Our next trip starts in two days — if we go. It’s a five-night affair, highlighted by 3 nights at a county park in Oregon’s Willamette Valley, where many fiberglass egg-campers like ours will gather for the annual Spring NOG (not-organized gathering). We will reunite with friends, share a pot-luck meal, admire one another’s rigs, and walk Tyler and Wally a lot.
Except. It’s. Going. To. Rain. Possibly, quite a bit:
Rain is a beautiful thing. Unless you’re Tyler or Wally and need to Get Busy or Hurry Hurry.
We are not experienced rain campers, but our location in the Pacific Northwest suggest that we ought to make that happen.
Here is the thing: we don’t like leaving Tyler and Wally in the trailer alone. We will do it for short periods of we’re nearby, otherwise not — we don’t want them to bark (and they are terriers) (what were we thinking?), and, more importantly, there is the guilt thing. Because camping really is all about them, isn’t it? They certainly think so.
But if it’s raining all day, our socializing is going to be under tarps or inside trailers. The dogs can make that difficult. They don’t mean to, of course, but there it is. And then there is the going-outside-to-take-care-of-business thing, which will involve a lot of towels and wet-dog aroma. Hmmm.
Another risk of going despite the weather: we will encounter experienced rain campers who cope by using fabulous pop-up shelters that cost hundreds of dollars, and nifty Gore-Tex clothes that let them laugh at foul weather, and we will want all that stuff. I am never going to get to retire if we keep purchasing camping and RVing gear.
But the thing is: we really like the people we’ve met at these things, and we look forward to seeing them again.
Yeah, I know: it’s a first-world dilemma. We will confer and report back.
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