I think proper camping is for losers. Don’t get me wrong, I love the sights of nature, building a fire and roasting marshmallow, fishing, looking up at the stars, away from the lights of the city. It’s magical. It’s tents, however, that I’m not a fan of. You couldn’t pay me to sleep on a thin sleeping bag, foam mattress or the cold hard ground. That’s why when I go camping, I sleep in my car.
My son does scouts, and his group are planning a nice big journey into the Australian bush, for a weekend under the stars. They need parents to help, so I kindly agreed. I’ll take my car over to the nearest Midvale mechanic tomorrow and make sure it’s all ready to go. The other parents think I’m being silly, saying it takes away from the whole point of camping. We’ll see how they feel when I’m watching movies on my car’s television screen and charging my phone. They won’t think it’s so silly while they sit around bored, without any lights so that they can so much as read in a tent.
I’ve got to make sure the mechanic does the best alternator repair they can manage because I definitely don’t want my car’s battery going flat in the middle of the trip. That would be really embarrassing.
My son is trying to convince me to share a tent with him, but I bet that halfway through the first night I’ll see him knocking on the door of the passenger seat, begging to come inside. While his back is aching from trying to sleep in a tent, I’ll be enjoying the leather seats of the car. It’s going to be a very sweet moment when I wind down the window and make him admit he was wrong the whole time. By the time the camp is over, I’ll probably have everyone begging me to come in. I won’t let them. If they’re too stubborn to admit that car camping is better, that’s not my problem.