Sharing Afflictions

The Big Bang Theory Part 3

We were still several hours away from the trailhead when it got just too dark to keep going. I suggested we camp for the night and continue in the morning. The girls were clearly pooped, parched and peckish. Once I reassured them there was really no danger sleeping in the woods at night and certainly it was less dangerous than navigating the treacherous terrain in the dark, their exhaustion won out over their concerns and they reluctantly agreed.

We got to a small clearing where we sat down on a tolerable tumbled tree trunk. We shared my water, trail mix and some dried salami which I cut with my Swiss Army knife. The conversation focused on extoling the virtues of the serene scenic surroundings, Max's mirthful mischief-making, and the pleasingly palatable provisions. Simple food tastes incredibly gourmet when you have been hiking all day. I had brought enough food to last me several days. We ate it all that night.

I found a suitably flat area where I cleared away most of the bigger bothersome branches and troublesome tiny twigs. I put down a layer of properly pliable pine needles and pitched my small, optimistically-categorized, three-man dome tent (not all descriptions have to be alliterative, it's just more fun if they are). I usually set up my tent before it gets too dark. I had to do the best I could in the moon light. Unfortunately, it wasn't even a quarter moon. I crawled into the tent, hung my camping lantern and switched it on.

Speaking of optimistic camping gear, I have one of those amazingly amenable sleeping bags that unzips down the side and across the bottom so it unfolds into a single surface. If you find someone with the same type of bag you can zip them together to make a cozy double wide bag for two. Sadly, my bag has never found its mate.

Most of the summer, it is too warm to be zipped up inside of a down sleeping bag even in the chill of the Sierra night. I unzipped the bag and spread it out across the tent bottom to provide additional cushioning from the ground.

Pixie peeked in as I was spreading the bag out. "Cozy," she said. "This is so sweet of you fixing this for us, but where are you going to sleep?"

"Are you kidding? This is for the dog and me. You are on your own." Due to my chivalrous nature, I had pretty much planned on letting them use the tent, but the rogue in me figured I should at least pretend to be a hard-ass.

"Don't be silly! We can't be out here exposed to the elements and heaven knows what all critters prowl these woods at night." She was plying her full out Southern belle persona. Her inconsistent accent probably meant that she, like myself and most Californians, was probably not a native of the state. It was becoming clear to me that she rolled out her Southern accent when she wanted to manipulate someone.

I just gave her a look that said she was wasting her charms.

She just ignored me and turned to the others shouting, "Hey y'all let's see how many we can fit inside." They all crawled in past Pixie who was holding the tent open.

"There is no room for the dog now!" I complained.

We were sitting around the inside of the tent in the dim light of the camping lantern. What Pixie called cozy, I would now call crowded as an over-designed integrated circuit. Rogue was at the back of the tent. We let her stretch her injured leg out toward the tent opening. She had her other foot tucked in against her thigh. The rest of us were circled around her outstretched leg sitting cross legged Indian style (American Indian not like a yoga posture, I'm not that limber). I was trapped between Pixie and Rogue. Jean was across from me on the other side of Rogue. Pixie was blocking the tent opening.