camping

Camptathalon 2024

Holy crap. Camptathalon 2025 is less than a month away and I haven’t even posted 2024 yet? What the hell? I wrote the damn thing in July. It then took me ten months to upload a few pictures from my phone.

Anyway…

Father’s Day weekend, 2024, six total campers, only five competitors, descended upon Wolf Creek Campground on Union Valley Reservoir for the thirteenth annual Camptathalon. John was a second-time attendee, making his first appearance since 2017, although he couldn’t stay for the  competition on Saturday. Meanwhile, Thomas was a noob who somehow survived the experience.

The first campsite we reserved was on the other side of the lake, but the Forest Service canceled those reservations on account of some eagle babies hatching in the campsite. It’s not Camptathalon unless we’re scrambling to find an ancillary site at the last minute. Usually it’s a fire or snow or a Coronavirus, but I guess the propagation of our national mascot is worth camping a mile the other direction. Unless they were regular, full-haired eagles. Fuck those guys. Us balding types need to stick together.

When we first got the notification that we might have to move spots because of some Eagles, our text thread erupted with phrases like if Camptahtalon was canceled, it would be a “Heartache Tonight” when the Forest Service told us “You Belong to the City.” Fortunately, we made back-up reservations so we could “Take It Easy” with the “New Kid in Town.”

But since those texts occurred before Camptathalon, they didn’t make it in the official Camptathalon journal. So you don’t get to read them. What you get is:

Thursday
4:41 Chris arrives, making three. Camptathalon begins.
4:57 Next year, pina coladas
4:58 Tony already beat Sparky in Backgammon and chess. Too late to add them as Camptathalon events?
4:59 Dammit, forgot my sleeping bag
5:05 I’m gonna go get wood before I get drunk
5:47 Chores are done. Time to drink.
5:59 I don’t have any flour. It’s stickier than I thought it would be.
6:19 How’d you get a coal hole under your ass?

6:36 Dutch oven pizzas, cause nobody said we were roughing it.
7:42 No fish
8:07 First broken chair of the weekend
8:45 Switched off of baseball game, found angry preacher radio.
9:24 Bear lockers are complicated. There’s not much difference between the smartest bear and the dumbest human.
11:13 Same damn problem as last year. It wouldn’t stay up.

Friday
5:05 Some asshole’s car alarm goes off
6:15 Some other asshole starts chainsawing
7:00 Still motherfucking chainsawing
7:18 Frank Sinatra Friday
7:42 Sorry, when they typed in dirty bomb, I just assumed they were looking up porn.
7:48 Text to Rick: “Bring Syrup. Don’t ask why.”
9:48 “Going to rain this morning.”
    “You’re about four hours too late.”
9:58 Camphost: “Hey, I’ve got to ask you to leave. I won’t, but you can’t use your chainsaw in camp.”
9:59 Someone should tell him PG&E’s been chainsawing all goddamn morning.
11:06 Sparky pegs to 120 in cribbage, but loses to Chris
11:32 Yeah, the Beaver usually comes out fast
11:47 Can’t tell if the neighbors are Russian or Mormon
1:24 Second car in last half-hour driving the wrong goddamn way. It’s one thing to miss the fine print about chainsawing, but the One Way is pretty well marked.
1:57 Two injuries while constructing the child-safe axe throwing stand. Haven’t even got to the axes yet.
2:21 Who the hell ordered the wind?
2:39 Rick arrives. And then there were four.
3:02 Thank God you’re here. This dude just showed up with a chainsaw.
3:05 “I got a growler at Cool Beerwerks.”
     “I got a growler at Moonraker.”
     “I’m gonna drop a growler pretty soon here.”

3:12 I think that’s a cult moving in next door. All tents in a row, put up in less than ten minutes.
3:21 It’s not too big. It’s a little big
3:25 He’s backing that big ass up
3:26 Is it going to fit?
3:36 In fact, it does fit.
3:45 I am an equal opportunity sausage man
4:35 That reminded me of a terrible joke
4:36 Where’s my whiskey?
4:57 Everything at camping is community property. That part of the Red Menace we’re fine with.
5:22 John arrives. Five down, one to go.
5:31 I just stuck my last one in, and I think I will retire there.
6:21 Thomas arrives. Camptathalon can start with a record six people.
6:54 Chili is served
6:55 How do I turn this thing off?
7:23 “Correct me if I’m wrong.”
    “You’re wrong.”
    “Fuck you.”
7:35 Opening Toast of Old Fashioned
7:36 Oh, I lost my cherry long ago.
7:41 But then it’s just going to hang there.
7:44 Flag is up.

8:24 Trophy out, Rimmer reading
8:29 Blender isn’t working
8:35 While attempting to fix a full blender, don’t unscrew the bottom
8:36 I need to clean up like a fucking bitch.
8:39 Hey, the blender’s working!
9:03 “Here, let me clean up your fucking chips for you.”
    “Lick my ass.”
9:08 The poker game is like a peep show. It keeps showing me something cute and makes me pay to see more.
9:09 Hey, that reminds me of this one time in Tijuana
9:10 I kinda wish I was the rooster
9:14 Nobody calls you the Gangster of Love
9:17 John goes all in. Loser Libation reveal: Wisconsin Lunchbox (but no peanut butter sandwich)
9:25 Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. How familiar are you with Urban Dictionary?
9:28 Taking a Smoke Break (pausing poker to avoid the fire smoke)
9:53 “Just shut up and smoke your cigar!”
     “Okay, Dad.”
9:54 REDACTED
10:05 We talk Chaucer and Moby Dick
10:07 Thomas “wins” Loser Libation
10:10 Isn’t there supposed to be a woman with a vagina?
10:11 REDACTED
10:14 There would only be two people in that circle jerk. Not much of a circle.
10:20 Who here is a Chuck Mangione fan?
10:35 Chris Out
10:39 John Out
10:47 After coloring up chips, they all tip over in the dirt
11:11 Sparky Out
11:15 Camptathalon Standings after One Event: Rick: 5, Tony: 4, Sparky: 3, Chris: 2, Thomas: 0 (John withdraws)

SATURDAY
12:01 The cult next door starts singing Happy Birthday
12:44 John gives Thomas pointers on proper Butter Toss technique
2:01 First vomit of the weekend
3:40 Oh, good. Another car alarm
4:25 Visited by a bear because Rick left his nuts out

6:00 The chainsawers showed up late today
6:52 “Did the bear eat my nuts?”
7:11 He left me half a cashew
7:13 “Did we split the pot?”
     “Yeah, cause I was beating your ass.”
     “You were also winning at poker.”
7:25 I wasn’t wearing my glasses. It might not have been a bear at all. It might’ve just been a cult member
7:50 Where’s Thomas? If he dies, I will stop inviting new people.
8:03 Signs/sounds of life from Thomas’s tent 
8:58 First Saturday beer opened
9:46 The butter has been removed from the cooler
10:03 Sparky’s attempt at alphabetization: Chris, Tony, Thomas, Rick
10:06 I have hydration tablets if you want to put them in your water or beer.
10:22 Prep for HR Derby with lake as backstop

10:28 Robbed by the Tiny Green Monster
10:45 First Round: Rick 4, Thomas 9, Chris 3, Sparky 5, Tony 2
10:58 Round Two: Rick 0, Chris 1, Sparky 3, Thomas 4
11:05 I need more balls
11:10 Round Three: Chris 7, Thomas 4, Sparky 4 – First Jack-Off of 2024
11:14 Worst. Jack-Off. Ever. (Thomas 2, Sparky 1)
11:23 Final Round: Chris 7, Thomas 3
11:24 Standings after Two Events: Chris 7, Rick 7, Sparky 6, Thomas 4, Tony 4
11:55 The Godfather of the Wisconsin Lunchbox
12:08 First Round of Cornhole
12:28 You paid good money to watch two cats fucking
1:19 Final Cornhole Standings: Chris, Sparky, Rick, Thomas, Tony
1:20 Standings after Three Events: Chris 12, Sparky 10, Rick 10, Thomas 6, Tony 4
1:45 Sausages and burgers for lunch
2:05 Will this fit in there?
2:44 I’ll break off in a moment and tell you about the grandma flashing us from the 7th floor
3:01 Inaugural Camptathalon Axe-Throwing Event. Objective: Get to 21 Points.

3:10 Do you get bonus points for lodging it in somebody else’s ass?
3:20 Sparky & Tony both finish in second round. Sparky wins the Toss-Off
3:23 Chris takes third place in Round 3
3:26 Thomas 4th, Rick 5th
3:27 Standings after Four Events: Sparky 15, Chris 15, Rick 10, Thomas 8, Tony 8
3:46 Adventure Bocce. But first, cookies.
4:40 Adventure Bocce results: Chris, Rick, Sparky, Tony, Thomas
4:41 Standings going in to final event: Chris 20, Sparky 18, Rick 14, Tony 10, Thomas 8
4:45 Butter Toss target: Boston Celtics logo


4:52 Rick wins Jon Goudreau Memorial Butter Toss, followed by Chris, Sparky, Tony, Thomas
4:53 Chris wins his first Camptathalon with 24 points.
4:54 Chris jumps in the lake in celebration

5:21 Draft: Teams we hate. (Snake draft: Pick order goes down in round one, up in round two, etc.)
Thomas: Patriots, Cowboys, 49ers, Phillies, 76ers
Sparky: Red Sox, Alabama, Miami Hurricanes, Seahawks, White Sox
Chris: Chiefs, Broncos, Florida State, Blackhawks, Dolphins
Rick: Celtics, BYU, Philadelphia Eagles, St. Louis Cardinals, New Mexico State
Tony: Yankees, Nebraska, Astros, S.F. Giants, Chelsea

5:33 Draft: Favorite Sports Moments
Sparky: Kordell Stewart Hail Mary, Montana to Taylor in Super Bowl, Nolan Ryan 6th no-hitter, Game 7 of ’02 World Series, Montana returns after injury in ’92
Chris: Marcus Allen Super Bowl revers, Bo Jackson into tunnel, Bo Jackson TD through Bosworth, ’89 Earthquake Series, 1980 Lakers final (Magic’s first year)
Rick: Robert Horry game 4 shot vs Kings, Stefon Diggs winning catch vs Saints, Rockies winning NLCS, ’97 UTEP upsets BYU (take down goalposts), ’92 UTEP beats #1 Kansas
Tony: Spiezio Game 6 HR, Music City Miracle, Boise State Statue of Liberty, Kerry Wood 18 strikeouts 1 hit, Ipswich promotion goal
Thomas: David Tyree Helmet Catch, Cavaliers beating Warriors, Johann Santana no-hitter, Giants over Patriots in ’08, Knicks over Pacers in ’01
Honorable Mentions: Chris coaching high school soccer, Robin Ventura fucking around and finding out, Miracle on Ice, Jadaveon Clowney hit, Angels combo no-hitter after Tyler Skaggs died, Garrison Hearst overtime run vs Jets

6:50 The cult next door breaks out a pinata. It is a Pokemon.
7:30 Meatball subs for dinner

Sunday
6:35 Flag comes down.
7:07 Wheels up

Camptathalon 2023

The thirteenth iteration of Camptathalon happened the second weekend of June, 2023, at PiPi Campground. Not our first choice, but half the campgrounds in California (including where we had reservations) were still under some variation of snow, flooding, or tottering trees after the eternal California drought ended with a vengeance.

Four (and-a-half) competitors attended. Garrett was on the disabled list but still came up to partake in the few events that don’t require a rotator cuff. Chris D, meanwhile, caught Covid the Tuesday before, so he tapped out, much as I did last year. That makes Covid an event-winner in three of the last four years. In 2020, we still managed to get in a streamlined event in September, but, again, not at our choice of venue and time.

As always, I offer no more context than what is provided in the Log. Trust me, the setups wouldn’t make it nearly as entertaining.

Thursday
10:42 (via Text): “Don’t need, but I would gladly smoke one.”
12:56 Tentcot Instructions: “Spread both legs to fully open positions.”
1:10 Chris (first arrivee) returns to campsite to find it full
1:28 First beer. Not counting the many Chris drank last night.
1:34 Sparky undecided on Loser Libation. Two options. One is “just terrible.”
1:40 Sparky opens first beer.
1:41 Chris doesn’t want to be the outcast. Opens beer.
2:19 Chris is reading “Mastering Mule Deer.” Hoping to start a dating app?
2:59 I don’t think anyone’s ever torn a rotator cuff tossing butter.
3:15 It might rain a little, but nothing like last year. Knocks on firewood.
3:26 In-depth discussion of relative sizes and uses of skewers, chopsticks, cherries, and sausages.
5:27 Have already burned through the first bag of Honey Dijon Kettle Chips.
5:30 “I don’t know. What else are we going to do?”
   “Sit around, drink beer, and listen to the baseball game? No seriously, that’s my plan. To sit around, drink beer, and listen to the baseball game.”
6:45 We bust out the manly battery-powered blender for margaritas

6:47 I’m no mixologist, but that might need more ice.
8:00 Children at the adjacent camp make it difficult to urinate.
9:02 Sun’s down. At least now we can pee.
9:06 “Should I not say fuck with kids around?”
   “No, fuck those guys. They took 36 tries to back their fucking RV up. It’s like the tarmac at LaGuardia, for fuck’s sake.”
9:33 One bottle of tequila down. The last round of margaritas might be a little strong.
9:37 Wait, James Dean and Dean Martin are different people?
9:52 Inaugural canasta ends. We finally light the fire.
11:29 Not sure what the fuck happened next door. Dude drives up, wakes campers, yells about staying two weeks in one spot. Definitely not a government employee working at 11:30 at night. Said he was the manager and they’re banned from all camping sites on highway 88.
11:45 Dude’s gone, but neighbors appear to be packing up.

Friday
6:35 “Banned” neighbors still there.
6:38 Family with kids (other side) already awake, so first piss of the day must be in proper facilities. Goddamn anti-American. A first amendment right. The founding fathers believed in peeing outdoors.
6:53 Sparky takes first drink from “Reigning Camptathalon Champion” mug

7:03 There’s no picture of how to pee, so I was totally lost
7:55 Discussion of least-offensive sports teams. Consensus at this point: Carolina Panthers and Milwaukee Brewers
8:19 Beginning of Frank Sinatra Friday
8:27 My mouth tastes less like ass now.
8:56 Grilled chunks o’ ham and cheddar on English muffins for second breakfast
11:00ish Head over to “closed” campground. We totally could’ve camped on this river.

12:15 No swimming or float tubes? Come on, fun police!
12:40 Chris questioning the life decisions of some cows.
12:42 “Lube. Lots of Lube.”
1:05 Pass “banned” neighbors as they’re leaving campground. We consider warning them they’re heading toward Highway 88.
1:25 Fuck it, we’re taking over their spot. Tag expired last Sunday.
1:33 Open the Pube Mixe
2:42 Bets on when Rick will show up: Sparky – 3:17, Tony – 3:33, Chris – 4:20
3:03 Rick arrives. Sparky wins absolutely nothing.
3:11 Four tentcots, looks like a goddamn commune
3:30 Flag is raised

3:31 Official Opening Toast: Old Fashioned. 
3:59 I don’t think that’s an according-to-Hoyle strawberry shortcake.
4:20 NinersPussies.com
4:28 When he wears a sweater, he has tits.
4:32 I’ve got your Pike’s Peak right here.
4:41 Last. Henry Weinhard’s. Ever. 
5:03 “Does the Pope shit in the woods?”
  “I’d be concerned if he did.”
5:23 I’m just gonna start throwing my wood at you.
5:26 Sparky was a late bloomer. He didn’t become interested in boys until 5th grade.
5:59 That’s tactile engagement. That counts.
6:22 Camptathalon Event #1: Poker
6:46 Chris all in. Loser Libation reveal: Stella Artois Cidre with a shot of Fireball.
6:47 The Loser Libation that didn’t make it: alcoholic energy drink
6:50 There’s no smoked salmon in that fucking river, you retard.
6:56 This cigar is like sucking a dick
7:18 Chris “wins” Loser Libation
7:33 Sparky catches queen on the river. Rick throws cards.
7:48 Tony wins poker on trip-5’s
***Standings after one event: Tony – 5, Sparky – 3, Rick – 2, Chris – 0
9:06 “I’ll do anything fucking once.”
9:30 Friday Night Draft. But first… cigars.

Draft: Worst Sequels:
First Round: Sparky: Smokey & the Bandit II, Chris: Phantom Menace, Rick: Ghostbusters II. Tony – Superman III
Second Round: Tony: Rise of Skywalker, Rick: Kingdom of the Crystal Skull, Chris: Attack of the Clones, Sparky: Cannonball Run II
Third Round: Sparky: Pitch Perfect 3, Chris: Godfather III, Rick: Caddyshack 2, Tony: Ocean’s Twelve
Fourth Round: Tony: Moonraker, Rick: The World is Not Enough, Chris: Halloween 3, Sparky: Star Trek V
Fifth Round: Sparky: American Wedding, Chris: Free Willy 2, Nightmare on Elm Street 2, Tony: Thor: Dark World

SATURDAY

6:49 What did they call golden showers before 1942?
7:02 “Since it’s cooler than usual today, we might need to take the butter out earlier than usual.”
   “God fucking dammit.”
7:23 We’re getting showers of the non-golden variety
7:50 “Doubt I’ll drink more than 15 beers today.”
    “Not with that attitude, you won’t.”
7:55 Opened the mini baseball figures. Tony gets Freddie Freeman, Giancarlo Stanton, Rick gets Josh Naylor, Austin Riley, Chris gets Spencer Torkelson, Mike Trout vintage, Sparky gets Juan Soto, Justin Verlander.

8:14 Had to move Spencer Torkelson to second base.
8:23 Did I hear there’s a possibility of ham?
8:38 You’ve never opened a beer with your car door jamb? The fuck is wrong with you?
10:10 Camptahtalon Event #2: Cornhole
10:15 Garrett arrives with no tent, no pants. Crocs only.
10:33 “I think that shot’s called a rim job.”
10:40 Usually I wear pants.
11:04 Sparky wins cornhole
***Standings after two events: Sparky 8, Tony 8, Rick 4, Chris 0
11:08 There is no pussy that is that good
11:25 Rain returns
11:50 Motley Crue’s latest hit: Vaping in the non-gender-specific restroom
12:00 It’s supposed to be nice and moist, but it’s like beef jerky in here.
12:12 Alright, let me find my balls.
12:21 Camptathalon Event #3: Home-run derby
12:40 We haven’t had a good jack-off in a while.
12:43 First round: Tony 3, Rick 2, Sparky 1, Chris 0
12:53 Wait, can you explain this jack-off thing?
12:57 Second Round: Tony 4, Sparky 3. Rick 2
1:03 First 100 fans will receive a free jack-off bobblehead
1:20 Sparky wins final round 3 to 2
***Standings after three events: Sparky 13, Tony 11, Rick 6, Chris 0
1:45 You wouldn’t fuck Joan Jett. Joan Jett would fuck you, my friend.
1:50 You could eat an old shoe if you had to.
2:04 “And I can wipe my own ass, but let’s talk about other things that don’t matter.”
2:10 Lockeford Sausages for lunch.
2:14 Ted Danson is a good-looking guy, but I wouldn’t jack-off with him.
2:15 I fucked this up and this is now really uncomfortable.
2:29 You just want to be able to yell “Who’s the Boss?” when you’re banging her.
2:53 Camptathalon Event #4: Butter Toss. Target: Meghan Markle

2:57 Sparky and Tony engage in a toss-off for last place
3:01 That thunder sounds ominous
3:04 Garrett “wins” Butter Toss, but is on the ineligible list. Chris gets 5 points, Rick 3, Sparky 2, Tony 0

***Standings after four events: Sparky 15, Tony 11, Rick 9, Chris 5
3:18 Should we wait till after bocce to light that fire? Phhhttt. Blows out fire.
3:20 Camptathalon Event #5: Adventure Bocce. If Tony finishes first, Sparky last, he will win Camptathalon. All other outcomes, Sparky wins. 

3:36 “That would’ve been nice for you to just kiss me over there.”
3:44 Adventure Bocce paused on account of inclement weather. Current scores: Chris & Tony have 6 each, Rick and Sparky have 3.
4:00 Lightning less than a five-count from thunder.
4:13 Been an awful lot of thunder since we threw butter at the departed queen’s blessed granddaughter-in-law
4:41 Exhibition Event: Taco Cat Goat Cheese Pizza
4:43 No, I wasn’t paying attention to the instructions
4:47 What sound does a goat do? Meeeh.
4:54 That’s just because he’s usually rubbing his nipples on a regular basis.
4:48 I notice you’ve got a wet spot over there.
5:10 You need to jerk off more.
5:14 Much like lube.
5:30 Pulled pork dinner
6:53 Once talk turns to whorehouses, it’s tough to pull it back.
7:03 “Did you shit yourself?”
   “Wait, I’m getting to that story.”
7:11 I had to wear my shit pants down the hallway
8:00 Rain is done, but Rick refuses to finish Adventure Bocce. Forfeit gives him 0 on the event, meaning Sparky wins Camptathalon 2023. With an asterisk.
8:28 The Dude that does the shit or whatever.
9:17 Rick creeps over to the neighbor’s camp asking if they want his marshmallows.
9:31 “I fucked up the joke. I apologize. I will sit here quietly now.”
9:43 The first time harlot and Rosie O’Donnell have been used in the same sentence.
10:11 First Camptathalon blood since 2013.
10:13 They drew first blood, not me. They drew first blood, not me. 

Sunday
6:53 Westbound and down. I hope the greasy spoon’s open.

Camptathalon 2022

Just under the (self-imposed) deadline of posting last year’s Camptathalon results within 365 days…

Every year since, I don’t know, ‘Nam, we’ve kept a running log of all the shenanigans, mostly out of context. 

I usually begin the retelling  with a tongue in cheek “I’m just the scribe, I offer no context or comment.”

This year, that comment is, in fact, accurate. My bout with Covid hit me a week before the annual trip. One of the guys has a granddaughter who is too young for vaccination, so we opted for caution.

The lads, however, took the journal and did their due diligence. But that means, for once, I’m as much in the dark as all of you.

Friday
11:30 Rick arrives, completing the foursome.
11:45 First beer of the day
12:00 Lunch and beer
12:40 Cribbage
12:47 $30 in Dick’s money
12:49 “I lost two beers in the lake.”
1:15 Flag raised, trophy brought out
1:16 “Loser Libation? Oh shit, I can’t play poker.”
1:26 Chris spills his beer
2:19 “Concrete, the most fun you can have with your clothes on.”
2:20 The Champagne of Beers makes an appearance.
2:41 “I don’t like it, but I’ll do it.”
3:15 Garrett uses the word “jalopy” in a sentence
4:05 “That friend of mine who got married in the firehouse.”
     “I thought he wasn’t that good a friend.”
     “He isn’t.”
4:35 Garrett: “I can’t wait for the butter toss.”
    Everyone else: “You’ll learn.”
4:42 “Do you have our squeegee sharpener?”
4:45 Tony did not sanitize his balls. Thanks a lot, asshole.
4:55 “Just close your eyes and enjoy it.”
4:56 Fire has been lit.
5:00 Yeah, I like my liver
5:05 Possible rain between 8:00 and midnight. Time will tell.
5:10 Regarding the Pam & Tommy movie, if you hate blondes with big jugs, don’t watch it.
5:22 “You’re not a cockstar?”
     “Not anymore. I’m retired.”
6:11 “What’s better than tossing butter in the rain?”
6:30 “Couldn’t be any worse than who he got pregnant.”
6:40 Event #1: Poker
6:49 Garrett can’t shuffle or deal for shit.
6:50 We got the Rockies game. Nice.
7:08 The Loser Libation is almost in play.
7:14 Fucking Sparky! Goddammit!
7:20 Moonshine time, baby! “Burns the nostrils.”
7:35 Chris calls Rick a fucking dirty whore.
7:37 “Hold on, my ass just un-puckered.”
7:38 Man, the Covidian’s gonna be pissed when he tries to transpose this.
7:39 Transcribe or transpose?
7:45 Cookie Break
7:50 “I’m in halfway, I may as well go ALL IN!”
8:10 Sparky is pissed he can’t get the Angels game on XM Radio
8:14 Garrett “wins” the Loser Libation – coffee liqueur
8:20 No Sparky is a dirty little whore
8:25 WRONG!
8:36 Sparky wins poker, Rick second w/ better hand than Chris
Standings after one event: Sparky 5, Rick 3, Chris 2, Garrett 0
8:54 Garrett looks up the definition of “Wisconsin Lunchbox.”
9:01 Boontling has a lot of words for masturbation
9:08 There are children around. Shut up.
10:00 Another Mervyn’s Mark?
?? Did you take her Solo + the Wookie?

Sarturday

5:30 Sparky arises, makes coffee
6:00 Rick arises
6:10 Coffee liqueur + donuts = Yum
7:30 Chris joins the party
7:50 Garrett makes it a foursome
8:00 Sandwiches for breakfast, a little whiskey in the coffee, HR Derby location finalized
8:02 Chris makes biscuits w/ ham & cheddar
8:22 “I have a Florida Gators jersey.”
    “Fucking Tim Tebow. Eat my ass.”
8:23 “People in Florida don’t like Florida.”
9:30 Butter Toss target selected: Picture from an old Playboy Chris “happened to” have.
9:38 Dinner plans. Sparky makes a great tri-tip. I brought mashed potatoes, too, but no gravy. We can all stand around the Playboy and make some gravy.
9:42 First beer of the day opened.
9:56 Can somebody help with a reach around?
10:00 Butter Toss results: Chris 5, Rick 3, Garrett 2, Sparky 0
    Standings after two events: Chris 7, Rick 6, Sparky 5, Garrett 2
10:30 Home Run Derby: Chris beats Rick 3-2 in a jack-off
10:33 Sparky beats Chris 6-5 in the finals. Two jack-offs in a row would take some stamina.
10:35 Home Run Derby results: Sparky 5, Chris 3, Rick 2, Garrett 0
   Standings after three events: Sparky 10, Chris 10, Rick 8, Garrett 0
11:32 Cornhole
11:53 Results: Rick 5, Sparky 3, Chris 2, Garrett 0
   Standings after four events: Sparky 15, Rick 13, Chris 11, Garrett 2
12:36 “Take this how you like, but I have never turned down a sausage.”
12:50 Lunch: Sammiches and Garrett’s wife’s great potato salad
1:10 Thunder. Then hail. Gentle, but a lot of it. Angels at Mariners on XM. All tents have been covered. Wine in my cup. Good thing we got three games in early. No more Angels game.
1:19 “I have never had a conversation with a drunk guy and said ‘You sound like a young Isaac Newton.'”
1:20 More hail
1:25 More thunder
1:30 Light rain
1:40 More thunder, but dry for now
1:55 More hail
2:45 Thunder and steady rain
3:26 Observing a way, way, WAY overloaded pickup truck with camping gear and canoe tied on top.
   “They have been parked for quite a while.”
   “Someone’s pissed.”
   “All I wanted for Father’s Day was to take my family camping and make love in a canoe.”
3:30 Garrett has been in his tent for over an hour at this time.
3:31 “The mood is a little bit wet on the outside.”
3:33 The overloaded truck has started again. Should I stay or should I go?
3:38 Go!
4:10 Rain has (mainly) stopped. 
4:48 Event 5: Cards Against Humanity. Plague infested missing members are control group.
5:30 Garrett wins his first event
5:42 Control group finishes in second place. Random placement of cards is funnier than us.
5:43 Sparky finishes (official) second, thus winning Camptathalon 2022. First win since 2013. 
Final Standings: Sparky 16, Rick 15, Chris 12, Garrett 7
  First time everybody won an event? Maybe?
5:50 Tri-tip on. Tortilla tacos!
6:04 “The best part is the half glass of vodka”
6:11 The pickup truck returns

Draft: Best Sequel (Snake draft: Pick order goes down in round one, up in round two, etc.)
Sparky  1.  Star Trek 2: Wrath of Khan,  2.  Star Trek 6: Undiscovered Country,  3. Pitch Perfect 2,  4. Top Gun: Maverick
Garrett:  1. Anchorman 2,  2. Revenge of the Sith,   3. The Dark Knight,  4. Goldmember
Chris:  1. Godfather 2,  2. Return of the Jedi,  3. For a Few Dollars More,  4. Temple of Doom
Rick: 1. Aliens,  Empire Strikes Back,  3. The Good, the Bad, & the Ugly,  4. Superman 2

Draft #2: Disliked Sports Teams
Rick:  1. Boston Celtics,  2. Dallas Cowboys,  3. St. Louis Cardinals,  4.  BYU
Chris:  1. Pittsburgh Steelers,  2. Denver Broncos,  3. San Diego Chargers,  4.  L.A. Dodgers
Garrett:  1. S.F. Giants,  2. San Jose Sharks,  3. Cleveland Browns,  4. Seattle Kraken
Sparky: 1.  Boston Red Sox,  2. N.Y. Yankees,  3. Houston Astros,  4. Nebraska Cornhuskers

Draft #3: Favorite Bands
Garrett: 1. Tool,  2. AC/DC,  3. Korn,  4. System of a Down
Chris: 1. Metallica,  2. Perfect Circle,  3. Van Halen,  4. Duran Duran
Rick:  1. Van Hagar,  2. Motley Crue,  3. Hall & Oates,  4. Charlie Daniels
Sparky:  1. Counting Crows,  2. Airborne Toxic Event,  3. O.A.R.  4. Led Zeppelin


Draft #4: Most Hated/Overrated Bands
Sparky:  1. Pink Floyd,  2. Grateful Dead,  3. Michael Jackson  4. Police
Rick:  1. Red Hot Chili Peppers,  2. U2,  3. Madonna,  4. Eagles
Chris: 1. Beatles,  2. Nirvana,  3. KISS,  4. Milli Vanilli
Garrett: 1. Taylor Swift,  2. Nine Ince Nails,  3. Primus,  4. Mylie Cyrus

Draft #5: Favorite Albums
Chris: 1. Master of Puppets,  2. 1984,  3. And Justice For All,  4. Parabola
Garrett: 1. Undertow,  2. Follow the Leader,  3. Hybrid Theory,  4. Mesmerize
Rick:  1. 5150,  2. Hysteria,  3. Back in Black,  4. License to Ill
Sparky:  1. Recovering the Satellites,  2. 10,  3. Yourself or Someone Like You,  4. Appetite for Destruction

Captathalon 2021

Holy shit. Camptathalon 2022 is less than a month away. Maybe I should finally transcribe the 2021 journal? I mean, I’ve already posted about my January 2022 snow camping. Plus spring break in Hawaii. Maybe I should stop throwing the log in with the camping gear at the end of the summer. Meh. 

If this is your first visit, Camptathalon is an annual guys’ trip/competition. We jot down much of what is said and done for posterity’s sake. You know, got to keep the proper historical perspective. 

All statements are accurate, if deliberately out of context.

Thursday
12:50 PM text exchange: Getting one growler of brown ale, one of pale. A coffee porter sounds interesting.”
 -“Wait, there’s beer?”
 – “Of course not. No way am I already at a brewery that’s an hour and a half from work.”

1:04 Iceberg lettuce drenched in bleu cheese and bacon = healthiest meal of the weekend.

2:08 Arrive at Silvertip Campsite. Just the Tip # 17. Matt Gaetz’s favorite campsite.
2:34 Camp host gives the whatfor about quiet hours. “I know what five guys are like.” Dude, we’re in our forties, not our twenties.
2:35 “Don’t leave your beers out, or the bears will drink them.”
“The last thing we want is some drunk bears.”
“That’s not it. They like the sugar.”
3:20 First beer. Other than at brewery
4:25 Sparky arrives
4:30 Wow. These campsites are really close to each other. Should we go check the first come, first serve campsite?
5:05 Much better
5:43 First site packed up, So long, Matt Gaetz. So long, Buzzkill camp host.
6:40 Campsite 2.0 finished
7:06 Burgers
10:15 Night, night
10:17I hope the bear doesn’t play my sudoku

Friday

6:23 There’s pee coming off my pee
6:43 I’d fail the COVID screener. I have a sore throat, but it’s totally explainable.
6:55 We’ve got a coffee three-way. Pour over, French press, and percolator
7:16 Wow, I can say Alexa out loud.
7:30 Climb the Big Fucking Rock, because why not?

7:43 Way down isn’t as fun.
7:47 Oatmeal for breakfast. We are old.
9:22 I hope the last guy to use that toilet didn’t have crabs, because my fat ass was touching every possible surface.
9:34 Neighbors packing up & leaving. The toddler who’s been shouting “I don’t want to go camping” for the past 16 hours won the argument.
10:04 New people move in next door. More kids. Bonus!
10:19 From the campsite next door: “Push it through more!” Good thing I’m not drinking yet.
10:42 Rick arrives. We have a quorum.
10:46 “I’ve added a twist to the loser libation this year.”
11:09 First beer of the day
11:14 First whiskey of the day
11:22 Sparky returns. He had trouble getting wood.
11:36 Trying to remember the last time we had Pringles.
11:45 Chris H arrives.
12:05 “If everyone grabs a corner of the EZ Up, it’ll go faster.”
   “If we keep sitting here drinking beer, it’ll still get done.”
12:15″Will the twist happen at the same time as the Loser Libation?” (Thinks) “No. Not necessarily.”
12:41 That beer ain’t gonna drink itself, bitch.
12:50 “Trust me, I know what a climax is.”
   “Really? Did he enjoy it, too?”
   “Why the hell should I care?”
1:09 “Damn, the family next door is back. I guess I’ll put my cock away.”
   “It’s not like they could see it.”
1:35 Alright, fucking bitch.
1:37 “1:37 is a good time for whiskey.”
1:50 “Do it! Take my bishop, bitch!”
1:54 “I puked in a cup at a Tesla concert.”
1:59 There’s a joke in there somewhere, but I haven’t figured it out yet.
2:01 Like a good condom, you can reuse it.
2:12 Love box.
2:26 Chess game over. “Thank you for making me feel good.”
   “Did you give him a reach-around, too?”
2:32 No, seriously. Take it all off.
3:05 Chris D arrives.
3:16 And it doesn’t even mention pedophilia.
3:17 Cheese Balls arrive
3:18 More Tesla stories: Trying to get into a video shoot at a bowling alley.
3:27 Chris D packed the wrong chair: Unicorns & rainbows.
3:30 Official Opening Toast
3:33 Flag is up
3:36 Loser Libation wrinkle revealed: Two libations. Fourth place chooses which one he drinks, assigns other to 5th place.
3:45 “It’ll just come out same color, different smell.”
3:54 Any time you put a cock in front of me, I’m going to take it.
4:43 You know parliamentary procedure makes me hard.
4:48 Cheese balls open.
4:50 I hate to bring it up, but my grandma loved cheese balls. Sorry, MaMaw.
5:06 So Chris, how is Mein Kampf going?
5:27 We could do some damage with a rifle.
5:35 Chili for dinner. Side of mellow corn whiskey.
6:11 Camptathalon Event #1: Poker.
6:18 “Not sure how I’ll do. I had groin surgery.”
   “Most of Camptathalon is based on groin strength.”
6:30 Dave Winfield is disappointed
6:33 It’s not my fault you ran into my full house last year.
6:47 $50 bet by the pre-ejaculate
7:04 Are you pouring water in your vagina?
7:13 First all in. Loser Libation(s) revealed: Goldschlager & Jagaermeister
7:14 Chris D finishes DFL
7:19 Pocket queens nullified by a misdeal
7:29 Who brings drums camping?
7:43 Tony all in on Anna Kournikova: A/K looks really good but rarely wins.
7:44 Tony selects Goldschlager, assigns Jagaermeister to Chris
7:58 Standings after one event: Chris H. 5, Sparky 4, Rick 3, Tony 2, Chris D 0
8:35 When did “Filling the Bucket” start referring to licking someone’s ass?
8:40 Rumors of Rick spewing have been greatly exaggerated
8:42 A month before he was murdered, JFK was in Marilyn Monroe
8:55 Fast Food Draft:     

Chris DTonyRickSparkyChris H
1st Rd.Wingstop
Lousiana Rub
Western Bacon CheeseburgerBig MacDouble DoubleMcDonald’s
French Fries
2nd. Rd.Surfin’ Bird
(Beach Hut Deli)
Ultimate CheeseburgerChick-Fil-a SandwichSourdough JackAnimal Style Cheeseburger
3rd Rd.Chicken Katsu (L&L Hawaiian BBQ)Mexican PizzaWendy’s
Spicy Chicken
Beefy 5-Layer BurritoWhopper
4th Rd.Burger King
Double Cheeseburger
Quarter Pounder
w/ Cheese
Egg McMuffinSausage McMuffin w/ EggArby’s
Roast Beef
5th Rd.Panda Express Kung Pao ChickenPopeye’s Spicy Chicken SandwichCrunch Wrap SupremeJimboy’s Beef TacoBaconator

9:05 During Draft: Tony’s dick. “That ain’t fast. Baby, that takes all night.
9:06 During Draft: I wonder where Arby’s will go?
9:52 Rick & Chris D down for the count
9:54 They rally.
10:00 Rick’s down for good this time.
10;15 There’s a hole in your pants. Is that where the water goes?
10:38 Was “Lovin’ Every Minute of It” by Loverboy?
10:53 Tony calling it a night.
11:10 Okay, for real. Tony’s going to sleep.

Saturday

6:59 Rick falls back asleep at the fire.
8:00 Still only two of us awake. What the fuck is this, vacation? 
8:44 Where did all the Maker’s Mark go?
9:06 Last person finally wakes up.
9:07 “A bear came into my tent last night and shit in my mouth.”
9:25 “Ooo, that one smells like rotten chili.”
   “My work here is done.”
9:44 First beer of Saturday
9:49 Butter removed from ice
10:10 First whiskey shot of Saturday
10:46 Camptathalon Event #2: Home Run Derby
11:07 Deadball era: First round ends with three-way tie for first with 2 HR each.
11:17 Round two: 3 HR, 3 HR, 1 HR, 0 HR. Still no need for a jack-off
11:24 Chris D has only needed one home run in each round
11:26 Chris vs. Chris in the final
11:31 Chris H get zero, Chris D only needs 1 again.
11:32 With grand total of four, Chris D wins Homerun Derby
*After Two Events: Chris H 9, Sparky 7, Chris D 5, Tony 4, Rick 3*
12:00 Camptathalon Event #3: Cornhole
12:27 Chris D comes back from 20-7 deficit to win 21-20
1:14 Chris H comes back from 20-10 deficit to win 21-20
1:32 Cornhole Results: Chris D, Sparky, Chris H, Tony, Rick
*After Three Events: Chris H 12, Sparky 11, Chris D 10, Tony 6, Rick 3*
2:22 Is Rick down for the count?
2:28 Zombie Rick emerges
2:59 Two first-roll Farkles in a row
3:12 “Do you want more sausage?”
   “That’s why his back hurts in the first place.”
3:13 Rick’s back down again
3:41 Camptathalon Event #4: Jon Goudreau Memorial Butter Toss

3:42 Target: California COVID Tiers

3:49 Butter Toss Results: Sparky, Chris D, Chris H, Tony, Rick
*After Four Events: Sparky 16, Chris H 15, Chris D 14, Tony 8, Rick 3*
3:55 Slingshot a cheeseball into somebody’s mouth
3:57 Last time I checked, the number of balls was not an issue
4:15 The paper towels we wiped the butter off our hands with catch fire in the pit, giving the campground a pleasant movie-theater smell
4:18 Meat stick?
4:21 Radio announcer: “All four batters this inning have really smoked their balls.”
4:34 Are you ready for adventure? I need balls
4:40 Camptathalon Event #5: Adventure Bocce
5:15 Sparky can’t find one of his balls
5:38 Adventure Bocce Results: Chris D, Rick, Sparky, Tony, Chris H
*After Five Events: Sparky 19, Chris D 19, Chris H 15, Tony 10, Rick 7*
7:05 Rick has a beer
7:10 Camptathalon Event #6: Slingshot
7:17 Everybody goose-egged the first round. Great fucking idea.
7:46 Slingshot Results: Chris D, Chris H, Tony, Sparky, Rick
*After six events: Chris D 24, Sparky 21, Chris H 19, Tony 13, Rick 7*
8:01 Sparky boycotts Event 7, Cards Against Humanity, giving Chris D an anticlimactic Camptathalon Championship
8:37 First reading of the Rimmer book
10:09 When Pete Townshend masturbates, does he do it windmill style?

Snow Camping

After multiple fits and starts, years after the initial idea crept into my brain with the perseverance of syphillis, I finally headed up into the mountains and camp in the great white, frigid tundra of the Sierra Nevada, facing harrowing white-out conditions, a la Jack London lightsabering open his Tauntaun, relying on only my MacGyver wits and those innate survival skills harkening back to caveman days.

Okay, a couple slight misrepresentations there. Jack London had no lightsaber. Other than that, it’s all legit.

Plus the fact that I was in Yosemite Valley, where there are park rangers every other square foot. Not to mention grocery stores. And bars, in case I forgot to pack enough beer, the ultimate survival sin.

Oh, and the weekend in question, the temperature was only a few degrees cooler than down in the flatlands.

This was my second planned glorious freezefest marred by temperate conditions. Two years ago, my outdoor curling bonspiel, held at one of the coldest spots in the lower 48 states, resulted in a high in the mid thirties and a low in the twenties. Don’t get me wrong, that’s cold and all, but that same competition this year had highs in the single digits.

Yosemite camping, in comparison, was closer to what I assumed it would be. Yeah, that high temperature wasn’t substantially lower than back home, but the high temperature doesn’t tell the whole story. In the valley, you probably get three to four hours a day near the high. In Yosemite, if you walk into a shadow, you’re losing ten degrees. The only time I felt truly miserable was 2:00 pm, returning to campsite after hiking to the Vernal Falls bridge, only to find said campsite completely shaded, and realizing that sweat cools very quickly. The sun teased us way up on the mountains, but it was gone for good from down below. Even though the temperature dropped another twenty degrees by nighttime, we were acclimated by then.

Actually, the most miserable I felt was when 28,000 steps at elevation combined with carnitas and beer. The bus that takes you into Yosemite is called YART, for Yosemite Area Rapid Transit. Yart is also what I did inside my tent.

Speaking of which, the shuttle busses are back! After two years of destroying the environment in order to stop the sniffles, they finally decided to let our feet and exhaust pipes rest. The only weird thing about the busses was the time and date posted inside were wrong. We rode around Saturday afternoon, but the busses through it was Sunday morning. We thought maybe if we rode the busses long enough, we could find out who won the Super Boal and make a bet on it. Alas, at 5:00 pm Saturday, it was still only reading 8:00 am Sunday, and I don’t think the shuttles ran at midnight when we could listen to the game. Damn you, time travel paradoxes!

Sorry, that had nothing to do with snow camping, just a Yosemite/Covid aside. 

As for the temperature thing, it did get pretty chilly overnight. Somewhere in the mid-twenties, I’d surmise, although one of the wives saw a report of 18. Nothing that a tent, sleeping bag, and about five layers of clothes. 

Oddly enough, my feet kept getting cold around 3:00 am. I’d think my feet would be the warmest, buried deep in my sleeping bag. But I suppose they’re also closest to the edge of the tent. Plus the whole distance-from-heart thing and only one layer of socks. On night two, I threw a hand warmer down there, but it had burned out by the time I needed it. I opened a second one, but I don’t know if I didn’t shake it right or if it was a dud or whatever, but it never seemed to warm up and I was too fucking tired to reassess. 

Yes, I’m talking about those little iron oxide packets. As I said, roughing it like our forebears. 

But dammit, there WAS snow on the ground, so I’m claiming victory over snow camping.

Honestly, I was a little worried. We had huge storms in December, but the last four weeks have been dry, and I wasn’t sure what impact a month of fifty-degree days might have on tobogganing conditions. I knew there’d still be snow up on the mountains, but the valley only sits around 4,000 feet elevation. Fortunately, there was plenty of snow to go around. Considering our campsite was in full shade from 2:00 pm on, I think the snow will stay there well past the equinox.

At least it wasn’t last year. We originally booked our snow camping for last January, but Yosemite canceled it due to the first, or maybe second, Covid surge. Back before we started naming variants, because they didn’t start naming variants until after got vaccinated and weren’t living in fear of plain ol’ vanilla Covid.

While I complained about Yosemite shutting down, because it’s not like we were going to be exchanging lots of saliva with strangers while outdoors in January, perhaps it was a blessing. Our first (and only) storms of the 2020-21 winter didn’t arrive until two weeks after our reservations. Without snow, it isn’t really snow camping. It’s just cold camping, which doesn’t sound nearly as fun.

Aside from the length of time it’s near the high, want to know the other difference between forty degrees at home and forty degrees camping? The latter doesn’t have central heating.

I figured forty was no big deal. I regularly walk to my classroom in shorts when it’s sub-40 in the morning, and half the times I’m wearing shorts because it’ll be 65 by the time I walk out. Except on the way to my classroom, I’m only outside for 500 paces or so. When it’s forty degrees at a campsite, you better be sitting your ass by the fire. Then your front. Then your ass again, like a goddamn rotisserie chicken.

I’m mostly exaggerating. Weatherwise, it was more or less what I was looking for. Cold and crisp, enough to require layers and bundling, but nothing bone-biting. Not sure I would’ve wanted to run around naked at midnight, but nothing a fire in the morning and evening, and a little walking around during the day, couldn’t accommodate. 

Although we did a hell of a lot more than “a little” walking around. In addition to those 28,000 steps, my Fitbit clocked me at 130 floors on Saturday. We did Mirror Lake AND Lower Yosemite Falls AND the Vernal Falls footbridge. I’ve become so used to camping out in the middle of nowhere where the biggest exertion comes from sitting by a lake and playing cornhole, that I forgot camping can include some rather aerobic exercises.

It doesn’t matter if I’ve done Vernal Falls twenty times in my life, I still fall for that sign at the beginning every damn time. “Vernal Falls Footbridge,” it reads, “0.8 miles.” How hard can a trail be if it’s less than a mile? 

Except for the fact that it’s 0.8 miles straight the fuck up a mountain. I tried to explain this to the two Yosemite noobs with me on this trip. We’d done Mirror Lake already and it was getting close to lunchtime. I really only wanted to see if Happy Isles was open. I didn’t need to prove anything.

But it’s less than a mile, they said. There ain’t no pain in the world we can’t withstand for one measly mile. Twenty minutes up, twenty minutes down, and we’ll be right and ready for lunch. 

Then I suddenly forgot a lifetime of experience. I’m older now than I used to be, I reasoned. My legs are longer. An hour car ride used to be straight torture, and now I do it on a daily basis. Based on that logic, the NFL would be filled with fifty-year-olds. 

Holy shit, Vernal Falls is a brutal fucking hike!

There’s one stretch, only fifty yards or so, that appears to cross the surface of the sun at something like a seventy percent grade. No, I don’t care if that can’t exist. This entire stretch stands only as a reminder, after hiking ninety percent of the way under a beautiful tree canopy, that nature is an asshole. On a summer hike, you rest beforehand, drink your body weight in water directly afterward, and then become a druid so you can fuck the nearest tree. 

I thought maybe it would be a pleasant respite in the middle of winter, but nope. Because when you’re hiking in forty-five degree shade, you’ve got layers. I contemplated stripping off my flannel and sweatshirt in order to cross the threshold in my skivvies, but that would’ve taken way too much effort.

When we returned to the campsite, now with no sunlight, my friends remarked it was a deceptive 4/5 of a mile. I felt like reminding them I tried to talk them out of it. But instead I only shivered while cold wind buffeted my sweaty undergarments.

The Mirror Lake trek was more pleasant. The only drawback to that slow, paved incline was some slippery-as-shit batches of ice. Not so bad on the way up as the way down. My curling skills came in handy. Walk like a penguin, low center of gravity. My friends didn’t do quite as well. Four tumbles between the two of them. 

Speaking of ice, I was surprised the actual lake was iced over. I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me. Ice and snow don’t form the same way, and if it’s regularly dropping into the twenties and teens at night, it doesn’t matter if it’s been a month without a cloud in the sky. But still, Mirror Lake is pretty shallow. Not really a lake at all so much as a slight egress, a Thanksgiving belt unbuckling, of a fast-moving stream. In fact, the pool just beneath Mirror Lake, which I always considered more or less a part of Mirror Lake, didn’t have a speck of ice despite only a fifty foot elevation change. 

And yeah, I totally wanted to curl on that shit.

The Yosemite Falls hike was pretty much the same as it is in the middle of summer. Almost as crowded, too. For the most part, the park was serene and, from the perspective of a regular summer day, sparse, but the Lower Yosemite Falls bridge was still ass-to-elbow.

The only other place that felt crowded was, ironically enough, the campgrounds. Only one of the seven or eight valley campsites is open in the winter, and it’s only half open, all of us jammed into a hundred or so campsites. So even with decreased demand, we’re still right on top of each other, especially for guys used to camping somewhere remote enough for home run derby and throwing butter at trees. Maybe Yosemite knew what it was doing when it canceled my reservations last January. I thought there was no way we could spread Covid to strangers while outside in January. Turns out it’s about as private as a cultish orgy.

They didn’t, however, close Yosemite Falls last January. I assume that’s what caused every single surge and variant of the past twelve months.

Even the village store was a ghost town. I didn’t even know it was possible for the parking lot to only house a handful of cars. On a summer day, you’re idling for ten minutes until one of the two hundred cars leaves. In January, they don’t even bother plowing half the parking lot. 

Or maybe it was just that people bought their shit during the day, not wanting to drive over icy roads in the dark like a couple dumbass city slickers rolling into town twenty minutes before the store closes.

Which leads to the biggest issue with my snow camping adventure, the biggest switcheroo from my comfort zone of summer camping. 

Did you know that the days are shorter in February than in June? Who woulda guessed?

I knew there was no way in hell we’d make it there before the sun went down, but couldn’t fight that niggling hope at the base of my spine that I wouldn’t be blindly groping in the frozen dark like a freshman trying to unclasp Elsa’s bra. We discussed grabbing dinner on the way into the park, but didn’t want to lose time. So no stopping at the Pizza Factory or inviting brewery in Groveland. Because… well, I’m not sure why. It’s not like 8:00 would’ve been darker than 7:00. Once you hit nighttime, you’re setting up camp blind. The only difference is sloppiness caused by hunger pangs.

In the end, after fumbling around with some persnickety poles that seem to go together perfectly fine when I don’t have to worry about my fat ass blocking the lantern light, we finally boiled some water and had ramen for dinner that first night. It was almost PB & J sandwiches, but the other guy realized he threw some packs into his camping gear back in the Bush administration and that stuff can withstand a nuclear winter. Or a Yosemite winter. 

Not as good as the brewery or pizza in Groveland. Then again, had we stopped for dinner, the store might’ve been closed when we got there, meaning we could only burn the wood we brought with us. Ramen and fire beats pizza and no fire.

Who says I’m irresponsible while camping?

Next year, Polar Bear Challenge!

Camptathalon 2020

Seeing as I posted about our aborted attempt at snow camping, now seems a good time to finally post the journal from last year’s oft-canceled, nearly-aborted Camptathalon trip. After a number of false starts and offside penalties, four of the five regulars were able to escape the shitshow of 2020 long enough to make an abbreviated attempt at a bona fide Camptathalon. So sorry if it’s a little light this year. 

As per usual, we logged what occurred. Everything here is 100% accurate. 

Taken 90% out of context. 

Friday.

3:10 Stop at Snowshoe Brewery in Arnold, CA to fill growlers, might as well stay for a pint. They don’t even require food to purchase booze in this county. It’s the wild west!
3:15 “Is it too early to put my mouth on your beer cup?”
3:40 “Sucking Daniel Craig’s dick would be just like kissing Rachel Weisz”
4:20 First two arrivals at campsite.
4:35 Last two arrivals at campsite. That was quick.
4:37 Chris opens first beer. Rick follows.
4:46 Oops. Packed tent but not poles. Fucking 2020.
4:55 “Why is there a tea bag in my tent?”

5:11 “I’ve decided to make a Camptathalon T-shirt contest. Since none of you knew, I win this year.”

5:37 “How spicy do you like your chili?”
   “Like my women. Hot, brown, and full of meat.”
5:44 Sparky is all-time leader in Loser Libations, the shitty alcohol the first person out of poker is required to drink.

5:57 Official Opening Toast

5:59 First baseball card of Camptathalon 2020 – Chet Lemon

6:27 Hey, has anyone seen Rick?

6:35 Is it proper chili without beans?
   (Grabbing Crotch) “I got your proper beans right here and if you give me five minutes, I’ll make some sour cream for you.”
   “Dude, you need five minutes?”
6:46 Sparky recalls being invited to a loose girl’s house in high school, watching Kent Mercker’s no-hitter on her TV. “So she pitched a no-hitter, too?”
7:10 First party foul. Spilled beer while grabbing cookies.
7:21 First Event: Friday Night Poker
7:41 Loser Libation Preview: It hasn’t been iced.
7:51 “It’s from that movie called… What the fuck is that movie called? It’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer making out some other chick.”
    “Oh, that’s Cruel Intentions!”
7:52 Wait, who the hell dealt this hand? Check, check, check.
7:56 Put your dick on the table. One red chip dick.

8:17 With the first all-in, Loser Libation is revealed as Franzia Sunset Blush

8:19 All-in won. Live to see another day.
8:23 Can we please put that on ice now?
8:25 “No. Fuck you guys. Tell the story. Tell the story right now.”
8:34 Chris out on a double full house.

8:38 [redacted]

8:42 “I have a 4.”
8:50 “Loser Lube-ation.”
8:53 Sparky keeps dropping cards. Tony invokes Jon Lovitz as Dukakis. “I can’t believe I’m losing to this guy!”
8:58 Two growlers down.
9:00 “Are you taking this stick or do I need to wrap up these sticks?”
9:11 Loser Libation is finito.
9:17 Another card dropped through the table crack by the crack whore.
9:23 “As happy as I am that you can do math, I cordially invite you to suck my cock.”
9:33 “Gunslinger Rick puts out his second opponent of the night.”
    “I put out all the time.”
9:34 “It’s been quite a while since I’ve had a pok’er.”
9:43 “How is this guy still in it? He was up against it twice and I had to fucking drink the hole fucking Franzia all in one night.”
9:49 Sparky down for the count
9:58 Standings after one event: Rick 5, Tony 3, Sparky 1, Chris 0
10:01 I think we can leave the baseball cards out. I’m not worried about bears eating cards.
10:37 Savory in your mouth
10:57 Rick retires
11:11 Tony & Chris out.

Saturday

6:57 Upon further reflection, those last two beers, and the entire bottle of Makers Mark, might not have been entirely necessary last night.
6:59 “I evacuated the Loser Libation last night.”
7:24 “Where the hell did you find Franzia?”
    “You can find it behind the tree over there right now.”
7:57 Guess it’s time to go read the constitution

8:07 Butter removed from ice

8:23 Chipmunk jumps in the fire

9:10 Same stupid chipmunk jumps in the bocce ball box.

9:25 Trip to store unsuccessful in locating Miller Genuine Draft. Thank God.
9:27 First beer of the morning.
10:00 Cribbage.
10:42 “I’m ready for some cornholing.”
   “That’s all you, buddy.”
10:47 It’s probably too early to start drinking heavily
10:59 Rick cornholes Tony in Round 1 with a score of 21-2
11:02 “I need to get better. I’m going to ask my wife for a cornhole for Christmas.”
11:09 Another cornholing as Sparky beats Chris 21-8
11:40 Lunch: A couple of hot Hawaiians
12:10 Round two of cornhole
12:19 Chris wins third place.
12:22 “What’s a devil’s three-way?”
   “Do you need me to draw you a diagram?”
12:31 “You keep tickling the cornhole, but not going in.”
12:39 Sparky powers back from 15-3, wins 21-20.
  Cornhole results: Sparky 5, Rick 3, Chris 1, Tony 0
  After two events: Rick 8, Mark 6, Tony 3, Chris 1

12:51 Too close to call, Rick and Sparky must toss-off to make the final round against Chris.
12:53 Butter Toss results: Chris 5, Rick 3, Sparky 1, Tony 0
    After three events: Rick 11, Sparky 7, Chris 6, Tony 3
12:57 Homerun Derby
1:07 Round 1: Chris 8, Sparky 4, Rick 3* (7 outs left), Tony 2
1:13 Round 2: Chris 2 (8 outs left), Rick 2 (7 outs left), Sparky 1
1:18 Rick and Chris headed to a 5-out jack-off, tied 7-7 in finals.
1:24 Rick 2, Chris hits 3rd with four outs left, flips bat, runs around gimpy and pumping arms like Kirk Gibson
   After four events: Rick 14, Chris 11, Sparky 8, Tony 3
2:00 Chipmunk in bear locker. Bear’s going to be pissed.
3:16 “I’m going to take a leak. Then change clothes. And then I’m going to have a beer. Not that you all needed the play-by-play.”
3:40 Exhibition event. Welcome to… New Las Vegas “board” game.

5:43 Adventure Bocce results: Chris 5, Sparky 3, Tony 1, Rick 0
   With one event left: Chris 16, Rick 14, Sparky 11, Tony 4
6:01 Tri-tip sammiches
6:25 Rick putting cooler back in car. Quitters never prosper!
  “Fuck you. I’m out of beer in that cooler!”

6:31 “Like a 14-year-old groping around on prom night.”

6:47 Final event: Cards Against Humanity
7:17 Rick wins on “A romantic candlelit dinner would be incomplete without… calculating every mannerism so as not to suggest homosexuality.” If Chris comes in second, we’ll have a tie atop the standings.
7:26 Tony finishes second with “What helps Obama unwind? Out of this world bazongas.”

7:32 Final Camptathalon standings: Rick 19, Chris 16, Sparky 12, Tony 7

7:37 Draft: Action Movies
Order: Sparky, Chris, Rick, Tony
Rd. 1: The Rock, Terminator, Die Hard, Missing in Action
Rd. 2: Top Gun, Red Dawn, Raiders of the Lost Ark, Red
Rd. 3: The Fast & the Furious, First Blood, Aliens, Gone in 60 Seconds
Rd. 4: Bourne Identity, Tango & Cash, 300, The Goonies
(Ed. Note: Drafts are snake-style, so Tony took Missing in Action with pick 4, then Red with pick 5)

8:09 Draft: Holidays
Chris, Rick, Tony, Sparky
Rd. 1: Christmas, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Independence Day
Rd. 2: Father’s Day, New Year’s Day, Memorial Day, Labor Day
Rd. 3: Constitution Day, Veteran’s Day, Mardi Gras, St. Patrick’s Day
Rd. 4: Easter, Super Bowl Sunday, Opening Day, MLK Day
Rd. 5: Fishmas, Cesar Chavez Day, Canada Day, 21st Amendment Day

8:31 “Now that the sun is down, I can pee openly.”

8:35 Draft: Candy
Rick, Tony, Sparky, Chris
Rd. 1: Pay Day, Peanut M&Ms, Twix, Whatchamacallit
Rd. 2 Snickers, Reese’s Pieces, Peese’s PB Cup, Hershey w/ Almond
Rd. 3: Mr. Goodbar, Almond Joy, Gummy Bears, Kit Kat
Rd. 4: Butterfinger, 100 Grand, Caramels, Nestle Crunch
Rd. 5: Twizzler, Goobers, Starburst, Swedish Fish
Rd. 6: Lifesavers, Bueno Bar, Orange Slices, Black Licorice
Honorable mentions: Junior Mints, Heath/Skor, Hershey’s Kisses w/ almonds

8:47 Ladies across the way already went to sleep. Fuck them. Quiet hours aren’t until 10:00
8:58 “Is it 9:00 yet?”
  “You must stay up until 10:00. First person who falls asleep, we’re dipping your hand in warm water and shaving your eyebrows.”
  “Without warm water or a razor?”
9:32 “I can blow well.”
9:44 “On that note…”
“It’s not 10:00 yet, bitch.”
10:01 “And on that note…”

Sunday
6:34 Shushed by karens next door for packing up too loud.
6:37 Every time that flag’s refurled…
6:52 That smoke in the sky is new. And ash on the cars. Looks like we barely beat the fire this year.
7:43 Westbound and down.

Another COVID Cancellation

Some of my normal camping guys came up with a crazy idea last year, which was to go camping again.

Normally, this wouldn’t seem totally asinine, but in this, the International Year of the Covid, all bets are off.

The wrinkle to this particular camping trip was the date it was to take place. Late January. Snow camping! 

I’ve never done it before. Nor has the other guy who was gung ho about the idea. The third guy grew up on the western bank of the Sierra Nevadas, where it snows a bit but nothing major. It should be noted that the two other Camptathalon mainstays, who grew up in Idaho and Wisconsin, couldn’t say no fast enough. A wise man might note the discrepancies. But fuck it, I’m sure I can get gassy enough to keep that tent as humid as a summer’s eve.

We opted for Yosemite. For one thing, I don’t really know how many campsites are even open this time of year. Our usual haunts don’t open until six to eight weeks after the last snow. In the midwest, there’s snow everywhere, so you can pretty much camp anywhere. In California, to get to snow, you’ve got to go up to 4,000 feet elevation or so, and the roads to those spots are a wee bit pesky. But the roads to Yosemite are plowed regularly. Commerce, as Teddy Roosevelt intended. 

Our second reason for choosing Yosemite was that it’s about as far from “roughing it” as you can get while camping. They’ve got two well-stocked stores and a half-a-billion rangers per square mile. Shit, they’ve got 4G reception and an ice cream stand. Guessing we could get pizza delivered if necessary. Not exactly a spot I’d need to worry about getting lost in a blizzard and wandering off a cliff.

Speaking of which, the valley floor is only about 4,000 feet, so the Wisconsoner and Idahoan really didn’t need to whine about traveling uphill in the snow both directions. It wasn’t supposed to drop below the mid-twenties at any point during our visit. The high was scheduled to be above forty on Saturday.

But alas, my first sojourn into the camping where you don’t need to purchase ice each day did not happen. Neither rain nor sleet nor snow would shut Yosemite down. COVID, on the other hand…

Yep, Yosemite is closed to overnight reservations as part of California’s on-again, off-again flirtation with pretending we’re taking it seriously.

Because, you know, there’s no chance for us to socially distance when we’re camping in the fucking snow. Why, it’s got to be like Disneyland, right? I imagine thousands of people are all ass-to-elbow, because if we know one thing about Californians, it’s that they LOVE being out in the snow in the middle of the night.

To be sure, it’s ONLY the overnight stuff that’s closed in Yosemite. Visiting the park in the daytime is still totally legit. It’s only the campers who can’t be trusted to social distance. Is there some sort of midnight orgy I was unaware of? Maybe it’s a good thing they won’t let me in, as you never want to be the guy who shows up for the orgy wearing snow-camping gear.

When I first made the reservations, I already had to deal with a weird COVID restriction. They were only booking fifty-percent capacity. Fine. Whatever. Except either I didn’t read the fine print or it wasn’t clearly spelled out, because if I were to ask you how to ensure fifty-percent capacity in a campsite, how would you go about doing it? Close every other campsite, right? 

Nope! They booked the entire campground for a week, then went an entire week without accepting reservations. I guess so they could… sanitize the dirt. Besides, who wants to go to a half-filled orgy. 

Just remember this when you go into a restaurant that’s cordoned off every other table to allow for maximum spacing. Tell them they’re doing it wrong. It’s much better to go standing-room only on Tuesday and Thursday, while taking Wednesday off.

This missing week became an issue while reserving, because Yosemite releases an entire month’s worth of reservations at the exact same time. I wasn’t sure what the demand would be for winter camping, but in the summer, if you log in five minutes late, the entire month is taken. So at 7:00 am, I started refreshing like I was loading a pornographic picture back in the dial-up days. 

7:01, 7:02, and I’m still not seeing the dates in question available. I noticed that the previous weekend was available, but I thought maybe they were residuals from the previous month’s availability. At 7:04, I decided to see if the FOLLOWING weekend. The campsite was available. It’s at this point I realize their asinine definition of “fifty percent capacity.” Good news is by that time, there were still campsites available. Bad news was I had to drop down to our third choice.

As an aside, the weekend we originally wanted to go was this weekend, the one in between the AFC/NFC Championship games and the Super Bowl. What better time to go camping than when there are no sports? But Yosemite only made the weekends of major football games available for camping. Maybe this was to further depress demand. Make sure no casual fans come up for the non-socially-distanced camping that is somehow less safe than day visitors.

Too bad I’ll never find out. At least not until next year.

And really, I don’t know why, ten months into the pandemic, I should expect anything less than arbitrary rules that have as much effect on containing the spread of COVID as taking off our shoes prevents terrorism. Remember back when they said we’d have regular testing by the end of May? 

Back then, Hawaii told everybody to stay the fuck away on pain of execution. Now Hawaii’s begging people to come work remotely, but only if you’ve been tested in the past seven days. Unfortunately, desire to go to Hawaii isn’t one of the prerequisites for getting a test. Tests, like vaccines, can only be doled out piecemeal, to those deemed worthy of saving. You need to have licked the bunghole of somebody with all three strains of the virus who is currently in ICU. 

Or you can be friends with the Governor. I have a funny feeling that everybody who was at Herr Kommandant Newsom’s French Laundry soiree has already received their vaccine. And snow orgies.

Speaking of which, sorry if my forthcoming rants are a tad California-specific. But a) that’s where I live, and b) we are the poster child for FUBARing the whole COVID thing. If you live in a place that’s got its collective head out of its ass, then maybe this’ll only serve to make you feel fortunate.

It’s interesting how most of the media say we’re no longer following the rules because of “COVID Fatigue.” Instead, most of us are making constant judgement calls, weighing the trade-offs between having a life or being dead. There’s a sliding scale. Even if we all strictly followed the rules, we have to grocery shop at some point. And I don’t think that I’m out of line that camping in the snow, with the closest human being fifty feet away, is probably safer than going to the grocery store. I’m not being ignorant. I’m trying to follow the rules and guidelines that the government established.

Not that those rules and guidelines mean jack shit. We’re told to meet certain goalposts, then we’re told that, sorry, that’s not the goal we’ve been looking for. Or sometimes we DON’T meet that goal, and Herr Kommandant’s like, “Yeah, you know what? It’s cool. We didn’t really need those ICU beds anyway.”

Over the Christmas holiday, Canada set up space heaters at outdoor parks. The message was clear: You want to be able to see your family and friends, so please be safe about it. In the United States, we opted for the tried-and-true “You want to be able to see your family, so we will tsk-tsk and shame you and not help you do that safely. Abstinence only has worked so well over the decades in this country. Just ask the millions of Americans who had premarital sex or smoked pot.

The ironic thing is we simultaneously tell people to social distance while also banning them from it. I’m on the Board of Directors for my curling club, and we perused the sports rules for hours. They have all sorts of rules for how to do our sports. Limited capacity? We’ve accounted for that. Social distancing and masks? We’ve changed our rules to implement those. But then, at the tail end of the document, they give a list of which sports can operate in which tier. It’s like telling us how we’re supposed to shop safely, but then closing the stores anyway. 

In California, we’ve had at least three different classification systems over the past year. First it was a convoluted “phased reopening.” That was tied more to which companies could open, and as far as I could tell, it wasn’t tied to any sort of caseload count. It was basically “Starbucks can open its drive-thrus, and if the shit doesn’t hit the fan, they can sell a couple Bacon Goudas, but not the bagel store in the same parking lot because Starbucks contributes a lot of money to politicians and fuck you, small businesses.”

Then we went to the color-coded, county-by-county system. Some people whine that the colors make no sense, but I think they’re fine. Yellow, orange, red, purple. It’s pretty standard “danger” stuff. The problem I have is that they set the classifications such that everyone will always be in purple. 

If you have more than 7 positive cases per 100,000 residents, you’re in purple. Seven! Currently, 54 of the 58 counties are in purple, which kinda makes the whole “purple” designation pointless. Sacramento County was at 55, while San Francisco County is at 38, and Los Angeles County was at 150. 

The red tier is set at 4 to 7 per 100,000. Orange at 1 to 4. Again, Los Angeles County is currently at 150, which is the same as 10. But 4 and 7 are hugely different numbers that drastically change what can open.

It seems to me that 150 cases per 100,000 residents is substantially worse than 38 per 100,000. But according to the state, they’re EXACTLY the same. It would be like maxing out the Richter Scale at 4. Or the hurricane classification at 2. “Boy, I wonder how big that natural disaster was?” “Exactly the same as every other natural disaster.”

So again, if they’re going to make their classification for the purposes of scolding us, then we’re going to try to make sense of it ourselves. At one of my staff meetings, my principal was running through the numbers and, at 93 per 100,000, referred to us being in “Deep Purple.” He talked about what preparations we might make if we get into “light purple,” but it was too late. I was already humming, “Smoke on the Water.”

At my curling club, we’re talking about reassessing opening when we get down in the 20 per 100,000 range. Although truthfully, I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad number, because it’s all arbitrary. If there’s no difference between 20 and 150, then is there really a difference between 7 and 20?

Then again, the numbers I’ve been quoting aren’t the real numbers, they’re adjusted for the number of tests. I have no idea what that means, but earlier this week, the New York Times showed Sacramento County with a rate of 23 per 100,000, while the California website claimed Sacramento County was still at 42. That’s a pretty large discrepancy and, unfortunately, the New York Times ain’t the ones who get to put us into red. 

And don’t get me started on the ethnic breakdown of the positive cases.

Yes, the state that claims to “follow the science” says that they get to make up the numbers. Counties aren’t allowed out of purple tier unless all of the ethnicities in the county are catching COVID at the same rate. And before you get started, yes, I know that Blacks and Latinos are more likely to catch it. But most of that discrepancy stems from issues of poverty.

Blacks and Latinos are more likely to work in the service and retail industries, which have remained open. Maybe if we want fewer Blacks and Latinos to catch the virus we could, I don’t know, try to make those activities safer. Like Canada did at the holidays, focus on HOW we do these activities instead of just telling people not to do them. I remember being a sexually-active teenager who had difficulties getting condoms.

Or we could look at fixing poverty and the reasons minorities are stuck in it, but ha ha, just kidding. Why would we try to fix poverty when we can just condescend people from behind the French Laundry barricade. “If you were taking this we were taking this more seriously, you would avoid the grocery store. Honestly, who has to buy fruits and vegetables more than once a year, anyway?”

So after the phases and the tiers failed to not only curb the surge, but actually seemed to make things worse, Herr Kommandant came up with a new metric, which was ICU capacity. So now if you’re in purple, everything is closed, but if you’re in purple and your ICU capacity drops, then… everything is still closed. But maybe they chain up the door now?

A recent article I read posited that closing everything down might’ve actually driven the latest surge. Before the shut down, people could eat outdoors. After the shutdown, they had to go indoors, where they’re much more likely to catch it.

Don’t get me wrong. ICU capacity is hugely important. It might even be something we should’ve been tracking all along. But we weren’t, and because the state couldn’t distinguish between nine sick people and two hundred sick people, they decided to change the playbook again. 

But once again, the ICU capacity numbers appear to be a heaping pile of bovine excrement. The Sacramento region (not county this time) sunk below the 15% availability in early December. We were put on Saint Gavin’s naughty list for a minimum of three weeks, after which it would be reassessed. I kept checking the ICU capacity over that three week span, and it usually oscillated between 14-17%. So I was shocked when Jan. 2 rolled around, and our region was suddenly at 4% capacity!

Four percent? How the fuck did we drop ten percent in two fucking days?

Well, you see, that 4% number wasn’t our actual ICU capacity. It was Herr Kommondant’s PREDICTION about what he thought our ICU capacity WOULD BE four weeks later. So, you know, sorry y’all worked so hard to reach that milestone I told you would get you off probation, but now I’m making up a new milestone that is literally impossible to reach.

Of course, the reason they were predicting our ICU rates would plummet was because they didn’t think we were following their rules over the holidays. In other words, “we don’t think you’re following our rules, so we’re going to keep the same rules.” Wonderful.

Then he reversed gear. A week later, he claimed that the ICU rates weren’t spiking as expected and he was going to reopen Sacramento only, because now his magical eight ball says that four weeks later, we’d be at 17%. I’m sure this decision had nothing to do with the fact Herr Kommandant currently lives and works in the Sacramento region.

And no, if you’re wondering, the French Laundry is not in the Sacramento region.

The irony of the naughty-list/nice-list switcheroo was the actual numbers. When we were told we couldn’t reopen because we hadn’t cupped his balls correctly, the actual ICU availability was around 14%, but when we got the all-clear, we were just under 10%. So why exactly did we set the 15% threshold?

Then a few days ago, he waved his magic wand and reopened the entire state. Poof. Our long, national ICU crisis is over! Even though not a single region (aside from Northern California, where nobody lives) had even come close to sniffing 15%. But now the magical four-week prediction says all is honkey-dorey. The outlook was almost comical. Sacramento is still predicting 17%, the exact number that was predicted two weeks ago, so I guess not a damn thing has changed. But all of the other regions, who were below Sacramento, are predicted to be higher. Bay Area is supposed to be well over 20% ICU availability, but the true kicker is Southern California, which is predicted as having 33% of their ICU beds free in just four weeks! This is the same Southern California that has had 0% capacity for six straight weeks! What the fuck? Are there only three ICU beds in Southern California and Bob is starting to look a little ripe?

I teach social science, so I’m totally comfortable with trends and projected statistics. For instance, Gamestop’s stock is predicted to drop by ten percent, but instead it increased by… what the holy hell? Okay, maybe ICU beds can jump from 0 to 33%. Gavin just needs to get reddit dorks on board.

The latest completely arbitrary shift came with the vaccines. They very clearly laid out the first five groups, confusingly named Tier 1A, phases 1, 2, and 3, followed by Tier 1B, phases 1 and 2. Not sure why they couldn’t just name them one through five, but I guess everybody’s gotta feel special. In the end it really doesn’t matter, because they changed up the order. The first two groups were an amalgamation of front-line workers. Then it was supposed to by those 75 and over in that third group. I know this because I was in the next group, 1B part 1, along with those between 65 to 75. Not sure how teachers and baby boomers were included together, but whatever. How many 75 year olds can there be? I assume teachers will be up any day now.

Except then they decided that those 65-year-olds get to jump ahead of teachers. No real reason. Just because. And I don’t know if you’re aware of age demographics, but there’s a lot of fucking baby boomers. So when it was teachers and boomers together, I was looking at a late March vaccination. Now that it’s boomers, THEN teachers, I just got pushed back to July. JULY! And I’m still in a “special” category. There’s still going to be a group behind me, which I think includes a large swath of retail workers, before getting anywhere close to the general population. So if you’re 50 years old and work a normal office job, you’re probably waiting till 2022.

Remember back in November when people were saying there was a light at the end of the tunnel, and this might be our final lockdown? And Biden promised 100 million vaccinations in 100 days? Well, I hope his math wasn’t dependent on the most populous state in the nation getting its head out of its ass.

I’m pretty sure the real number Lord High Protector Gavin was looking at had nothing to do with positivity rates or hospital beds or millions of vaccines he has in his own personal batcave. It’s the number of signatures on the recall petition. Here’s how I think this went down. The president of the California Restaurant Workers Association called him up and said if he didn’t open the entire state, she was going to tell every restaurant employee to sign the petition. And voila!, state is open. 

I should note that the reason I know that person is a she is because it was her, not the governor, who announced the reopening. He followed a few hours later. Ironic, considering many of the legislators and health officials were angry at Newsom not telling them when big announcements were coming, so they weren’t prepared for the slew of phone calls, making Newsom look large and in charge. But if he outranks them, we now know who outranks him. Be sure to tip your server.

So huzzah! Restaurants are open! Hair salons are open! Swimming pools are open! Unvaccinated teacher coming soon to a recently-opened ICU near you! Just in time for a newly-mutated strain that requires two masks!

But don’t worry, we’re all still safe.

Snow camping is still closed.

Yosemite, COVID Edition

Just got back from a couple days in Yosemite. This trip was quite a bit different from those of the past.

I’ve been going to Yosemite since before I was cognizant. Probably been there around forty times total. This was Daughter’s third trip and she just turned six. So if there are two things I know in life, they’re probably Yosemite and being a snarky asshole. The latter I’ve done far more than forty times.

Used to camp there with my family every summer, when it was still possible to get reservations. They used to sell them through Ticketmaster (or maybe Ticketron?) on a rolling basis, whereby tickets became available eight weeks before the date of travel. So some would be released every day. My dad used to camp out at the local record store to get in there the minute they went on sale. 

Nowadays they release an entire month’s worth of reservations online at the same time. If you take the time to consult your calendar six months out to ensure that day isn’t somebody’s birthday or something, you’ve already lost them to somebody else. And whereas it used to be first-come, first-served as to which campsite once you got there, you now have to pick the specific numbered site when you reserve. The one time I tried to reserve, I went off to find a campground map to make sure I wasn’t getting the one right next to the shitter, and by the time I came back, it was taken. I guess next time, I’ll learn to love the vault toilets. 

So ever since the age of twenty or so, it’s been day trips. I used to live a couple hours from the park gate. Nowadays it takes a solid three/-and-a-half hours to get to the valley floor. That necessitates a bit more planning, usually a stay over the night before or after. Because the last thing I want to do after four hours in a car is the 2,000-foot elevation gain hike up to Nevada Falls.

Last year, it was just Daughter and I who went. Wife had an excuse called “having to go into work.” Clearly that’s not a thing anymore. I packed Daughter in the car shortly before her bedtime and drove through the night while she slept, because three hours in a car with a five-year old is torture for her and I. We stopped at a B & B in Groveland around 10 pm, and we were in the valley by 10 am the next morning, “hiking” up to Mirror Lake. If you’ve never been, the walk to Mirror Lake is literally on a road, a leftover from when they allowed cars more places. The road is also still usable if you have a disabled placard. The hike is 1.2 miles with an elevation gain of a whopping 100 feet. But this was enough for Daughter to ask “Are we there yet?” fifteen times and bloviate about the horrific workout I was forcing upon her. That’s about the time I scrapped the whole Vernal Falls idea. 

The Vernal Falls hike was a rite of passage for me. From when I was about my daughter’s age, my dad would hike us up to the footbridge, the first spot you can see the actual falls. The following year we went a little further. The first time I made it to the top, we took the back route, but my dad showed me the infamous Mist Trail. It’s effectively a staircase made out of misshapen granite that’s slippery as shit because you’re under a constant deluge of splash from the falls. You’d think it’s rain. My dad didn’t think I was able to ascend the Mist Trail that year (good call – at forty-five, I’m still a klutz), and promised we’d attempt it the following year. The following year we went to the Grand Canyon. And Zion the following year. Bullshit! Three years later I made it up. 

The only problem with making it to the top of Vernal Falls is you then realize it’s not even the cool waterfall on that hike. Nevada Falls, an extra two miles and another 1,000 feet up, after already going up 1,000 feet in the last mile-and-a-half, is one of the quirkiest waterfalls in existence. It’s crooked like Bill Clinton’s penis. I might’ve been in junior high by the time I conquered it. Nevada Falls, that is. Not Bill Clinton’s penis.

After that we found a cool trick. Get up to Glacier Point and take the Panorama Trail DOWN instead of up. Of course, that’s when I was a teenager. Nowadays I feel like going downhill is worse than going up. Not as strenuous, but it moves muscles in ways they’re not supposed to move.

My original plan was to try the Vernal Falls footbridge this year, then start Daughter on the same Trial by Hike my dad put me through. Except this year, the shuttles aren’t running as a result of COVID. Which is the impetus for this post. Obviously I can wax nostalgic for thousands of words about Yosemite, but that would be exciting for an audience of one. I know it usually seems like I only write this shit for myself, but it’s not entirely masturbatory.

After closing for three months, Yosemite opened to the public a few weeks ago. As soon as I saw they were reopening, I jumped online to get a reservation. We planned to go up Sunday morning, stay overnight near the park, then go back in Monday before driving home. As an added bonus, Yosemite was limiting entry! Yosemite without visitors is about as close to heaven on Earth as it gets. Just like John Muir intended. Unfortunately, a lot of other people had that same notion. And those rat bastards were parked EVERYWHERE!

Obviously they weren’t limiting entrance too much. They were aiming for half of the usual summer crowd. So the trails and meadows weren’t super full, but without the shuttle buses to get us around, we were on our own. Usually you drive to one of two or three parking lots and then ride the bus around everywhere. This time it was find a spot and walk as far as you have to.

When I heard there’d be no shuttles, I grew curious about a bus-only loop at the east end of the park. On it are two main attractions, the Mirror Lake “trail” I mentioned earlier and Happy Isles, which is where the trail to Vernal Falls, et al begins. Surely they can’t block those spots off, can they? Or are they going to make me walk the mile from Camp Curry just to get to the trailhead whence I have to hike another couple miles straight up? I mean, I’ll happily climb the 1,000 feet in elevation gain over a mile and a half trail, but adding on an extra half-mile of flatland? I think NOT! 

Our first day there, a Sunday, before we parked at Camp Curry, we drove ahead to check out the bus-only loop.. It was now car accessible. Sort of. We could drive to Happy Isles. Tons of cars were parked there. But we couldn’t get all the way to Mirror Lake. Not surprising. There’s plenty of space at Happy Isles for a makeshift parking lot. I don’t know how they’d do that at Mirror Lake. We went the other way on the loop and found the farthest we could get was North Pines/Stables, which is how far you can drive under normal conditions. 

Okay, no problem. It was late in the day by then. I was mainly using Day One to figure out what was open, what was closed. Make some plans for tomorrow when we could hit the ground running. And maybe, if we could drive all the way to Happy Isles, but not Mirror Lake, this would be the year we tackle Vernal Falls, after all. Start Daughter on the same rite of passage as me.

Except when we came back on Monday, the road to Happy Isles was closed. What the fuck? And naturally, the parking lot at North Pines was jam packed. So back to Camp Curry we went. At least there was a yummy-looking food truck there the day before. Its version of chicken & waffles was served in a waffle cone with a maple drizzle. Delightful. We passed on it because we had picked out a dinner spot near the hotel, but we were looking forward to it for lunch the next day.

But sure enough, that shit was as closed down as Happy Isles on Monday. What the fuck, people? It’s COVID time. Nobody’s working. There shouldn’t be huge differences between Sunday and Monday. The taco truck was open both days. But when you’ve got your heart set on chicken tenders in a waffle cone, carne asada ain’t gonna cut it.

Perhaps we could get around the loop on wheels. I had the brilliant idea to bring Daughter’s scooter about the eighth time we stopped on the way to Mirror Lake the year before. But we forgot to pack it. Oops. So we looked into renting bikes. Twenty-four bucks each for a half-day. Okay, so seventy-five bones for the three of us? It was a distinct possibility. After all , it’s not like we’d be spending money on scrumptious lunch options. Only one thing dissuaded us. The extra five bucks for her to rent a helmet. It wasn’t the cost, five bucks is excessively reasonable after the exorbitant cost for the rental itself. But something about putting something that’d been worn by every other kid on the face of the earth seems a bit too far these days. 

Ironic, I know, since under normal circumstances, they probably wouldn’t have cleaned that shit since last century and it would be filled with colonies of every head lice ever invented. This time, they’re probably disinfecting it every night. And yet…

In the same vein, Sunday night was the first time we’ve been in a hotel since the beforetimes. It felt weird. The one thing going for us was that, while Yosemite was closed, this hotel was either closed or getting very little action. But I never realized how the carpeting in a hotel room looks straight outta 1979, which was probably the last time it was cleaned. That’s probably Jack Tripper’s chest hair down there.

On the other hand, it’s refreshing that the feces and DNA left behind by previous guests are no longer my primary concern. Go ahead and bring in a black light. Spooge splats are fine as long as there aren’t any Mexican-beer-drinking viruses in the man batter.

After discovering that there was no parking close to Happy Isles or Mirror Lake, we parked at Camp Curry and walked through one of the empty campsites to the river. There’s only one campsite open in the whole park. Man, if I had been one of the lucky few to reserve one of the other sites back in February, I’d be pissed. That’s like winning the lottery only to find out that you won the wrong lottery and the money’s going to somebody else. 

I don’t see why they only open one campsite. If they’re trying to encourage social distancing, shouldn’t they open half of two different campsites? Then again, as I’ve opined before, camping is about as socially distant of an activity as we’ve got in this world. Especially if we’re to believe the newest reports that it’s very difficult for the virus to spread outdoors. True, Yosemite camping isn’t as socially distant as most campsites. Even though there is zero campsites available when you try to reserve, they jam ya in like sardines once you’re there. When I camp there, I actually have to pee IN THE BATHROOM! The Horror! 

Just as John Muir intended.

Speaking of which, halfway across the abandoned campsite, Daughter decided, as six-year-olds are wont to do, that this time, and no other time, was the proper time to vacate her bladder. But it’s cool, even if the campsites closed, they can’t be locking the bathrooms, right? Turns out that yes, they can. Could she make it across the street to the open campsite? Maybe three minutes? If you’ve ever encountered a kid in early elementary school, you know the answer was a resounding no. 

Of course, this was also the moment that a few rangers were walking through the campsite, checking it for, I don’t know, viruses and such? So we took Daughter behind a tree to hide from them, which probably was doing no such thing, and it was off to the races. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not opposed to peeing in public. I’m a guy, the world is my urinal. But that’s why I usually camp out in the middle of nowhere. It’s crowded at Yosemite. If I randomly whip it out, I’m liable to splash on hundreds of people. But I guess society is a bit more forgiving of a six-year-old than a mid-forties dude. 

When we finally made it through the campsite, I finally had that “passing it on” moment. We were standing on the rocky bottom of the frigid Merced River, throwing rocks and sticks into the current, and Daughter absolutely loved it. Couldn’t get enough. Sure, my feet were slicing and dicing and turning into icicles, but Daughter’s eating this shit up. And I’m reminded of all the times I walked across or laid down on an inflatable tube or mattress, with nary a thought of internal temperature or why the fuck couldn’t they put some goddamn sand at the bottom of this stream as John Muir intended.

It’s such a rare feeling, that I’m doing this parenting thing right. Sure, I might’ve exposed her to spooge marks and COVID the night before. And sure, I let her play on her Nintendo for all three hours both ways. But dammit, we gotta take the wins when we get them, right? 

She even said she’s excited to go back to Yosemite next year.

I’m sure that’ll change once I make her hike Vernal Falls.

Camp with no Tathalon

Camptathalon, that annual bacchanal of fart jokes, was supposed to happen last weekend. It did not. So those of you tuning in to see timestamped musings of whether or not anal sex counts as social distancing, unfortunately you won’t find that here. Nor in February, when I normally get around to jotting down said timestamps.

There was some camping this weekend, which in and of itself is a phenomenal bit of normality in these apocalyptic times. But because 2020 can’t do anything without a nice fuck-you roundhouse to the nuts, the camping was neither in the expected place nor with the expected crew. Nor with toilet paper.

For those who think a roundhouse kick cannot connected with testicles, I might’ve agreed with you before this year. Now I’m not so sure.

We picked this weekend way back in January. Like good conscientious citizens, we reserved and paid for our preferred campsite. Then the COVID hit. In case you weren’t aware.

When the entire world shut down, so did camping. Not that most camping spots were open in March. If you read last year’s Camptathalon, which I typed up ten months later, you’ll note the campsite we went to last year was opening the weekend we were camping and we had to wait till they chopped down some trees before we could get in.

This year it’s been a pretty temperate winter, so there wasn’t much reason to delay opening until July. Well, except for that whole social distancing thing. 

Honestly, I don’t get that. I understand keeping Yosemite closed, because that place gets so crowded in the summer that a visit to Camp Curry usually requires swimming through a morass of other people’s buttsweat. You have to stand on the bus with another guy’s crotch up your butt, and not in the social-distanced loving way.

But the types of campsites my friends and I frequent aren’t the ones that most of the city slickers flock to. We’re polite enough to know that if we’re going to be talking about and engaging in shenanigans, we probably don’t want to be camping next to family of four venturing out into the outdoors for their first endeavor. Three hours out of town and 6,000 feet elevation are usually minimums for us. This past weekend was 2.5 hours and only 3,500 feet. Might as well have been flat land. 

In mid-May, we got a notice from our campsite that they would not be opening until July 1. They didn’t cancel the reservation, per se. They didn’t give us our money back, because, after all, the Forest Service is a government entity and they’re holding on to every dime until they legally have to return it. And if they have a chance to change the law between now and then, they might not have to legally do shit. Regardless, we started to look for other options.

Our original campground, called Running Deer on the picturesque Little Grass Valley in Northern California, is one we camped at a few years ago. Next door was a campsite named Little Beaver, leading to all sorts of jokes about parole conditions and being that close to a little beaver. Ha ha, fucking hilarious. Since then, we’ve tried to return to Running Deer twice and been shit out of luck both times. Last year it was still snowed in, this year it had the ‘Rona. Little Beaver 2, campers 0. Take that, motherfuckers!

Also, for those keeping track, the one time in the last four years we didn’t try for Little Grass Valley, our campsite burned to the ground four hours after we were evacuated. Little Beaver up 3-0!

When we looked at what other options were available, we couldn’t find much. As late as the third week of May, the cupboard was bare. The first-come, first-served sites were all still closed. The reservable spots were both closed AND booked, a double whammy that does not comport with social distancing.

Look at how adult I was to pass up the first-come, first-served joke. But I couldn’t in good consciousness let a double whammy go by.

It was about this time we lost the first of our potential seven contestants. He’s a city slicker, through and through, who’s been threatening to come to Camptathalon for years, but has never come. He’ll only come under the best possible circumstances, and a Camptathalon where the first event is breaking into Little Beaver probably doesn’t fit that description. He would also need to fly up from Southern California, so not being sure what awaited him on the other side, that flight credit might be better used elsewhere. 

While a couple of us pored over the various websites that show camping sites, one of our group who was on a job site in a national forest asked some rangers what they knew. Of course, we could’ve changed our plans, pushed it out a month, whatever. But we’re all middle-aged dudes. Changing our plans would be tantamount to asking for directions, an admission of defeat our suburban upbringing  from baby-boomer fathers and greatest-generation grandfathers ensured made no imprint on our DNA.

Luckily, one of our ilk knows all the out-of-the-way, off-the-beaten-path, Ted Kaczynski-esque “dispersed” campsites. Basically, dispersed means no shitter. Sure, they also don’t have tables or firepits or garbage or water pumps, but let’s be honest. We can bring water and tables, we can throw together some rocks to make a fire ring. 

But the no shitter thing definitely gives pause. Sure, I can dig a hole or, if the flat we choose is wide enough, we might not even need a hole, just a long walk. But Jesus, I’ve got gout and am out of shape and half the time my shit is runny as hell, especially if I’ve been living off of Doritos and beer for the past two days. How the hell am I supposed to squat and not get it all over the heels of my shoes?

It should come as little surprise that we lost our second camper shortly thereafter. He blamed it on the COVID. His wife’s parents have the sniffles. They might have the Virus. Of course, this was still ten days out and a lot can change in ten days and he wouldn’t be able to visit them in the hospital anyway, but sure, sure. Stay home and comfort your wife. I’m sure her parents will be as fine as all of my students’ grandparents, who magically die every time a term paper is due. How many fucking grandmas you got, kid?

The five who remained spent the second part of May preparing ourselves for the inevitable. We made a tally of folding tables and ez-ups and extra chairs. We re-thought chili as the Friday night dinner plan. We opted for canned beer instead of bottles, the easier to pack-out what we packed-in. Five years ago, this would’ve been a no-go, but now you can get good beer in cans, too.

On May 22, some campsites started to reopen. Not many, but a few. All were first-come, first-served. The following week, a handful of others opened as well. On May 29, the guy that made the reservations got another email from the Forest Service. Running Deer still closed, reservation still not canceled. But whereas the first email said they didn’t foresee opening until July 1, this one didn’t specify a date. Hope springs eternal. Perhaps everything would open up again on Monday, June 1. Because if this virus has taught us nothing else, it’s that nature really loves to follow the Gregorian calendar. I mean, shit, the first of a month AND a Monday? After months of viruses and impeachments and murder hornets, 2020 was finally giving us a break.

Unfortunately, that was not the case. The first of June came and went and we still couldn’t come within ten miles of Little Beaver. 

We zeroed in on a couple of first-come, first-served campsites. Instead of heading up Thursday evening, a couple of us would leave earlier. In-charge guy checked the sites out the previous weekend, as they aren’t far from his in-laws, and they looked fine. The sign for one of the turn-offs was missing, but it was our back-up plan and we were heading up super early, so no problem. And hey, shitters!

Turns out the shitters didn’t have toilet paper, but whatever. Take what you can get. Canned beer leaves more room for toilet paper.

Around this time, we lost two more of our ilk. You’ll note I mentioned the impeachment and COVID and the murder hornets. But those references are SO mid-May. In case you hadn’t noticed, we’ve had something of an eventful last couple weeks as well. One of the guys didn’t feel right leaving during the unrest. He had to go away overnight for work once (when he spoke to the ranger) and when he came back, his wife and kids were feral. Two to three nights just wasn’t an option.

Then a guy remembered, a few days before we were set to leave, his anniversary was that weekend. Okay, I’ve blamed a lot of this on the shitshow that is 2020, but I think in this case, COVID and BLM and the Iranian air force can take a pass. He maybe should’ve been a little more on the ball. His wife told him it was fine with her if he went camping, but we all turned into instant Admiral Akbars on that one.

So our seven had become three. We’ve done Camptathalon with three before. But only two of the three going this year were what we might call regulars. Of the eight Camptathalons, two of us have been to all eight, one guy has been to seven, and another has been to six. Nobody else has been to more than one. The third guy who still hadn’t canceled this year, this would’ve been only his second Camptathalon, and his first one was canceled by fire. Come to think of it, maybe he’s the weak link, not Little Beaver.

Plus, we really didn’t want to do the Butter Toss. Didn’t want to look at a single sliver of butter if it could be avoided. So the two of us who have been to Camptathalon every year, but who also don’t mind camping for the purpose of camping, made the executive decision to cancel Camptathalon. This trip would be tathalon-less. 

Good thing, too, cause I don’t know if the city slicker-types would’ve even been able to find the campsite. Our first one was all full. It was not much past noon on Thursday, and all 30 spots were taken. I guess that’s what happens when you only open ten percent of the usual campsites.

Three or four of the “taken” spots were bogus. One had nothing but a chair and a lantern. Others had a “paid for” receipt on their post but not a single item to denote occupation. I assume the people in the sites next door nabbed these spots for friends coming up later. Bullshit, if you ask me. First-com, first-served does not mean you get to hold seats for your buddies.

But with reservation spots and hosted campsites still closed, we’re in the wild, wild west. So it was onward to the next site on the other side of the lake. And we hoped the fact that the turnoff sign was gone would have kept it hidden enough, because we were out of cell range and had no Plan C. 

Or I suppose we were on to Plan D now. Plan A had been our reservations, Plan B was the dispersed site. I expected all sorts of “morning after” jokes if it had been a legitimate Camptathalon, complete with journal. But when we went beyond Plan B, I wondered if anal sex might might be Plan C. It requires a little more forethought, realizing you don’t have a pill for the following morning. Now that we were on to Plan D? What, a handjob? Not nearly as fun as the first three options.

Fortunately, our final option became an actual option. Only three or four of the eighteen spots were taken. The third guy was in a different car, leaving at a different time, and he missed the turnoff. He had to double-back a half-hour to get into cell range to reenter the coordinates into his Google Maps (which does a damn fine job of tracking you through places with no reception), but he showed up a few hours later. We settled in for an extended weekend of relaxation and kayaking and reading, but surprisingly few fart chokes. Trust me, if this had been a true Camptathalon, the journal would’ve been a snoozefest. Something along the lines of:

11:35 Started Chapter 5

11:47 On to Chapter 6

11:56 Everyone up for a round of cornhole?

True to the new normal, even this second-choice, off-the-beaten-path campsite was almost entirely full by Thursday night. Everybody was pissed about the taken-not-taken spots at the first campground. I bet if I wanted to, I could’ve raised an army to march on the fat cats. Who said we left all the rioting back on flat land?

We picked a big campsite with a mini campsite next to us. We thought about paying for it, in the same vein as the assholes at the first site, just like upper classmen hazing those behind them. Except we would have actually occupied it. We woulda manspread all out like German lebensraum against their Sudetenland. It had maybe enough room for one tent, although I actually think that spot belonged to our plot or theirs. I was going to pitch my tent to dissuade latecomers, but decided to do the other side of our site since there were already people there. Face the enemy you already have instead of the one who might never materialize. They were a big-ass family of twelve or so, taking up two spots. Their license plates said Washington and they talked about the Seattle Mariners. Shit, I thought we were taking a gamble coming all the way from Sacramento without reservations. Imagine if they’d driven twenty hours only to find the campground closed or occupied.

The people who finally “camped” in the mini spot, the last one to be taken in the campground, didn’t have tents. I fucking hate camper people. If I don’t have a tent it’s because the weather’s going to be good enough for just a cot. If you’re sleeping in a car, it ain’t camping. 

Speaking of the weather, it turned to threatening Saturday morning. Half the campground went home. We were prepared. We put up tarps, knowing full-well that if we didn’t, it would rain, but if we did, it wouldn’t. Took us a half-hour or so to get everything secure. It never rained, although we did hear some pretty ferocious thunder in the hills. 

One other ritual we couldn’t observe this time was the greasy spoon for breakfast on the way out of Dodge Sunday morning. The first place was closed. The second place was take-out only. So we bought breakfast sandwiches instead of the usual bacon grease covered in gravy. Ate them in the parking lot and said our good-byes.

Camptathalon still might happen. The usual brain-trust is sorting through potential dates. So if everything goes right, there might be an Official Camptathalon 2020 Journal, after all.

But given the way this year’s gone so far, I wouldn’t hold my breath.

Camptathalon 2019

Veering away from the ‘Rona Madness to finally get around to posting the Camptathalon results from last year.

Unlike 2018, no natural disasters ruined our festivities. Unless you count “snow in May” as a natural disaster, because that did put a little hitch in our giddyup this time around. Our campsite was set to open on the Friday of our camping weekend, three to four weeks later than usual. We had reservations for that night. But a couple of us headed up a night early, figuring if the snow wasn’t going to be a problem Friday, how bad could Thursday be? Turns out the campsite needed the official blessing of the Forest Service to be opened. And we all know that nothing expedites a process like a federal bureaucracy.

But hey, I got to see a tree fall in a forest. It makes sound.

For those of you reading your first Camptathalon Blog, we keep a running log of things said and did. Most are intentionally out of context.

What is Camptathalon? Find out here.

Enjoy.

Thursday.
1:00 Campsite closed. Fuck you.
20190614_094949.jpg
1:15 Find some random remote spot. Free. That’s $24 the Forest Service will never see.
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2:49 First sighting of other human beings since we arrived at spot – PG & E Truck
3:20 Water’s fucking cold. Add Polar Bear Competition to Camptathalon? Sparky lasted 37 seconds.
5:30 Relocate to a second site because it has a picnic table and a shitter.
5:50 We fixed your fire pit for you, Forest Service. Is that worth $24?
20190613_181853.jpg6:20 Dinner: Burger & Chips
7:45 “Probably shouldn’t pee in front of that camera.”
“That’s not a camera.”
“What is it, then?”
“I don’t know.”
“We should totally zipline that motherfucker.”
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Friday
6:45 “I brought the coffee grinder because last year you brought good beans and we couldn’t grind them.”
“Oh, I brought ground coffee, because last year I brought good beans and we couldn’t grind them.”
7:40 Shitter’s closed. But the picnic table is nice.
7:50 “I just did something I haven’t done in twenty years.”
“Did you just dig a hole?”
“Nope. I didn’t have a shovel.”
8:40 Pack up camp again. Moving to third site in last twenty hours
9:00 Campsite’s still closed. But the “Road Closed” sign’s moved to the side. Hope?
9:12 Ranger: “It’s still going to be a few hours. I need to look at each campsite. Hopefully I’m done by noon. Please move your cars so I don’t have to come out and explain this to others.
9:22 Filling up ice chests with snow. Saving money left and right.
9:50 Setting up chairs across the street from campsite, like Black Friday shoppers.
9:59 Camp host drives by. “You guys waiting to get in?”
“What gave you that idea?”
10:05 “Hey, Mr. Forest Guy, I’ll give you a Dirty Wookie if you open this place.”
“Which kind of Dirty Wookie?”
(Transcriber’s Note: Dirty Wookie is the name of a beer. On Urban Dictionary, it has a rather different definition. I’ll politely not provide a link.)
10:15 Host and Forest Guy are talking loudly just to fuck with those assholes sitting across the street.
10:22 Host and Forest Guy leave. Sign’s still up.
10:40 Tree chopper arrives.
10:42 “It’s still going to be a while. You guys want to go fish or swim or something?”
“We got nowhere to be, and this is what we’d be doing if we were in our campsite. Except with beer instead of soda.”
10:49 Rick arrives. Now there’s three camp chairs sitting patiently across the street.
10:58 “I won’t reveal the Loser Libation yet, but it is much worse than Bud Ice.”
11:08 Rick has to move his car because it’s in the fall zone. Then they ask him to just block the road.
20190614_110910.jpg11:09 We’re helping. That’s worth more than a Dirty Wookie.
11:12 “You can stop blocking the road now.”
“No way. Now I’ve had the taste of power.”
11:15 Any way we can turn tree chopping into a Camptathalon event?
11:16 Camp Host takes “Road Closed” sign out to road, singing “Signs, Signs, everywhere there’s signs. Do you know what that means? Get the FUCK out of my road!”
(Transcriber’s Note: Camp Host is a late-60’s female hippie, looks like a grandma)
11:21 Did I hear that right? “We’re Open?”
11:31 I must not have heard that right.
11:41 Rick busts out the Fireball on the side of the road.
11:50 Fuck this. Let’s go have lunch at the resort.
12:42 “I’ve heard in religious places like Utah, it’s not good to be a ‘stone’s throw’ from anything.”
12:51 Campsite is OPEN! The watched pot thing came true.
1:24 First beer of the weekend cracked open. Not counting the ten or so last night.
1:52 Cocks flag is up. Wisconsin Lunchbox is hung.
20190614_135346.jpg
2:01 Rick christened the campsite. With urine.
2:45 It’s a quarter to three and I’m drinking whiskey.
3:13 “I’ll warm up your chili for you.”
3:42 Eternal point-distribution debate. 4, 3, 2, 0? 4, 2, 1, 0? 5, 3, 2, 0? Rick says “it’s easy,” wants 2nd and 3rd place to get 3.5 and 2.5. Fuck half points.
3:47 First Score 1989 Baseball Card Pack opened by Sparky. Best Player: Bobby Thigpen, Relief Pitcher, Chicago White Sox
3:48 People move in next door. Hope they’re cool. Confidence is high.
3:52 C-17 Starlifter buzzes the camp.
4:01 Reading 1940 Baseball review. Hank Greenberg. “I believe he was a Jew.”
5:29 Chris arrives.
5:41 “I’m going to pitch a tent. Then maybe I’ll put up where I’m sleeping tonight.”
5:50 The Pube Mixe and the cheese Balls. Still undefeated after three years.
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6:09 Concerned that Chris is the favorite for the poker tournament because he hasn’t been drinking since 2:00.
6:10 Official Opening Toast

6:17 “That’s the best Dirty Wookie I’ve ever had.”
6:21 “I would give Bea Arthur a Dirty Wookie.”
6:26 Chili dinner is served. With beans this time, so it’s proper chili.
7:07 Preparations for poker.
7:15 Chris casts deciding vote to not to reward winner. First place will receive 4 points, second place: 3, third place: 2, loser: 0.
7:20 Loser Libation is…. 32 oz. Coors Banquet Beer.
7:21 Debate over which is worse Coors vs. Bud Ice.
7:22 Toast of Fireball to commemorate fire winning Camptathalon 2018.
7:42 Neighbors left. Couldn’t handle the heat. Or the stink. Buh Bye.
7:43 Blinds raise. An intermission reading from Rimmer.
(Transcriber’s Note: We bought a signed copy of a smut book by Christine Rimmer many years ago for 50 cents. It has no rimmers.)
7:55 The Cheese Balls and Pube Mixe have been open for two hours. Do your fucking job!
8:30 Rick: “I have nothing to live for.” Wins next hand.
8:43 Sparky “wins” the Loser Libation.
9:05 How can I not be betting after the flop? I’m dealing!
9:09 Things have devolved.
9:20 Rick too tossed to play better.
9:30 Rick escorted to bed, still in poker game.
9:31 Sparky: “At least he didn’t do the Loser Libation.”
9:35 First Camptathalon disqualification ever. Does DQ drop to fourth place or still get third place?
9:47 WORST. POKER GAME. EVER.
9:50 Have we ever even raised the blinds?
10:46 Sparky didn’t finish Loser Libation. Party Foul! But he did play Rick’s hands after DQ. Party win?
11:07 Tony bets big and loses.
11:16 Standings after one event: Chris 4, Tony 3, Rick 2, Sparky 0
1:31 Chris and Tony still awake. Sparky stumbles out of his hammock to take a piss. Can’t get back in.
1:34 “You okay, Sparky?” “Yeah, I’m fine.”
1:35 Sparky goes to sleep in back of truck.
1:41 Nighty Night.

Saturday
6:15 Tony: First vomit of the weekend? No. Sparky did last night.
6:16 Black vomit. That’s a new one.
6:30 Sparky jumps in the lake.
7:46 Rick attempts to read what happened last night. WTF is all this??
8:28 Hangover competition: Tony, Chris, Rick, Sparky.
8:40 Chris reveals he’s never seen any Friday the 13th or Halloween movies. His Camptathalon Pass is now provisional.
8:42 Not even 9:00 AM and we’re already talking about jizz.
9:08 Oregon Trail
9:33 Our Oregon Trail names are: Brigham, Ezekiel, Hiram, and Doug.
9:34 First beer of the day.
9:55 Chris dies on 49th card. Outskirts of Willamette and some douchebag hipster probably could’ve helped him but his oxen weren’t organic enough.
10:10 Fuck you.
10:45 Cribbage!
11:00 Travel to the Big Fucking Rock.
12:27 Back from BFR. Growler open.
12:30 “I played with your slingshot while you were gone.”

12:35 Preparation for the Jonny Goudreau Memorial Butter Toss. We forgot a target, so it’ll be Little Debbie’s face on the Nutty Buddy box.
12:45 Sparky butters directly onto Little Debbie’s face.

12:46 Standings after second event: Tony with 6 points, everyone else in a 3-way at 4 points.
12:52 We forgot the golf clubs and bocce balls, too, so this might be a very abbreviated Camptathalon.
12:55 Event three: Home Run Derby.
20190615_130456.jpg1:12 Round One: Tony 3, Chris 2, Sparky 6, Rick 2. Rick and Chris headed to a jack-off.
1:17 First jack-off tied 2-2. They have to jack-off again, just minutes after the first.
1:21 Rick wins 3-2 to advance to second round.
1:29 Second round: Rick 0, Tony 0, Sparky 1 (retired after second out). Rick was tired after two consecutive jack-offs. Not sure Tony’s excuse.
1:31 Sparky explaining the rules of a jack-off while his dick’s in his hand. (Peeing).
1:35 Tony wins jack-off 4-1.
1:41 Sparky wins H.R. Derby 3-2 (with four outs left)
1:42 After three events: Tony 9, Sparky 8, Rick 6, Chris 4
2:04 “Can I mustard you?”
2:22 Draft 80s & 90s hotties:
Draft Order: Rick, Sparky, Tony, Chris
1st rd.  Phoebe Cates, Jennifer Anniston, Bo Derek, Denise Richards
2nd rd.  Rose McGowan, Jessica Biel, Alicia Silverston, Kathy Ireland
3rd rd.  Christina Aguilera, Britney Spears, Heather Graham, Catherine Zeta Jones
4th rd.  Joan Jett, Christina Applegate, Mia Sara, Selma Hayek
5th rd. Debbie Gibson, Lucy Diekens, Sarah Jessica Parker, Mila Kunis
2:34 “Is Bea Arthur taken yet?”
“It’s the 1980s, not the 1880s.”
2:41 Potential draft topics: Overrated bands, Greatest Sports Seasons (team), cocktails, Fast Food/Fast Casual, Comedies
2:55 Attempting to add Coop to Camptathalon as first-ever team competition. Winners get 4 pts, losers 2 pts.
3:22 Rick and Chris win, tightening standings. Going into final event: Tony 11, Sparky 10, Rick 10, Chris 8
3:38 Comedies Draft
Draft Order: Chris, Tony, Mark, Rick
1st Rd.  Idiocracy, Airplane!, Real Genius, Animal House
2nd Rd.  Office Space, There’s Something About Mary, Police Academy, Caddyshack
3rd Rd.  Mony Python & Holy Grail, Happy Gilmore, Billy Madison, Young Frankenstein
4th Rd.   UHF, Fletch, Major League, Blazing Saddles
5th Rd.  Team America, PCU, Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad World, Beverly Hills Cop
3:55 Discussion of honorable mentions: all Vacation movies, American Pie, South Park Movie, Blues Brothers, Waiting
4:07 Final Event: Cards Against Humanity
4:08 But first, another reading from Rimmer
4:52 Chris wins event with “The shambling corpse of Larry King.”
4:53 Chris complains that he won three events, won’t win Camptathalon. Is reminded that he voted to not give an extra point to event winner.
5:03 Tony takes second place in Cards Against Humanity with “Not Wearing Pants.” Wins Camptathalon despite never winning an event.
5:04 Final Standings: Tony 14, Chris 12, Sparky 11, Rick 11
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5:56 Tri-tip dinner
9:00 Rick is the unofficial Fartathalon winner.
9:30 Made it past sunset. Calling it an early night.

Sunday
6:21 The flag comes down.
6:27 The Cheese Balls used to mock us when they emerged victorious. Now they just pity us.
20190616_063613.jpg7:27 Leave campsite behind.
8:00 Greasy spoon diner has WiFi!
Fin

***No Wookies were dirtied in the course of this Camptathalon***