage of it. We had a late lunch at the concession stand, and around 5:30, we headed back to the campsite, so we could drop off our wet things and drive to the motel where we were staying overnight. We had stayed there last year, and felt that we had a pretty good idea of how to find it, so we set off in wide-eyed innocence, and never noticing those ominous storm clouds gathering on the horizon of this scenario. Here, the camping gods must have been toying with us again, because what happened instead of us getting to our motel, was that we drove smack dab into the teeth of the 7th Annual Riverhead Blues Festival, and for which they coincidentally close all the roads around our motel. We ended up buying a map at a local gas station, and driving completely around Riverhead to come at our street from the other side, and it still took us 2 hours to get to our motel. We felt better after we checked in and showered, but we realized that we not only couldn't drive anywhere for dinner (the festival lasts for 3 days and goes until midnight) but we also couldn't order anything to be delivered to us, because there was no way to reach the motel by car. We decided against taking our chances with festival food al fresco, and instead walked past the event and found a small Italian bistro, where we had a nice meal in spite of the camping gods conspiring against us.
We checked out on Sunday before the festival started up again, and found the town blissfully deserted compared to the night before. We had another nice day at the beach, and the water was a little less choppy. Eventually, Bill had to head for home, so we packed up and sent him on his way. This gave me a chance to finish setting up my cot, shelves, fire bucket and lanterns, not to mention unpacking all of my firewood. After all that, I really needed a shower, although it's usually so crowded on Sundays that getting into the showers there is close to impossible. I decided to go anyway, and just wait on line, and you can't imagine my surprise when I found I was not only the only person in the showers at that time, but the only person in the bathrooms completely. I honestly don't think I've ever been the only person in the bathrooms at any time, in the entire time I've been going there. It was the strangest thing.
I find the park is usually crowded on Saturdays and Sundays, and starts to thin out somewhat on Mondays and Tuesdays, then filling up again around Thursday. This year, it was already pretty empty on Sunday, and stayed that way all week until Friday. Considering that the weather was very good, I would have expected more people. Even the rowdy hooligans next to me left on Tuesday, and I found myself whistling if I walked anywhere after dark, because that whole side of the park was deserted except for me and the raccoons. I don't know that my whistling had the effect of keeping them at bay, although I did notice one crouching behind a tree with his paws over his ears and whimpering. You know I always say that camping is not for the faint-hearted.
I don't know what happened the week of July 4th, but one of the first things I noticed on Saturday was that there were no chipmunks anywhere in sight, or hearing, for that matter. Historically, Wildwood has always been alive with the spectacle of scurrying chipmunks, and the playful sounds of their chirps and squawks all through the campground. It was peculiar not to see any when we got there, but it was positively eerie not to hear any, because they're such a common commodity out there. I didn't actually set eyes on one until Tuesday in the picnic area, and I didn't have one in my campsite until Thursday. I had to really step lively to engage in that age-old camping tradition of bad chipmunk pictures, because my vacation was practically over before they finally showed up to be photographed.
I was lucky to have great weather all week, and after Bill left on Sunday, the water became beautifully clear and calm, it was so delightful. Another plus was the nearest vending machine worked all week, so I could get a cold drink in the morning, unlike previous years when I've had to walk all the way around Robin Hood's barn to find a working vending machine in the morning. I don't mind saying that I didn't think much of that idea, and I don't doubt that Robin Hood, probably even less. This year's movie was "Shrek," which is a far cry from "Dunstan Checks In," that played for three years in a row the week that I was camping. Maybe I should have tried sacrifices to the camping gods sooner.
Fifty years ago, the showers at Wildwood were a real test of endurance. They were in drafty wooden cubicles, and you would pull on a chain for the water, which was so cold that it would come out of the showerhead in tiny slivers. You can believe me when I say that people didn't just take showers for the heck of it back then, you had to really want to take a shower. When Bill and I started camping there twenty years ago, and found they had put warm water in the showers instead, I thought it was the end of the world as we know it. But you still had to pull on a chain, which people would tie to the door with string in order to keep the water running without holding the chain, with the usual result that it would break both the shower chain and pull the door off its hinges. My shower bag contained a variety of sticks, stakes, hooks and clamps to overcome whatever damage the other campers had done to the shower doors, so I could keep the door closed and hang my bag up off the floor. This year was one of the worst in the main bathroom, with only one out of four showers fully functional, so even if only one other person was already there, you had to wait on line. One day, I happened to be in the area of the other bathroom, which is not actually far away, but is not so centrally located. I decided to check out their showers, figuring my odds would be better if there was more than one of the four showers working. You could have knocked me right over when I saw that they had replaced all of their showers with what looked like "bathing suites," including a changing area (with a bench!) and actual shower curtains, plus gleaming melamine seamless surrounds with non-slip surfaces and decorative tile floors. Contrast this with the gross painted cement and ratty broken doors of the main bathroom, and you just can't believe it. The most amazing part was that they actually had real "motel-type" shower controls, where you turn the knob for hot or cold water, and it just stays on until you turn it off. You know I simply had to stand there and stare at them, and then I said to myself, "I've died and gone to Heaven." What makes no sense is that this other bathroom is probably within 500 feet of the main bathroom, where people are standing on line and fighting over one smelly rotten shower with a chain and broken door, while all four of these luxurious showers are there for the taking. I can tell you that it certainly improved the rest of my week after I discovered them. Maybe camping is for the faint-hearted, after all.
For the most part, the week was quiet and blissfully uneventful. Well, except for that time on Tuesday when I came back from the beach and found the rowdy hooligans next to me had checked out and left a lively campfire burning on the ground at the base of a tree, that I could feel the heat of from four feet away. I ran all the way to the registration building to report it, and they sent the helpful young men in the maintenance truck to take care of it before we all burned up. Then there were the youngsters at the beach who convinced themselves that they had spotted a whale, which would certainly be a first for Wildwood Beach. However, Bill who has the eyes of a hawk, said it appeared to be nothing more than a rock or sandbar that is only visible at low tide.
After such a quiet week, all heck broke loose on Friday night, and the woods were filled with the sounds of carousing campers from every part of the park. I figured they would be going like that all night, except at 10:30, they sent around the Park Police to tell people to pack it in, pipe down, or ship out. That worked better than expected, and little by little, the noise level dropped to a manageable volume so us old tired folks could get some sleep. They even told the Korean church group up the hill, who brought their own guitar and were singing gospel tunes around the campfire, that they had to hush up or get lost. I thought that was stone cold, but nothing was getting past the noise patrol. Saturday seemed nice enough when I got up and started to pack, and was glad when Bill showed up to help so we could check out on time. We drove down to the picnic area and walked to the beach for one more day in the sand and sun, but it was not to be. It started raining fitfully at first, but then pretty steadily, and we finally gave up and drove home. I was glad to get home after a week away, although the cats all looked at me as if they had no idea who I was, and didn't want to know. I've been unpacking ever since, and don't even ask me about dirty laundry. If I thought that sacrifices to the camping gods would have any way of taking care on that, it would certainly change my whole vacation experience, and that's putting it mildly!
Well, here it is, almost the end of July, and it would be fruitless to complain about the horrible weather we're having around here. In fact, even if it was full of fruit, it would still do no good to complain about the weather, which seems immune not only to complaints, but threats, flattery, cajoling and even nursery rhymes. And if weather was a popularity contest, this week wouldn't even make it out of the dressing room before people pushed it down a flight of stairs, and not a jury in the world would convict them. Meanwhile, I came back from vacation to find that James Doohan, who played Scotty on "Star Trek," had finally been "beamed up" to that Great Space Station in the Sky at the ripe old age of 85. I said to Bill that now we'll never get any dilithium crystals, which like so many other things of the storied past, would be completely lost on people nowadays. In fact, one of my co-workers walked into my office today whistling "Mademoiselle from Armentieres" and I was thinking that there's a tune that really separates the men from the boys, as it were, and then some.
It really is true that I'm back home safe and sound from Vacation Land, and all in one piece, not to mention, none the worse for wear and all that besides. The whole adventure got off to an inauspicious start, when we packed up both cars and left the house with Bill trailing behind me, only to find that one of the Tempo's tail lights was out, in spite of the fact that it was just at the mechanic's two days earlier. We drove over there, but they were closed, and Bill had to scrounge around for a replacement light before we could get underway. I was glad it wasn't something more serious in the trunk area, which might have necessitated moving the 250 pounds of firewood already in there. We hit the highway later than we intended to, but it was all smooth sailing after that. In fact, this is the first time I can ever remember driving to Wildwood on the Long Island Expressway, and finding no road construction at any point along the way. I should have realized right then that the camping gods were only toying with us.
I had reserved two campsites, mine and the one behind it, so that we could bring both cars into the campground, and have no one crowding into my site where I wanted to put the tent up. That section of C only has three campsites, with a road on one side, and a hill on the other, so I thought there would be a good chance that I would have the whole corner to myself with both campsites. The camping gods thought otherwise, and installed a clump of rowdy hooligans in the other site, so that part of the arrangement was less than ideal. Luckily they didn't stay the whole week, although I can't say for certain that my midnight sacrifices to the camping gods had anything to do with that or not.
After we set up the tent, rain fly, clothesline and tiny spare tent for the extra campsite, we headed for the beach. The weather on Saturday was beautiful and tailor-made for spending the day at the beach, although we found the water somewhat murky and choppy, following some bad weather on Friday. But we still had a good time, and splashed around in the waves, which is something that you very rarely get to do at Wildwood, so we took advantage of it. We had a late lunch at the concession stand, and around 5:30, we headed back to the campsite, so we could drop off our wet things and drive to the motel where we were staying overnight. We had stayed there last year, and felt that we had a pretty good idea of how to find it, so we set off in wide-eyed innocence, and never noticing those ominous storm clouds gathering on the horizon of this scenario. Here, the camping gods must have been toying with us again, because what happened instead of us getting to our motel, was that we drove smack dab into the teeth of the 7th Annual Riverhead Blues Festival, and for which they coincidentally close all the roads around our motel. We ended up buying a map at a local gas station, and driving completely around Riverhead to come at our street from the other side, and it still took us 2 hours to get to our motel. We felt better after we checked in and showered, but we realized that we not only couldn't drive anywhere for dinner (the festival lasts for 3 days and goes until midnight) but we also couldn't order anything to be delivered to us, because there was no way to reach the motel by car. We decided against taking our chances with festival food al fresco, and instead walked past the event and found a small Italian bistro, where we had a nice meal in spite of the camping gods conspiring against us.
We checked out on Sunday before the festival started up again, and found the town blissfully deserted compared to the night before. We had another nice day at the beach, and the water was a little less choppy. Eventually, Bill had to head for home, so we packed up and sent him on his way. This gave me a chance to finish setting up my cot, shelves, fire bucket and lanterns, not to mention unpacking all of my firewood. After all that, I really needed a shower, although it's usually so crowded on Sundays that getting into the showers there is close to impossible. I decided to go anyway, and just wait on line, and you can't imagine my surprise when I found I was not only the only person in the showers at that time, but the only person in the bathrooms completely. I honestly don't think I've ever been the only person in the bathrooms at any time, in the entire time I've been going there. It was the strangest thing.
I find the park is usually crowded on Saturdays and Sundays, and starts to thin out somewhat on Mondays and Tuesdays, then filling up again around Thursday. This year, it was already pretty empty on Sunday, and stayed that way all week until Friday. Considering that the weather was very good, I would have expected more people. Even the rowdy hooligans next to me left on Tuesday, and I found myself whistling if I walked anywhere after dark, because that whole side of the park was deserted except for me and the raccoons. I don't know that my whistling had the effect of keeping them at bay, although I did notice one crouching behind a tree with his paws over his ears and whimpering. You know I always say that camping is not for the faint-hearted.
I don't know what happened the week of July 4th, but one of the first things I noticed on Saturday was that there were no chipmunks anywhere in sight, or hearing, for that matter. Historically, Wildwood has always been alive with the spectacle of scurrying chipmunks, and the playful sounds of their chirps and squawks all through the campground. It was peculiar not to see any when we got there, but it was positively eerie not to hear any, because they're such a common commodity out there. I didn't actually set eyes on one until Tuesday in the picnic area, and I didn't have one in my campsite until Thursday. I had to really step lively to engage in that age-old camping tradition of bad chipmunk pictures, because my vacation was practically over before they finally showed up to be photographed.
I was lucky to have great weather all week, and after Bill left on Sunday, the water became beautifully clear and calm, it was so delightful. Another plus was the nearest vending machine worked all week, so I could get a cold drink in the morning, unlike previous years when I've had to walk all the way around Robin Hood's barn to find a working vending machine in the morning. I don't mind saying that I didn't think much of that idea, and I don't doubt that Robin Hood, probably even less. This year's movie was "Shrek," which is a far cry from "Dunstan Checks In," that played for three years in a row the week that I was camping. Maybe I should have tried sacrifices to the camping gods sooner.
Fifty years ago, the showers at Wildwood were a real test of endurance. They were in drafty wooden cubicles, and you would pull on a chain for the water, which was so cold that it would come out of the showerhead in tiny slivers. You can believe me when I say that people didn't just take showers for the heck of it back then, you had to really want to take a shower. When Bill and I started camping there twenty years ago, and found they had put warm water in the showers instead, I thought it was the end of the world as we know it. But you still had to pull on a chain, which people would tie to the door with string in order to keep the water running without holding the chain, with the usual result that it would break both the shower chain and pull the door off its hinges. My shower bag contained a variety of sticks, stakes, hooks and clamps to overcome whatever damage the other campers had done to the shower doors, so I could keep the door closed and hang my bag up off the floor. This year was one of the worst in the main bathroom, with only one out of four showers fully functional, so even if only one other person was already there, you had to wait on line. One day, I happened to be in the area of the other bathroom, which is not actually far away, but is not so centrally located. I decided to check out their showers, figuring my odds would be better if there was more than one of the four showers working. You could have knocked me right over when I saw that they had replaced all of their showers with what looked like "bathing suites," including a changing area (with a bench!) and actual shower curtains, plus gleaming melamine seamless surrounds with non-slip surfaces and decorative tile floors. Contrast this with the gross painted cement and ratty broken doors of the main bathroom, and you just can't believe it. The most amazing part was that they actually had real "motel-type" shower controls, where you turn the knob for hot or cold water, and it just stays on until you turn it off. You know I simply had to stand there and stare at them, and then I said to myself, "I've died and gone to Heaven." What makes no sense is that this other bathroom is probably within 500 feet of the main bathroom, where people are standing on line and fighting over one smelly rotten shower with a chain and broken door, while all four of these luxurious showers are there for the taking. I can tell you that it certainly improved the rest of my week after I discovered them. Maybe camping is for the faint-hearted, after all.
For the most part, the week was quiet and blissfully uneventful. Well, except for that time on Tuesday when I came back from the beach and found the rowdy hooligans next to me had checked out and left a lively campfire burning on the ground at the base of a tree, that I could feel the heat of from four feet away. I ran all the way to the registration building to report it, and they sent the helpful young men in the maintenance truck to take care of it before we all burned up. Then there were the youngsters at the beach who convinced themselves that they had spotted a whale, which would certainly be a first for Wildwood Beach. However, Bill who has the eyes of a hawk, said it appeared to be nothing more than a rock or sandbar that is only visible at low tide.
After such a quiet week, all heck broke loose on Friday night, and the woods were filled with the sounds of carousing campers from every part of the park. I figured they would be going like that all night, except at 10:30, they sent around the Park Police to tell people to pack it in, pipe down, or ship out. That worked better than expected, and little by little, the noise level dropped to a manageable volume so us old tired folks could get some sleep. They even told the Korean church group up the hill, who brought their own guitar and were singing gospel tunes around the campfire, that they had to hush up or get lost. I thought that was stone cold, but nothing was getting past the noise patrol. Saturday seemed nice enough when I got up and started to pack, and was glad when Bill showed up to help so we could check out on time. We drove down to the picnic area and walked to the beach for one more day in the sand and sun, but it was not to be. It started raining fitfully at first, but then pretty steadily, and we finally gave up and drove home. I was glad to get home after a week away, although the cats all looked at me as if they had no idea who I was, and didn't want to know. I've been unpacking ever since, and don't even ask me about dirty laundry. If I thought that sacrifices to the camping gods would have any way of taking care on that, it would certainly change my whole vacation experience, and that's putting it mildly!
posted by El Tango Fandango @ 7:51 PM
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