02 February 2011

No Mileage Anywhere

We’ve mostly been hanging around camp the past few days, catching up on chores and making plans.  That’s got us talking about what life is like on the road, outside of the holidaying days.  Here’s a glimpse into what that life looks like …

The alarm goes off any time between 6 and 8 am.  Yes, we use an alarm even though we have no jobs to get up and go to.  Sometimes we have hikes to meet for, or water taxis to catch, or simply a competitive kitchen block into which we must hustle if we want a table and precious electrical outlet.  Ninety-nine percent of the time, Gina is the first one out of the tent.  This is sometimes because she has the weakest bladder, but more often because it is her job to race ahead to that competitive kitchen block while it’s my job to tidy up the tent.  This latter job is mine because I fit better inside our wee home.

Before exiting the tent, each of us must choose which of our three shirts and two pairs of pants we want to wear for the day.  Us tent folk are separated from the campervan folk in that regard, for they often show up in the ladies room in their nice, flowery robes, looking refreshed from a peaceful night’s rest in a padded bed.  We, on the other hand, look a bit ragged and haggard, our bodies having recently rejected our Thermarests and the bags under our eyes reflecting the effects of being last night’s snoring sandwich, tucked between tents housing men with unfortunate nasal blockages.  As for our clothes, well, this trip was to be on the bicycle, so we packed as lightly as possible.  Where limited in selection, we are at least simplified in choice.

Actually exiting the tent is the first real physical effort of the day.  One looks a bit like that gymnast that has just flown over the vault and landed a bit short, squatting with arms reaching, desperately trying to Stick It by rising to her feet as graciously as possible, that Stepford Wife smile (or some may say grimace) firmly in place.

At the kitchen block, we have our morning coffee and tea.  I have become an instant coffee (gasp!) drinker.  Not so much by choice, more by convenience.  Disposing of and cleaning up after coffee grounds in a public space that is more often than not too small for its customer base is not worth the effort.  Plus our French Press was too bulky to carry on the bicycle, which, as mentioned, is how everything we have with us was originally selected for the trip.  Coffee and tea are followed by either instant oatmeal or a yogurt/fruit/muesli mix.  No scrambled eggs, no bacon, nothing that requires jockeying for a burner, and we’ve even given up on toast, after having burnt ourselves out on PB&J sandwiches.  It’s hard to keep bread soft and joyful when it sits in a burning hot green van all day.  Needless to say, our packed lunch options of late are also suffering.

At this point in our day, one can insert an activity – those things that we mostly talk about in our blogs – hiking, biking, driving – any or all of the above.  A near-daily activity, however, that we don’t often discuss is the trip to the supermarket.  The supermarket is always a bit of a chore – what to buy when you have just a chilly bin with homemade blue ice (i.e., a frozen water bottle) and a set of collapsible bowls?  These difficult choices lead us first to the Wine section, where we eyeball the lowest shelf.  Good thing we’re traveling in wine country and not Minnesota or our Happy Hours would be way more pathetic than that fruity New Zealand Cab Merlot for $7.99.  From there we wander up and down aisles, more often than not wondering out loud why it is that a can of refried beans cost $5.75 and a taco kit is $12.99.  Before the cashier finishes ringing us up, we know that our bill will be at least $40 and all we have for dinner is “campground goulash”, a one-pot meal of soup ($3.75), instant rice ($2.99) and a wee can of chicken ($2.69).  The up-side is we only need one burner, which is much easier to elbow for than two.

After said activity comes the trip to the shower house.  Campground shower houses come in three varieties with two flavors.  In the variety department, there are the three-star showers, where the hot water is free and endless; the two-star showers, where the water costs a few dollars and is timed but a quick burst of cold lets you know you better get rinsing; and the one-star showers, that are not free, are on timers, and have no built-in warning system.  These are by far the worst.  You scrub as fast as you can while simultaneously experiencing a sort of Rain Man paralysis, obsessively counting off the time that’s passing while repeatedly mumbling “Don’t stop now, don’t stop now, I’m still soapy, I’m still soapy, oh please oh please, don’t stop now.”  In the flavor department, there are the Fresh and Fruity showers, with their scum-free tiles, gleaming knobs, lacquered benches and four solid hooks, and then there are the Day Old showers, with their slimy curtains that never fail to blow into your just cleansed legs, their resident arachnids keeping watch from above, and one rickety hook ever-threatening to deposit your clean clothes, towel, and cosmetic kit onto the floor whose condition we shall not discuss.  Yes, shower time.  Something to eagerly anticipate every day.

After shower time comes the next best bit of the day, otherwise known as Happy Hour.  You know what we’re drinking so enough said about that.

Following that, naturally, comes dinner.  Dinner requires a similar effort to breakfast, only sometimes we opt to cook at our campsite, which means tonight it’s Cobb Salad and saltines.  And getting ready for bed?  Well, that’s similar to shower time.  Walk to the shower house loaded down with slightly less gear, find a nice sink, and admire that campervan woman’s silky sweet robe while you stand there in you bike tights and t-shirt that’s now fraying on one shoulder and think to yourself, Wow, it’s been a great day.  And really, it has.  It’s just a different kind of work mingled in with our play.