Aug 142012
 

(Shhh … it’s misspelled on purpose—you’ll see later.)

So this past weekend was family time—we got together with my wife’s siblings, their spouses and children at a campground up in Massachusetts.

As much as I love hanging out with my brothers- and sisters-in-law (and my four nephews—can’t anyone in this family pop out a chick?), when I saw the hot, humid and stormy weather forecast, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to the weekend. If there’s any activity that is made remarkably “not fun,” by rain, it’s camping.

We got a reprieve Friday night when, after seeing stormy weather in the forecast, we decided to stay at my sister-in-law’s house rather than go directly to the campground (only about an hour away). My sister- and brother-in-law decided to stay at the campground because they have one of the pop-up campers that also has a stove, a fridge, a shower, a toilet, running water and air conditioning. (Apparently, it’s called “glamping,” although with the humidity, my wife said it was more like “damping.”) We just have a tent and sleeping bags—old school, baby! Still, not ideal when facing potential downpours, so we chose a more comfort-friendly option, a.k.a. “wussed out.”

Anyway, we got to the campground on Saturday, and it was a little different than I expected. [*hikes up pants, goes out on front lawn, shakes fists at clouds*] When I was a kid and my parents took us camping, most people used tents and there was usually a good deal of woods involved; you might even see a woodland creature or two. This “campground” was more like, as one of my sister-in-law’s described it, a “shanty town.” The sites were not clearly marked and on top of each other, and in almost every single one, there was some sort of oversized RV—with TVs, full stoves, running water, etc. As for woodsy creatures, there were a few mosquitoes, and that’s about it. It was closer to trailer park than state park.

Still, there were certainly a lot of things to like. The bathrooms, rather than the festering spider-infested holes of my youth, were sparkling affairs that I’m pretty sure were cleaned three times a day. There was a video arcade, a mini golf course, a pool with a splashpad and even WiFi. I guess maybe it’s fairer to classify it as more of a resort than a true campground.

Ultimately, it didn’t matter all that much—we were there to be with our family, and there was plenty of that despite the humid and occasionally rainy conditions. We eventually pitched our tents and got to the business of “camping,” which is pretty much loitering in the woods as I see it. The kids played and went swimming, the adults hung out and ate, and everyone was pretty well entertained.

Of course, I was put in charge of making fire, which even though it was 85 degrees and humid, was something WE ABSOLUTELY NEEDED TO HAVE … uh, you know, for the kids … uh … so that they could make s’mores. Yeah, that’s the ticket. Not because I need to burn stuff. No.

For the record, I did restrain myself—it was pretty hot, and we truly didn’t *need* a conflagration (although I could’ve whipped one up in about 37 seconds, if anyone had asked!), so I focused on making a quality fire. It turned out well—for me, the best part of any trip is sitting around the fire after dark, watching the glowing embers, talking and just enjoying each other’s company. A campfire (when properly contained) is still a communal experience.

So despite my misgivings—and an humid night in a tent (ugh!) followed by a Sunday morning of torrential downpours as we were trying to pack up—I wound up having a good (if damp) time overall, which I now appreciate after sleeping in my own bed, which didn’t slosh when I rolled over.

I have to say that one of my favorite parts was on Saturday, watching my younger son fish. He’s been asking to go for a while—I’ve never been much a fisherman, so I’ve never really taken him, and certainly at no point in the last few years. I think my father-in-law has taken him maybe once, and once he was at a camp where they did it one afternoon.

As a kid, my dad took me a handful of times, and once I got older, there were three or four occasions that I went with Senior Smoke, who is a three-time Connecticut bass-fishing champion. Most times, I was occupied untangling lines and staring at bobbers and lures that no fish would touch.

So as my son has asked, I’ve always sort of thrown the “Oh yeah, some day” response at him. But since my brother-in-law is an excellent fisherman (who knows what he’s doing and can actually bait hooks and the like), this was the perfect opportunity, and we took advantage.

Being the supportive dad that I am, as we ambled over to the lake, I set the bar low. “Now, I don’t know how many fish are going to be around, but at least you’re getting a chance to finally fish,” I say. He simply nods because, as it turns out, he’s a freaking fishing natural!

I always say that I believe that everyone has one special talent that they may or may not ever know about. For example, I may be the greatest bobsledder of all time, but I’ve never been on a bobsled, so who knows? To me, the lucky ones in life are those who somehow discover that special skill and get to enjoy it. Evidently, for my son, it’s angling.

It was remarkable—as I said, I’ve never really shown him how to, but he just knew how to do it—on his first cast, he reeled in a fish! “Okay, begginer’s luck,” I thought. Except he kept reeling in fish after fish after fish!

I don’t know how, but he was just flicking out casts and *really* into it. At one point, he threw his line about three feet from the shore and almost into some bushes. “What happened there?” I laughed. “Miss cast?”

“I saw some movement,” he said quietly, and then bang! A second later was reeling in another! He was like the fish whisperer or Fish Fishburne or Orlando Wilson. (Okay, here’s the scary part—I didn’t need to google either of those guys, I already know who they are. Why would I know that?! How?! I’ve never fished more than six times in my life! Why would I—or anyone—know that off the top of their heads? But yet I can’t help out with the cure for cancer?! Help me … please.) He kept just tossing his line to the spots that he thought fish might be, and he kept catching them. It was uncanny, really.

I guess I shouldn’t be too surprised—fishing matches up well with his skill set as he’s patient and enjoys activities that involve figuring out strategies.

Anyway, in about an hour, he reeled in about a dozen fish, and would’ve landed more if I hadn’t wasted so much time in unhooking them because I don’t like touching them. (*See aforementioned wussy admission*) It was crazy. His cousins were also catching fish—maybe the pond was stocked?—but just the way he went about it was what really made such an impression on me. For a kid who has struggled with his confidence, it was awesome to see him so calmly competent at something.

As we finished, he smiled big and said, “Wow, they were really biting today.”

And despite how comfortable I would’ve been if we hadn’t gone “damping” this weekend, we were there to make memories like this.

Of course, the one good image is of the smallest fish he caught. Really. I’m not just telling fish tails!

 

May 282012
 

Okay, this one is mostly my wife’s fault.

Back in the spring of 2010 as she was just getting into running as an activity, Sue got it in her mind that she wanted to participate in an event entitled The Warrior Dash.

For those who are not familiar—

Yeah, great idea, right? A 5K run for “warriors” that includes obstacles such as climbing walls, crawling through mud under barbed wire and jumping over fire, all for the glory of saying you. are. a. warrior! Oh, and you get a fuzzy viking hat, a beer and a barbecued turkey drumstick, too.

Personally, this was enough “warrior” for my life, but any of you who know Sue also know that wouldn’t be enough for her. So she decided to sign up for the race, and quickly convinced a few of our other younger friends to join her. My initial reaction was that at that point of my life—just about to turn 45 and more than happy to call myself “retired” from true athletic endeavors (golf doesn’t count)—the last thing I needed was to take up running so I could claw my way through mud for a lousy T-shirt and overrated “glory.”

But as I contemplated the situation, I quickly realized that the thought of my wife doing this and me sitting on the sidelines cheering her on did not quite jibe with my faulty self-image of being a “man.” Besides, the event was on the weekend of our wedding anniversary in September, plus there would be turkey drumsticks and fire, sweet fire, involved. I might even get into “shape” in the training process. What the hell—I was in!

When I told a few friends that I was going to just do it, it was met with a universal response: “You’re going to die, old man!” And that’s actually not a paraphrase, as one friend literally said that [*cough cough* Joopiter *cough*]; others snickered in agreement. As a result, there was much laughter and jocularity over the idea of me competing in this event.

Clearly, it was hard then (as I guess it is now) to believe that I used to be quasi-athletic. In addition to being the John F. Kennedy Class of 1979 long jump champ (you may have heard about this somewhere), I played baseball and football (unorganized) for years, and ran track in high school. I was never the best athlete, but I certainly wasn’t a salt-sucking slug by any means.

Still, the jokes and taunts struck that competitive nerve. Because I’m generally a petty, vain and self-absorbed jerk, I vowed that not only was I going to run that event, I was going to shock the world—and my naysaying friends! I swore my wife to silence and immediately began to train in secret for the big day.

Of course, I hadn’t run more than 10 to 15 yards since 1980-something, so it took me a while to get my old running legs back under me. I started jogging in late April and by June, was running in 5Ks around the area. I wasn’t exactly knocking out 5-minute miles, but by August, I was completing the 3.2-mile races in under 25 minutes, a respectable time I thought.

I was running a few days a week, the mental image of my friends’ laughing faces fueling my efforts: “Gonna die, eh? You’re all gonna die of embarrassment when I blow past you punks!” The subject of the dash would come up from time to time, and like the decent poker player that I am, I just sort of laughed it off. I never said that I wasn’t training, I just never confirmed that I was doing it, either. No one ever really pressed, being more content to chuckle about the prospect of my impending demise.

In August while on my way to New York Jets training camp in Cortland, New York, I stopped by Windham Mountain Ski Resort in upstate New York, which was to be the site of the Warrior Dash. I started talking to some of the guys working there and they showed me the course they had laid out, which was straight up the fracking mountain!

I warned my wife and trained even harder, repeatedly trudging up the large half-mile hill that leads to our house. I ran countless laps at the old gravel track near our house, and by the time race day rolled around, I was probably in the better shape at 45 than I had been at 25. I was ready.

We got to the Warrior Dash well ahead of our wave (the event is constantly running groups throughout the day) and went to the viewing area near the finish line. From there we could see a steady stream of racers—some stumbling and bumbling, others bloodied and bruised—coming down through the final stages of the race, which included sliding down a water flume of sorts, hurtling over fire, diving into mud and crawling under barbed wire to the finish line. We all sort of looked around at each other like, “Okay, why did we think this was a good idea again?” But it was too late. It was go time!

Sneakers tied and game faces on, we wandered over to the starting corral. A few of us were in one wave while a few others would be running the next day. We all made a few jokes while warming up, and of course, there were a few more laughs at my chances of survival. They all figured we’d finish more or less according to age, with the old man—me—bringing up the rear.

Unable to contain myself any longer, I finally turned to everyone and blurted out, “Hey, listen. I’ve actually been training secretly for months, running 5Ks all summer long!”

They all paused for a long second before my buddy Ian smiled and nodded. “Sure you have, Ray. Sure you have.” Everyone burst out laughing, and then the non-runners went over to the finish line to identify my corpse when it came rolling down the hill.

I was about to laugh best, I told myself. I nodded to Sue, who shot me a knowing smile. “See you at the finish, good luck!” she whispered. The starting gun sounded and the race was on!

I won’t bore you with all the details of the run, but it was as I expected, with literally the first 1.5 miles going straight up the fracking mountain! I got out ahead of my friends and kept going as hard for as long as I could, sure they were on my heels and ready to pass me any second. I slogged through the chest-deep water, clambered over obstacles and ran through the woods like Rudy the Rabbit (with longer shorts). I was almost completely out of gas at the summit, but after all the training, I was not going to let anyone catch me. I pushed myself as hard as I could on the way back down, and as I got closer to the bottom, I started hearing the crowd below—an extra adrenaline boost. I was going to do it!

My brother-in-law Greg, who is 15 years younger than me and in terrific shape (and who had never made any sort of age-related joke at my expense), suddenly appeared at my side, not nearly as winded as I was. “Hey! Mind if I run with you a bit?” he said. I nodded and managed to stay with him until I stepped in mud and one of my sneakers go sucked completely off my foot.

Damn! Not now, not so close to the finish!

I scrambled to get it back on quickly and tie it, but Greg had managed to get 20 yards ahead of me. I chased him as best I could, but we were suddenly at the water flume. There was a line of people waiting to go and he was about seven in front of me. I could see by the intervals they were letting people go down the flume that unless he caught fire jumping over the flaming logs, there was no way I was going to be able to pass him before the finish line. I was a little disappointed, but quickly realizing coming in a few seconds behind a good guy in great shape who was two-thirds my age wasn’t too shabby.

Besides, what was to happen next made it worth while.

I slid down the flume, got to my soggy feet and squished down the hill to the flaming logs. As I was approaching the obstacle, I saw my friend Greg (who was going to run the next day) in the crowd. We momentarily locked eyes and he suddenly realized it was me coming down the hill—very much alive and well ahead of everyone else but my brother-in-law.

“RAY??!!!!” he exclaimed.

That’s right motherfrackers!!!!

Adrenaline shot through me as I leapt over the flaming logs and I floated in the air for what felt like 5 seconds—enough time to point to the official photographer and give him the double finger guns and wink. (Sadly, I didn’t realize my race bib had been torn, so they couldn’t scan my number properly in the photo and assign it to my account. Dang!) I sprinted down the hill, tried a swan dive into the mud bog and trundled through to the far side, emerging triumphantly. I trotted across the finish line in a sweet victory, as my friends were all stunned that I had finished the race so fast—at least 10 minutes in front of my wife and disbelieving friend Ian.

I had truly shocked them all—vengeance is obviously a dish best served muddy.

Chalk one up for the old man!

Anyway, despite having proven my mettle, I am once again training for The Warrior Dash—this time at a different (hopefully mountainless) course in Connecticut. I’m not going to shock anyone in a few weeks when I run, but that glorious moment from the first one will certainly be fueling my finish again.

 

May 072012
 

So this weekend, my son went camping with his scout troop. On Sunday, I volunteered for transport duty, so I had to drive up to Goshen to retrieve him and a few of his fellow campers.

During the ride up, I made sure to enjoy the peace and quiet because experience has taught me that there’s not a much more chaotic environment than a car full of tween boys jacked up on pixie stix. I arrived at the camp, found where my son’s troop was and proceeded to load my car full of damp gear and three rumpled scouts. Bracing myself, I started the car for …

… the quietest. ride. home. ever!

Seriously, two of them fell asleep after about 15 minutes while the third stared out the window in some sort of catatonic state. At first I wondered if everything was all right, but then, in the silence, I drifted back to my days of camping trips and remembered: Nothing was more exhausting than an active weekend that included, if I was lucky, about 8 total hours of sleep split between the two nights.

Yeah, we were go go go back in the day, and we were even more exhausted after a full week at Camp Sequassen. I wasn’t very good at earning merit badges, but I was always a full participant in other activities, from boy scout-sanctioned activities like hiking, archery, shooting (with real guns!) and using my knife to cut and whittle stuff, to less official activities such as burning stuff, smashing stuff, burning stuff and using my knife to play slightly less dangerous variations of mumblety peg.

But camp was a time of wonder and fun. Among the things I learned at camp:

  • Everything gets damp at camp – I don’t care if you keep your clothes, matches and sleeping bag and in hermetically sealed bags, as soon as anything hits the night air in the woods, it immediately turns to uncomfortable mush. Pillows were the worst—and if you’re a light sleeper than me, nothing would keep me awake like having to flip my pillow over a few dozen times in the hopes of finding a small dry patch. And once things get damp, they never ever dry out.
  • Bears may crap in the woods, but it’s no fun for the rest of us – If you’ve never actually had to do it—and fortunately, I’ve only had to do it a few times—having to empty your bowels over a hole in the ground is about as awful as you might think. At least at camp there were latrines, which I think they gave a fancy French-sounding name to disguise the fact that they were no more than a covered fenced-in pen with a board that had a toilet-shaped hole that barely stopped you from falling into a crap-filled pit. On the plus side, I learned to catch daddy long legs with my bare hands and flick them away while in a latrine because you don’t have many options when your pants are around your ankles and you can’t exactly jump up and move.
  • Kids desperate for something sweet will promise anything to get it – Being a quasi-responsible, cash-conscious little urchin, I used to budget the $10 my parents gave me to last the entire week of camp. That meant I had about $1.40 to spend a day, give or take, which was enough for three 35-cent treats from the trading post a day—one in the morning, afternoon and evening. I was always able to stick to my budget, but other kids usually burned through their money pretty quickly, and later in the week, would come to me begging for cash. Most were good about paying me back, yet for a reason I don’t care to understand, I remember that Billy Olah still owes me 35 cents from a chocolate eclair he wheedled me into buying him. Let’s see … ten percent interest compounded over 35 years means he still owes me … well, almost enough to buy an eclair from an ice cream truck today.
  • Don’t feed the racoons – The first year, Jeff Doering, one of the kids in my lean-to, wanted to see raccoons up close, so he left food out and was amused when the raccoons came around after dark. A few hours later, I was awakened by screams, and when I switched on my trusty flashlight, I saw a giant raccoon jumping up and down on Jeff’s head. They were both screaming, now that I vividly recall it.
  • You need two oars to row a rowboat – Not something you realize until you lose one to some other scouts goofing around and you spend the next few minutes going in circles.
  • Don’t volunteer for the greased watermelon competition – On the Friday of camp week, there always was a camp-wide competition that included various tests of scout skills but ultimately ended in a melee with such carnage that it’d put the Battle of Thermopylae to shame. The rules were simple: There were no rules other than whoever was holding the greased watermelon at the end of five minutes won—everything went. I’m pretty sure there were kids who spent the week smelting metals to forge brass knuckles to use during the adult-sanctioned brutality. I tried to mix it up, but unless you count letting the other kids drown me as a distraction for my buddy Bobby Paradis, who actually won it for our troop one year, I was about as helpful as Jeff getting mauled by the raccoon.
  • Give your son the same name as you if you grew up in Brooklyn, NY, and never learned to swim, that way he can pretend to lose his highest-level swimming tag and then re-take the test in order to get a second tag that you can use – Isn’t that right, Dad?
  • Sex – But not from any actual experience, you sick bastards! One night while a bunch of us were hanging out in one lean-to and one of the older teenaged scouts, Bobby S. told us all in graphic detail about the birds and the bees. Most of us were like, “What? It goes where and *what* happens?! NO WAY!” I thought what Bobby S. sounded a bit farfetched at the time, but it turns out he was 100 percent correct. Who knew?

And of course, my favorite scout discovery story is this one about the time at camp I learned I would never soil myself in a moment of extreme fear and duress. (Always good to know that, by the way.)

Although I encourage you to read the whole story when you have time, I do offer this aside from it:

Quick aside: I am a pyromaniac. Period.

No joking. I can’t tell you how many hours I spent building perfect one-match camp fires that I would ignite, stoke into raging (yet contained) infernos, then use to burn anything else that I could find around the campsite. This is where I learned that almost anything sent with a child to camp—extra underwear, cereal boxes, cereal—will eventually burn, with the possible exception of toothpaste tubes, and by the flames of Hades, I tried everything to melt those b#stards! (Plastic garbage bags, if wrapped around a stick and properly torched, will drip drops of bright blue-orange flame that are absolutely mesmerizing.) Earlier this year, I took my family to Sequassen for a visit, and even some 20 years later, I was able to build a fire with only bark and sticks that lit with two matches. Then we toasted marshmallows. My kids were a little disturbed that I liked to set my marshmallows lovingly on fire for a few seconds, charring them ever so slightly, before blowing them out and eating them .. .

Maybe I should have a bonfire at home tonight. Hmm …