Camping without the children
Aug. 23rd, 2008 07:10 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elfsOmaha and I have been blessed this week to be childless. They're both packed off to summer camp for the week, and for the first time in eight years Omaha and I have found an entire six-day stretch to ourselves.
Unfortunately, that didn't turn out completely as well as we'd planned. The state-wide primaries were Tuesday, so Omaha was booked Monday and Tuesday night doing political stuff. It wasn't until Wednesday that we were free to ourselves. We went out to eat at a lovely restaurant called Bennett's, up on Mercer Island, which was pricey but delicious, and went to bed early in the hopes of getting out and onto the road the next day.
Thursday morning, we quickly threw everything we needed for a camping trip into the car, secured the bikes to the back, and rode out for Tahuya State Forest, a "working forest" popular with mountain bikers and off-road vehicle enthusiasts.
The Magnificent OmahaWe first tried a short run called the Overland, off of a place called The Sandpit. The Sandpit was exactly that: a huge field of gravel. Gravel is the enemy of the bicycle, because it disperses all of your energy, robbing you of any momentum and making it hard to get any traction to build more. Eventually, we crossed the Sandpit and made our way onto the trail. The ride was brutal, with lots of gravel in the trail, and the trail had recently been ground up by dirt bikes. Tires slipped and slid. It was nasty. We did about two miles of that before heading back to the car, taking a shortcut on a forest road. We drove down to Belair State Park for a campsite, then left the campsite to try Mission Creek.
That was a much better ride. Jarring in places, lots of roots, lots of standing water in trail ruts and pots, lots of mud, but at least it was a trail and not a gravel pit with trees. We dumped our bikes quite a lot and our shoes got very wet. We rode for about an hour, then realized we'd left the map we had and turned back.
One thing about these "working" forests; they don't feel right. They have a "used" feel to them, which I suppose is only normal as that's what they are: used. We're not in a forest in the same sense as, say, some of the ancient woods around Mt. Rainier. This place has been chewed through once or twice is the past century by loggers as a way of providing cash for our school system. That's the excuse that the state uses.
It's been a long time since I've ridden on anything other than city streets (and I don't even do that often enough!). My thighs and buttocks were brutalized by the constant pounding of the bicycle seat. I could barely walk.
We returned to the campsite with just enough light left to make Omaha's famous campside meal, foil chicken. I took a quick three-minute shower (50 cents for three minutes) and used as much hot water as I could buy with 50 cents.
Drying shoes by the campfileI will say that the kilt is pretty much the perfect dress accessory for this kind of outing. I could change into my riding pants without needing privacy, and going regimental in the evening was a damned relief after wearing those things all that time. Also, since we'd forgotten many things in our haste to get out of there (like towels), the kilt was great in allowing me to shower, squeegee myself as well as possible, toss a t-shirt over my damp body, and go. Not too bad.
It felt so weird to be camping without the kids, though. It was the first day I'd really missed them in more than an intellectual fashion. Where are my giggly kids?
I must have slept like a stone that night. I don't remember any of it.
Unfortunately, that didn't turn out completely as well as we'd planned. The state-wide primaries were Tuesday, so Omaha was booked Monday and Tuesday night doing political stuff. It wasn't until Wednesday that we were free to ourselves. We went out to eat at a lovely restaurant called Bennett's, up on Mercer Island, which was pricey but delicious, and went to bed early in the hopes of getting out and onto the road the next day.
Thursday morning, we quickly threw everything we needed for a camping trip into the car, secured the bikes to the back, and rode out for Tahuya State Forest, a "working forest" popular with mountain bikers and off-road vehicle enthusiasts.
The Magnificent Omaha
That was a much better ride. Jarring in places, lots of roots, lots of standing water in trail ruts and pots, lots of mud, but at least it was a trail and not a gravel pit with trees. We dumped our bikes quite a lot and our shoes got very wet. We rode for about an hour, then realized we'd left the map we had and turned back.
One thing about these "working" forests; they don't feel right. They have a "used" feel to them, which I suppose is only normal as that's what they are: used. We're not in a forest in the same sense as, say, some of the ancient woods around Mt. Rainier. This place has been chewed through once or twice is the past century by loggers as a way of providing cash for our school system. That's the excuse that the state uses.
It's been a long time since I've ridden on anything other than city streets (and I don't even do that often enough!). My thighs and buttocks were brutalized by the constant pounding of the bicycle seat. I could barely walk.
We returned to the campsite with just enough light left to make Omaha's famous campside meal, foil chicken. I took a quick three-minute shower (50 cents for three minutes) and used as much hot water as I could buy with 50 cents.
Drying shoes by the campfile
It felt so weird to be camping without the kids, though. It was the first day I'd really missed them in more than an intellectual fashion. Where are my giggly kids?
I must have slept like a stone that night. I don't remember any of it.
