And it rained all night long

After some late night scrambling, a mad dash to the grocery and scrounging for our gear, we did make your way to Mammoth Cave National Park for a few days of "roughing it". (That is if your definition of "roughing it" involves an MP3 player, a coin-operated shower, and Tazo tea.)

I had tried with all of my might to throw everything possible in our path to discourage Cynical from his quest to go camping. Don't get me wrong, I love camping. I really do. As a matter of fact it was me, who many ages ago, talked him into buying a tent and investing in a camp stove.

It's just that we didn't decide until Thursday night we were going, that gave us little time to prepare, only a few hours to assemble all of the stuff necessary and it did rain a bit on my parade. (My parade being visions of a/c and relaxing after a pretty tough work week.) Our gear hadn't been used in ages and I wasn't sure it was all operational or even all in the same spot where we thought we left it. And then there was the threat of bad weather, very bad weather.

However, he seemed so intent, so excited about the prospect of sleeping beneath the stars, roasting marshmallows over an open fire and peeing in the woods.

So, I gave in, rushed around Thursday night packing batteries, towels and Neosporin (everything a girl needed to make it in the wilderness.)

We survived the two hour trip, and despite the fact that it sprinkled the entire time, I tried to remain optimistic. We found an appropriate spot, nice and flat, few roots and no natural drainage ditches sure to become flowing rivers nearby. We even got our tent up and managed to make dinner over a fire prepared by my beloved (the fire and the food.) And as we settled into our tent and curled up on the pallet of sleeping bags and blankets it began to rain. Trying to be optimistic yet again, I kept thinking the rain would blow over.

And it. did. not. blow. over. It rained so strong and so loud that for the next five hours we cursed the sky, ranted at the camping gods and threatened to never unpack that *&^%$ tent again. The rain pounded on our tent like a set of drums until I thought that I might run out into the torrential downpour, filled with "the fever", and shake my fists at the sky. I didn't, however, as I was afraid our redneck "neighbors" would shoot me out the window of their camper.

We stayed dry. And this is an important thing to remember as it is the cardinal rule of camping for my family: stay dry at all costs. We did have some water seep through the floor of the tent. but we did stay dry and as a result I will not lose my place in the family camping hierarchy.

We awoke the next morning, pillows over our heads in an attempt to drown out the rain, cranky from lack of sleep, but certain that a little breakfast would help put the night behind us.

And what else do you do after a night of enough rain to float an ark? You dry out whatever you can and forge ahead. A little breakfast, a warm shower and a dryer later and we were set.

We spent most of Saturday reading and relaxing, making a quick trip to the cave tour ticket area and getting lunch. I think that at least the entire western part of Kentucky had decided to tour the caves, so we opted to skip a tour on this trip. I have been multiple times and actually enjoy the treks through the caverns, but after our evening, I decided it might be best for us to nap instead.

Our evening was filled with campfires, using our trusty camp stove and regretting the fact that I didn't slide that bottle of wine into the cooler.

We awoke early this morning; dined on muffins I prepared Thursday night and tore down our camp. After a shower we hit the road and stopped in our old college town where Starbucks and all other signs of civilization could be found.

After a trip to the laundromat to wash our smoky sleeping bags, laying our tent out in the backyard to allow the floor to dry and washing at least 47 loads of laundry, we have kicked back a bit.

As I sat at the laundrette today I remembered all those years ago when Cynical and I, living in a small apartment without laundry facilities, would lug heaping baskets of clothes and juggle bottles of detergent all the way across town where we'd spend several hours and lots of quarters to wash away a week's worth of grime and dirt.

We hated it at the time, but now I remember us sitting there, the hum of the washers and dryers in the background, talking, giggling, reading and relaxing. We had no other choice, we were captives of our laundry for those few peaceful hours. Come to think of it, it wasn't so bad afterall, carrying those heavy baskets down a flight of stairs, cramming them into the trunk and spending an afternoon together, just the two of us, as our undies intermingled in the wash.