Kornfused at KOA

KOA Kampground was not what I expected. It looked like a playground at a trailer park. There was a small pool, a rubber bouncy thing, and a bunch of dirty kids on bikes in the parking lot. Surrounding this joyful mayhem was a ring of RVs, tents, and trucks, the tailgates of which functioned as impromptu kitchens. I checked in at the office and was surprised to learn that the girl who managed the place was a New York expatriate, who had enough of city life and retreated back to the simple life. She lived above the KOA office and didn’t seem terribly alarmed by my admission that this was my first time camping since childhood. On the one hand I was disappointed not to get any advice – I expected, at the very least, a stern warning about hungry bears or West Nile Virus – but in a strange way I felt that her restraint was a vote of confidence. Without saying a word, she was in effect telling me “Calm down, city girl, it’s not that deep. You’ll figure it out.” She handed me a map, pointed out where to find the tent site, and sent me along my way.

I drove Mitzi (my rented electric blue Mitsubishi) along the gravel pathway marked out by the map; but I must have taken a wrong turn because I ended up at a dead end behind a row of cabins, beside which were three picnic tables full of adults drinking beer and eating roasted weenies. They stared at me and started to giggle hysterically as I got out of the car and looked at my map, then at them, then at the pathway, then back at the map. I was scratching my head like a moron and must have looked pretty ridiculous. No wonder they were having such a laugh at my expense! I asked one of them “Did I take a wrong turn somewhere?” but he just doubled over in hysterics. His friend, who was able to stifle his amusement long enough to offer some assistance, asked me “Where are you tryin to go?” I handed him the map and started to explain, when a kindly gentleman rushed over and gently took the map out of the guy’s hand and said “You’d better talk to me.” It was only then that I took a closer look at this group with their matching t-shirts and ear-to-ear grins… and it hit me that these were all mentally challenged adults, having a gay old time laughing at this dumb lost greenhorn who can’t even read a map! It struck me that they could probably pitch a tent, build a fire, and make a s’more before I even got my sleeping bag unrolled… and don’t think it didn’t cross my mind to ask them to show me how! But Ranger Bob turned my map right side up and pointed out the tent sites, which by the way were about 10 yards to my left. Dumbass.

I pulled the car in next to the tent site and started to unload the tent gear. Now, I have put up a tent once before, pretty recently, so I was relatively familiar with the concept; however, this tent was MUCH bigger, it was getting dark, and P.S. I could not find any instructions in the bag. Nevermind, I’m a smart girl, I can figure this out. Well, I pulled out all the poles and stakes and whatnot, flattened out the tent on a nice grassy spot under a tree, then I started poking around the tent trying to figure out where the poles went.

Hm.

Back to the car to look at the picture on the box. Really, there are no instructions?

Hm.

Walking around the tent, peering at holes and rings and hooks, measuring the poles, trying to picture an engineering schematic in my mind.

Hm.

OK seriously, there HAVE to be instructions. I pull apart the whole kit, and finally I find an instruction booklet stuck inside a pocket. Whew! I go back to the tent, still lying prostrate on the grass, and start reading. As I’m learning how to identify all the various parts, a guy in a wife beater walks up to me and says “Need some help?” I hesitated for a second, had a brief argument with my pride, and said “You know what, I really do.” “No problem,” he says, “you were lookin a little corn-fused over here!” He took a quick look and started sliding the poles into place and staking the tent. I followed his lead, and in no time, my home for the next 3 days began to take shape. It was enormous – could easily fit 5 people – but so cute! and seemed pretty easy to assemble, once you knew what you were doing!

I thanked him profusely and he went off to pee in the bushes. “Watch out for raccoons, don't leave any food out, and if you need any help, I’m right over there!” he pointed toward his bivouac off to the right, which included several tents and a screened-in kitchen area, with a circle of rednecks drinking beer around a merrily roaring fire. Definitely a sweet setup and something to aspire to… but for now, I was going to take this thing one step at a time. I set up my little bedroom, zipped up my tent, and hopped in the car to go in search of beer. I briefly wondered if it was safe to leave my tent unguarded, but quickly realized how stupid that thought was. This place felt like a community -- goodhearted, kind, helpful people who shared a love of the outdoors and PBR in the can.

I came back with two six-packs of beer (in the can, of course) and handed the Budweiser to my knight in shining armor before heading back to my camp and popping open a cold Miller Lite for myself. He seemed genuinely pleased and surprised, explaining to his buddy that he had stopped to give me a hand when he saw me walking around looking “corn-fused”. He thanked me for the beer and I headed “home”.

The mosquitoes were merciless. I tried sitting outside the tent for a bit but was driven inside within seconds. In trying to be practical, I had selected the repellent wipes instead of the can of bug spray, and that was a big mistake. Inside the tent, even with the flaps unzipped, I was well-protected by the layer of mosquito netting over the “windows”, which let in a cool breeze and gave me a nice view of the trees and the sky. It was cloudy, muggy, sticky, and hot – about 90 degrees and 99% humidity – but I was LIVING in that tent. I sat in my camp chair and enjoyed a Miller Lite in the can, listened to some Eva Cassidy on my iPhone, and sighed contentedly.

When I got tired, I went to bed, and laid awake listening to the crickets, the other campers, and eventually the welcome sound of rain on my tent. It rained heavily while I dozed on and off, unable to get quite comfortable enough to sleep – just skimmed along the edge of sleep like a waterbug on a pond. I scratched and slapped at my bites, sweating, tossing and turning, relishing the pitter patter of raindrops. The tent stayed dry inside; and finally around 5am, just as the sky was beginning to turn light, I finally caught a couple of z's.

Normally, if I can’t sleep, I am terribly grouchy the next day. But even though I tossed and turned, scratched and slapped, and barely snoozed all night, I woke up with a huge, goofy smile on my face. I had made it through my first night in the tent! What had I been so afraid of?