The Grey Biker’s post about a camping trip I made with my son a few years back. I couldn’t remember if I had told this story before and can’t find it in my archives, so here it is.
As a child I was very active. I enjoyed being outside and particularly loved camping, and hiking and all sorts of outdoor activities. I was active in the Boy Scouts and even into my teen years full of drugs and partying, I would still go hiking. I was in pretty good shape and walked everywhere I went even into my early twenties. Hell, I never even bothered to get a driver’s license until I was 21. I rode the bus, rode the subway, and walked everywhere.
As I get older I remember this with a fondness that grows more as I get older. I probably didn’t have as much fun as I think I did. So a few years ago, I think Chris was probably eight or nine, we decided to go on a hiking trip up to Blood Mountain. It’s not too bad. If I remember correctly, it’s maybe three miles from the highway up to the top. We started out fairly early in the day. Since Chris was still pretty young, I ended up carrying most of the stuff. Fuck. It took most of the day to get there. I was wheezing and hacking the entire day and pissed off, and just wanted to get to the top to get it over with. Once I got there, we got camp set up, cooked dinner, and set up the tent. It was fucking cold and I had not brought enough blankets. We were both miserable as hell. I was never happier to get the fuck off that mountain.
It IS beautiful up there though. I love the mountains. Just have to remember that I don’t like hiking as much as I thought I did. Day hikes are OK, but packing in all that crap is just not for me anymore. I like my comforts and conveniences too much.