Tent Life

Well, it looks like my days might be numbered when it comes to camping inside my tent at these endurance rides. My lovely, adorable wife has decided we need a goose neck trailer, with living quarters. haha. This is too funny. Now, if I were to decide this on my own, it wouldn't happen (you already have your damn boat), but since the wife has made this decision for us, I'm counting the days till I put that tent away in the attic, never ever to be seen again. I've come up with the number 785, for now; that's all subject to change.

Gone will be the days when my wife, the kid or even myself bend a valuable tent pole, that has to be fixed and held together with duct tape. And let's not forget the verbal questions that are certain to follow, especially if I didn't do it. "Can't you see that the pole isn't supposed to bend that way?" And then there's, "Hey, how about climbing up that tree so I can hoist a rope over the limb above our tent to get it to stand up, since you messed up everything?" This is always a great way to start out a long and "quality time" week-end with the wife and kid. It's moments like these that just show you what the words love, tenderness and family unity mean.

Lost will be the times when we wonder just how much wind it will take to lift away our tent and take it to the land of OZ. Bye-bye to the rain storms, which flood out the tent floor to the point where, if we didn't have air mattresses to keep us above it all (our indoor swimming pool), we'd be sleeping with the fishes. Inside my new qooseneck trailer, I'll be able to now sleep without wearing those ear plugs to block out the generator noise. Did I mention that wearing those plugs makes me nervous as heck since I'm always wondering if a loose horse is going to stampede my tent, all the while people are screaming for me to get out of there and run for my life. My fear is not hearing their warning and dying a cruel and harsh death, with my lifeless form packed and ready for cremation, completely wrapped up in tarp (I can hear one of my camping neighbors say, "I'm not going to unravel that thing and look at what's left of him; you do it"). Then there's the fear of missing the blowing horn used for a 5Am wake up call, if I do get lucky enough to survive the night of the loose horse (this happens at every ride by the way). Can it get any better than this?

The wife and I did a little math, and figured it will take us two years. Two years to get the truck payment down, two years to get VISA, MasterCard, American Express, and a host of others down, and two years till we get those lawyer payments down, once he completes his job of getting my military retirement unattached by the ex-wife. If all these things come together for us, and I don't see any possible reason why they would not, (did I mention it might take three years?) we will have all the luxury that camping has to offer, with an obnoxiously loud generator (and I know just who I'm parking next to; I have a list), in the land of Camp Endurance. haha, life is good, and if it gets much better, I'll just have to watch more CNN to keep myself from blowing a gasket due to overloaded happiness.

With my luck, once we buy that wonderful trailer, some nut will mail anthrax to a ridecamp manager, the AERC ride insurance will buckle under, and all future endurance rides will be cancelled or postponed till we find and take out bin Laden, all his kids, and first cousins. SHHHHHH, Howard, don't give the WHACKOS (somehow this word just isn't strong enough) any ideas that they haven't already thought of.

My only solace to all of this terrorist crap is to watch, via CNN, those really cool bombs (I guess they're really some sort of guided missile) that glide into a cave, traveling at the speed of sound, and set the whole complex ablaze. Take that you group of psycho babble maniacs. Turn on your walkie talkie so we can all hear your reaction.

KAAAABBBAAAAAMMMMMMMM! Say hello to Allah for me. Tell him the Buddha is really pissed off for defacing his temple. Just be glad Howard isn't running things cause I'd nuke ya'll back to beginning of time, a place where you seem to prefer to live anyway, if I had the chance. In any event we'll make damn sure you get your wish to die for whatever whacko cause you think you're fighting for. And I hope it's an American female fighter pilot (these women are so damn cool) who sends you, courtesy of American Postal XPress, back to Paradise.

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