Backyard camping

Last night, in an effort to prepare for the few nights that Preston and I will be camping on our roadtrip and in an effort to simply switch things up, I set up my tent in the backyard and camped out. The tent is of the small, backpacking sort, so it was not designed for roominess. Honestly, it didn't need any more room than it had; it was quite cozy, and will be all the more so with a svelte J.P. Lennon sleeping soundly, adjacent to my Marmot bag.

I was a little timid about the whole thing at first, but as soon as I got out there, I knew that I would be just fine. But just to be sure, I set up camp in the area of my backyard that was bathed in spotlights fixed to the gutter of my house. You never know.

Supply list for this particular night was as follows: My iPod, which I ended up not even using; A Walk In The Woods, Bill Bryson's classic that I am having trouble finding at the moment; Two blankets, one sheet, two self-inflating "Thermarest" mattresses, and a cushiony down pillow that proved to be a bad decision as far as neck support went as I tried to read Bryson with the help of the artificial light pouring through the meshy outer of my small nylon home.

I read a few chapters, sipped a couple pale ales, and finally drifted off. From what I can tell, it was a great sleep. I awoke refreshed this morning, but much to my dismay, my dog had decided to urinate on the side of the tent and as I had not put the raincover on, urine had permeated the meshing, and puddled not an inch from my left ear. Yikes. But still I lay there for a bit, thinking that it was perhaps the spilled dregs of a Sierra Nevada.

And I tasted it.

Nope.

Ran inside, got some sort of cleansing product and a paper towel, disinfected the joint, and I was golden (pun..?)

I think I am going to head back out there right now and set up for another rousing night.

Away from the lights this time.