Another Campout

 

Camping Again (Another True Story)

 

I am sitting in a lawn chair at Bay City’s Recreation Area next to my camping trailer that is mere steps from the beach. It is hot and I am wearing short pants in anticipation of either a swim or a pleasant bicycle ride around the park as I await the women who are just now engaged in the business of clearing the dishes from our breakfast. I decided not to complain about the time that I am forced to wait as they finish their clean-up work. Besides, sitting in the pleasant surroundings of the park is not bad duty as our camp site is surrounded with tall oak trees that provide both the shade and the sense of being in nature’s majesty.

Included in nature’s largess at our campsite is an abundance of bugs. As evidence, I just carefully scraped a bug from my bare leg. It looks to be a caterpillar, not a very large one, nor a very pretty one, nor a very fast one, despite his tiny 20 legs with teeny-tiny feet that are too small to see. But he is definitely a bug who has fallen from the oak tree that is shading my campsite. An interesting feature of this campsite is the number of robins that have landed in an adjacent grassy area where they are searching for and finding bugs. I expect to soon learn whether small, slow, 20-footed caterpillars make suitable breakfasts for robins.

The agenda for this campout is primarily bicycle riding. The recreation area includes a shoreline marsh that extends a few miles to the northwest playing peek-a-boo with the beach, several woodlands, wetlands, and two look-out towers for birders who enjoy watching the large birds feed on the fish that call the estuary their home for the first part of their lives. The marsh occupies some 3000 acres. I am more of a pedal man than a bird-watcher. Despite my many bicycle trips around this park on previous trips, I have nothing interesting to report about big birds eating fish.

I can report that just now rain has enveloped a large area around Bay City, according to the weather bureau who had the audacity to forecast rain during my camping vacation. That will surely make bicycle riding problematic. The veracity of the weather bureau is being shown right now. The sun seems to have disappeared and the air feels heavy as bursts of thunder and lightening are beginning to take center stage. Since I typed the last sentence, a mild rain has commenced forcing me to lower an awning that should provide a measure of protection for me and my computer. I am torn between pedaling and typing. Neither activity seems to offer the promise of success especially since my riding companions are highly unlikely to ride in the rain or read my brilliant prose.

My companions in this campout are my son, his wife, and my wife. I could probably convince my son to ride with me if he has a raincoat in his gear, but there is virtually no chance in convincing the two women since they know better. The rain has commenced in a steady, albeit mild drizzle and a small ant has appeared on my computer screen. I think he doesn’t like what I have written since he is running in circles on this paragraph.

Wait a moment! I suspect the answer about riding in the mild rain has come to me. Just now, a bicyclist has appeared on the road fronting my campsite. He was an older man (not quite as old as me, of course) in a blue tee pedaling a small bike with the seat extended as far upwards as the small frame would allow. The most remarkable thing about the scene is the plume of water arising from the wheels of the bike as the man is pedaling hard, presumably heading for somewhere dry. Frankly, he looks kind of silly as he leans forward on the little bike with a grimace on his face as he seems to be pedaling as hard as he can against the now steady downfall. I found myself wondering why he is pedaling in the rain when most sane men would stay home and stay dry. In one of my saner moments, I decided not to pedal in the rain.

Forty minutes later: The rain is beginning to lessen in its intensity. As I climbed onto my bike it stopped raining. I decided that I could make a trip on my bike to the marsh area where the birding towers stand proudly. I made the trip and climbed both towers.

There were no birds to watch at either tower that overlooks the marsh. I don’t know why. The main beach across the road from the camping area is twenty to forty feet larger and icky looking as the water has retreated over the summer. I don’t recall ever seeing the extensive debris now apparent at the water’s edge on my previous campouts here. Has all of Lake Huron lost that much water?

Upon my return to the camping area after the bicycle ride, I heard a sort of whistling noise. It was a siren warning of a tornado in the area and corresponding storm. Employees at the campground are circling the area in their electric utility trucks warning campers to take cover. We spent the next hour in the bath house along with 30 or 40 other campers watching the rain come down in sheets. When the rain slowed, we walked to our camp site and waded through a pool of water that had collected in front of the door to our camper. We sat down to play a board game and the radio confirmed the presence of a tornado just north of Kawkawlin Thus began the ending of day one of our latest Pure Michigan Camp Out.