                        Camping Out In the Great Indoors
                                 by Dave Barry

 
 
 
          So  we thought, OK, time for a weekend camping trip.   Time  to 
       get  away from the hassles of civilization, get in touch with  our 
       inner  selves,  explore the subtle wonders of the  natural  world.  
       Maybe get stung.
 
          So we got out our trusty old tent, which had not been used  for 
       at least five years but which was still in perfect camping  condi-
       tion  except that it had been eaten, in its entirety, by  a  giant 
       carnivorous  pulsating blob of mildew featuring individual  spores 
       the size of wolverines.  No problem.  We are veteran  outdoorsper-
       sons, and we know how to survive in the wilderness without relying 
       on  some old tent.  So we went down to Sears and charged  a  *new* 
       tent.
 
          Also we bought food -- enough, if we conserved it carefully, to 
       provide adequate weekend nutrition for me, my wife, my son and the 
       Dominican Republic.
 
          Also  we packed our Coleman gasoline-powered lantern.  This  is 
       the  light source favored by outdoorspersons  everywhere,  because 
       you  can  depend on it, year in and year out, no matter  what  the 
       weather,  to fry your retinas like pork rinds.  This light  is  so 
       bright that commercial aircraft will routinely attempt to land  on 
       you  campsite.  Go to any popular wilderness at night  and  you'll 
       see Coleman-blinded outdoorspersons, unable to see anything except 
       their  own  lanterns, staggering around, bonking  into  trees  and 
       knocking  over  their chemical toilets, to the  great  delight  of 
       onlooking woodland creatures wearing sunglasses.
 
          Also  I took along my Swiss army knife, which combines, in  one 
       convenient  unit  weighing no more than a  ladies'  bowling  ball, 
       every  kind of implement -- screwdriver, can opener, shrimp  fork, 
       egg slicer, marital aid, etc. -- that you could ever possibly  use 
       in the wilderness if only you could unfold these implements  with-
       out  breaking off all your fingernails, which you cannot.  If  all 
       Swiss  army weapons are this difficult to operate, it's no  wonder 
       Switzerland makes such a big point of being neutral.  An  invading 
       enemy could waltz right in, unchallenged, while the Swiss soldiers 
       wore  their fingers down to bloody stumps, frantically  trying  to 
       unfold the rifle implement on their all-purpose soldier tool, only 
       to discover that in their haste they had by mistake unfolded, say, 
       their spatulas.
 
          Also  we packed the "tarp," which we always take into the  wil-
       derness because in the event of rain, all I'd have to do is  knock 
       down  a  couple  of saplings by hitting them with  my  Swiss  army 
       knife,  then  get some rope from somewhere and tie  various  knots 
       such as the "skank hitch," and in practically no time I could  rig 
       up  a "dining fly."  Although in actual practice we  usually  just 
       get "wet."
 
          Also,  for self-protection -- you have to be prepared for  any-
       thing,  in the wilderness -- we took along our Lawn  Darts.   (No, 
       they are *not* registered.  We'll register our Lawn Darts when the 
       criminals register *their* Lawn Darts.)
 
          Finally we were ready to depart from Miami, setting our  course 
       by  the angle at which the sun's rays struck the large green  sign 
       that said "TO I-95 NORTH."  We were headed toward West Palm beach, 
       the  location of the only campground where we were able to  get  a 
       reservation  for the weekend, this being the peak wilderness  sea-
       son.
 
          It  was not an easy journey.  Just outside of Fort  Lauderdale, 
       we  ran  out  of Cheez-Its.  But we pressed on,  because  we  were 
       nearing our destination, which, according to the Triple-A  camping 
       guidebook, featured "shaded campsites."
 
          Here's  a useful camping tip: *Always find out in advance  what 
       is  causing  the shade.*  I say this because  at  this  particular 
       "campground"  the sun was being blotted out by recreational  vehi-
       cles  the size of the Lincoln Memorial only  less  fuel-efficient, 
       which  were parked very close together so as to prevent  any  sap-
       lings  or  other nature items from surging out of the  ground  and 
       possibly  knocking over somebody's satellite dish.  There were  no 
       tents.   Zero.  I figured out why, when we saw our  "campsite,"  a 
       small  patch of dirt that had been packed so hard by  the  recrea-
       tional  memorials  that you couldn't penetrate it with  the  AX-54 
       Assault Model Lawn Dart, let alone a tent peg.
 
          But  we are not quitters in our family.  No, sir, we happen  to 
       be descendants of pioneers, rugged men and women who came to  this 
       land when there were no modern conveniences, who were not  daunted 
       by  hardships, who faced challenges head-on, and  who  ultimately, 
       thank God, built a lot of motels.  So we went to one, and although 
       there  were  unexplained hairs in the bed sheets, it was  still  a 
       wholesome  family experience, a chance for us to pass  along  some 
       wilderness  lore to our son, such as you're supposed to  take  the 
       little  paper  strip  off the seat *before* you  use  the  toilet.  
       We're definitely thinking of going camping again, maybe next year, 
       maybe  the year after, depending on how long it takes for the  new 
       crop of tent mildew to mature.
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