The Great Outdoors

 

Take six chairs, one campground, large stones, and a campfire.
Add drunks.  Voila!  Now that's a camping trip!

            In my other life, I’m a Multi-Venue Consumption Transportation Representative for Uber Eats.  During one of my deliveries, a song by Johnny Cash began playing on the radio.  I immediately had to pull over because I was laughing so hard.

            Why, you may ask?  Well, there’s a reason for everything.  If you doubt that...how else to explain the popularity of the Kardashians?

            So it is with this.

            For the longest time, my brothers and I have been going camping towards the end of the summer.  We normally only spend two nights out in the woods.  Anything more than that is too much to bear.

Wrong kind of bear.     

               

                We're not hoboes, ya know.       

"Hey!!"

            Most times we’d go to a state campground in Rhode Island.  One year, though, we chose a site in Connecticut.  I can’t remember why, but we did.

            The weather was glorious, which was a good thing, since we were pretty much in the middle of nowhere.  I know it’s hard to believe that Connecticut has any “in the middle of nowhere” spots, but we were in one of them.  Considering how remote it was, we knew that, had it rained, we would have had little to do but sit in our tents and watch Mother Nature’s waterworks.

Connecticut.
It's more than Bridgeport, ya know.

There's also New Haven

            Of note, we had one such weekend once we resumed camping in Rhode Island a few years later.  We didn’t sit in our tents, though.  The flash floods running into them pretty much ruled that out.

            Although, sitting on our cars with the radio on didn’t much feel like camping.

            Anyway, at the end of a long day which included Ultimate Cornhole and a round of golf (hey...campers, not savages), we pulled our chairs around the campfire after the sun went down.  Red Solo cups in hand, we passed around a bowl of peanuts, planning to enjoy our night out in nature.

            Rather than a ring of rocks, this campground featured metal rings around the designated firepit.  It may not have been the most rustic, but it was effective at keeping the flames confined.  Plus, it ensured that each campsite was set up identically to the others.

            It was further ringed by a collection of rocks to give it that whole "outdoorsey" vibe.

            In the past, we had just shifted picnic tables and firepits willy-nilly.

            So, for the most part, a pretty smart arrangement.

            As the night wore on, and one Red Solo cup followed the other, we began to get a little sleepy.  Still, I determined that the camaraderie continue.  I stepped to the back of my car where I kept the supply of logs I had brought from home.  You’d think we would have been able to gather firewood from the…uh…woods around us, but no.  However, the owners of the park took a dim view of campers cutting down trees in their forest.  Made sense, I guess.

     Since it was dark, my footing was a little unsure when I attempted to return to the fire.  The fact that I was already a few Red Solo cups in and carried an armful of logs probably too much didn’t help matters any, either.  Plus, who was the knucklehead who dumped their golf clubs right behind my car?

           Oh.  Yeah.  That was me.

            Well, the predictable happened.  I tripped as I headed back to join my brothers.  Knowing I’d probably need my hands to break my fall, I flung an armful of logs into the flames.  Luckily, though, my knee hit the edge of the metal ring.  Good thing, too.  If we had been using rocks like in the past, I would have been added to the fire.

            Not the best way to end the evening, that’s for sure.

Mighta made a funny story at the next family reunion, though.

            My brothers frantically jumped up, peanuts and Solo cups flying through the air like confetti at a St. Patrick's Day party.  One grabbed the back of my shirt and yanked me back.  With the exception of my eyebrows being singed off, though, I was okay.  I assured them as much.

"Hey! We resent the implication!
Another?"

            After that bit of acrobatic excitement, we settled back into our chairs.  Figuring that we had enough excitement for the day, we were content to just silently stare into flames.  Flames which, despite the infusion of homegrown firewood, were starting to die out.

            As bright flames became orange embers, we began to fade into the shadows.  All I could clearly see were my brothers’ feet.

It was peaceful.  It was quiet.  Save the crackling of the dying flames.

Soon enough, we’d be heading off to our sleeping bags.

Just as I was starting to think it was time, my younger brother broke the silence,

            “I fell into a burning ring of fire…I went down, down, down, and the flames went higher…and it burns, burns, burn…the ring of fire, the ring of fire…”

            Thoughts of sleep forgotten, I couldn’t stop laughing.  It got so bad that my ribs hurt and I had trouble breathing.  I haven’t laughed that hard before or since.

            That happened ten years ago. 

    To this day, I can’t hear “Ring of Fire” without laughing about the time I almost became firewood.            

   

"I may be dead, but I can still crush it."