Revenge of the nerds (and the river)

I am lame-o and forever a nerd, and I'm OK with that. And, I'll be just fine if I never, ever sleep in a tent again -- particularly when there are hillbilly neighbors on both sides of our camp site who blare crappy country music from their car stereos, set off their car alarms at least three times in the middle of the night and spout bloodcurdling yee-haaaaaws every five minutes spurred by marathon sessions of beer pong.

Last night hillbilly camp site #1 merged with hillbilly camp site #2 and rolled their coolers right by our tent. Phil and I were dead tired from rafting all day, so when we couldn't sleep from the ruckus next door, we counted out ways to return our neighbors' hillbilly hospitality instead of counting sheep. My suggestion was to go Bam Margera on them by sticking our hatchet in the side of their pick-up and removing their license plates. Phil wanted to run over their tents, and I liked that idea so much that I couldn't stop giggling. (Sorry for the ranting. I really did hate those bastards.)

Rafting was awesome! I'd definitely go back (as long as I can stay in a cabin :)). The New River is one of the oldest rivers in the world, and according to our guide (who was funny as hell, but quite the liar), it's the second oldest to the Nile. Sure.

We lucked out with a gorgeous day. It drizzled for all of 10 minutes and the temperature reached mid-80s. We rafted just under nine miles for a total drop of 290 feet. The water was about 60 degrees, so Phil and I wore wetsuits, and I was glad we did because I was really comfortable all day. Our wetsuits kinda matched (which is why I don't have any pictures--forbidden by Phil), and we looked like Mr. & Mrs. Wetsuits. Mine was from my water-skiing days in my youth and Phil's was my brother's.

We started with the sissy Pin Ball rapids on the Lower New River (our guide said if any of us fell out on this one, we really sucked) and finished with Ol' Nasty, just past the New River Gorge Bridge, which was incredible. The bridge has the world's second longest single arch steel span (China is first). At 876 feet above the New River, it is the second highest bridge in U.S. Only the Royal Gorge Bridge over the Arkansas River in Colorado is higher.

None of us fell out of the raft involuntarily, but there were a couple close calls. We also got to swim some rapids, which was great, surfed our boat a few times and jumped off of a ginarmous rock called Jump Rock. My entire raft made fun of me because I plugged my nose before jumping off. Hey, you have no idea how much water had made its way up my nose by then! I also was relentlessly teased around the camp fire last night for somehow ending up backward on the raft when we started to paddle after a swim. When I got pulled into the raft, I moved to the opposite side of it so others could get in, and I just never turned around again. Our guide, Doug, told us to take two forward strokes, and I couldn't figure out why everyone else was backward. Oh yeah, just me. Good times.

The bus ride to the rafting drop-off point and the return trip to the campground was almost as scary as some of the Class V rapids. Our bus driver looked just like Elvis and took some crazy turns in those mountains. I stopped looking out the window once I realized there were no guardrails on the dirt road and the river was straight down below. But, we got to ride over the New River Gorge Bridge, which was really cool. I couldn't believe how small the rafts looked.

Once we got back to the campground, we sprinted to the shower house since there were only so many stalls, and then stuffed ourselves silly with an all-you-can-eat dinner and booze fest. Mac n' cheese, s'mores and Bud Light Lime (tastes like Corona) made my night. We recapped our adventures around our camp fire once it got dark and discussed trying the Gauley River with Rivermen next May, which no one in our group has done and is supposed to be a step up from the Lower New River rapids. I'm in.

Next trip is San Diego in a couple weeks. Can't wait!

(To the left: Phil's dream portrait)

Blogging from my tent

I'm blogging from my tent by the light of my laptop screen and a little help from a street lamp from afar. (I forgot to pack the damn flashlight and lantern.) Phil thinks I'm loco (who knew I'd actually get a connection?), but camping after a 10-year hiatus is bringing back a ton of memories, and I'd like to capture them.

First off, when it comes to sleeping, I'm an indoor girl. I've never really been the type of person who feels at peace without anything between her and the stars. I need shelter. Luxe shelter is even better. For now an air mattress in our tent will have to do. Actually, sleeping in a tent creeps me out a little...There's a reason I haven't been back in 10 years and all I'll say is that the last time involved a tick. However, the friends we came with are super campers. As in they camped somewhere else last night and the weekend before. Someone was telling a story around the camp fire about a camping trip in November when they woke up with an inch of snow on the ground. I think I actually shuddered.

Ten of us are sharing a camp site and going rafting tomorrow. We knew two people really well prior to today, and mostly everyone else is a first-time acquaintance. Half of us are newbie rafters, and I'm really looking forward to tomorrow's adventure. Not looking forward to possible wet camping tomorrow night, however (60% chance of rain). But I will say that right now it's a gorgeous night. Couldn't ask for better.

So, back to the memories. As a kid, my mom dragged my brother and me camping every single summer for one to two weeks. Although my brother and I were never lacking in adventures, I hated being in the sun all day while our boat was anchored in Berlin Lake and started despising camping all together once I developed late-summer allergies. Once I turned 16 and landed a full-time summer job, I'd beg my boss to tell my mom that he just couldn't do without me for a whole week to get out of it. It usually worked.

But, we definitely had some good times. My brother and I found a way to secretly swing off a cliff using the FORBIDDEN Tarzan swing one summer. (Of course our younger cousin blabbed as soon as we returned to the boat and we were grounded to our camp site.) And, I learned how to tube and water ski young and still love it. I swear my brother and I could've been Olympic tube bobsledders. We had our leans down like pros. I also still carry a special affection for hatchets from my memories of my brother trying to chop down any possible tree he could when my mom wasn't looking. Good times.

Camping has changed in 10 years. The tents are way better and so are the sleeping bags (we borrowed all our gear from work friends...thanks guys!). And, a van for a strip club has been driving through the campground recruiting guys to take to Southern Exposure nearby. Hilarious because I always laugh at its cheesy billboards plastered on 77 whenever I drive to Charlotte. Now I'm actually staying nearby. No, we didn't lose any husbands to the naughty van.

So, the plan for tomorrow is to grab breakfast, raft for a couple hours, break for lunch, raft for a couple more hours and then come back here for dinner with the entire group. Already got my ass kicked by Phil in cornhole, so hopefully the New River takes it easy on me.