[Paddlewise] Ahh, The Joys of Kayak Camping!

Saturday the 14th, need I say more?

I'd been looking forward to my first kayak trip to Black Canyon, ready even
to face the brain infesting protozoans that frequent the hot springs by the
river, but a nasty earache was complicating things. I'd had it more than a
week and despite my Dr.'s ear drops, it hadn't improved. I'd already
cancelled my flight to visit my son in Denver and hoped a few more days
would do the trick.

I'd spent quite some time shopping for the trip, bought a new tent and camp
chair, planned out all my food and got the oil changed in the car for the
trip. The night before departure, I loaded the car with my boat and gear and
baked a batch of brownies to share around the campfire for our planned first
night music shindig.

Friday morning I awoke and the ear wasn't any better. Still I decided I
could spend the night at the Lake Mead campsite and decide in the morning
whether to hit the water. So I was quite perturbed when I went out to the
car and found I had a flat tire! I considered a can of Fix-a-Flat and how
long it might take to get somewhere to get the tire fixed and decided
perhaps fate was telling me to stay off the water. Still, as a member, if
not a cog, of the CKF Music Department, I had a duty to perform on the
night. Without me, Barb's and my duet would lack a certain je ne sais quoi!
So I decided to throw all my non-paddling gear into Kristi's somewhat
decrepit Honda and hit the road.

I got to the campsite with plenty of light to set up and we were soon all
chatting away. Thirteen people partying on Friday the 13th. Steve W., the
head baton waver for the CKFMD, was the host of the night's action. After
burning a few hotdogs on the fire, we all sat around for the music, with
Steve starting out on his new compact guitar. Barb and Ken did a couple
duets, I sang too many songs, Steve led us all in a game of Name That Tune.
Duane got the didgeridoo out for a campfire tune and then premiered a new
song he'd written for the ukulele to go along with his hit, No Rudder, No
Skeg, No Pick. I was sorry I wasn't going to be along for the rest of the
trip.

Early in the morning, I was laying awake in my new tent waiting to hear
Ken's early morning rustling, when I heard footsteps moving around my tent.
It was Steve W. looking for me and wondering if he had the correct address.
Turns out Steve H. our club president was feeling ill and decided not to
paddle, but as he'd carpooled up with Patrick, he couldn't get home without
making him give up his trip as well. I said I'd be happy to give him a ride
home, sure the gesture would be remembered come next year's dues! So we bid
adieu to the hearty folk and the invalids got an early start on the trip
home.

Steve and I both seemed to have mastered the art of conversation-well
perhaps except for the listening part, so the hours passed as we gabbed
along. We were surprised to soon find ourselves leaving Baker and happy to
be making such good time. As we drove along at 80mph, we suddenly heard what
seemed to be a helicopter coming in for a landing on top of the semi tooling
along right beside us. But it wasn't a helicopter, it was the remaining
shards of what had been my front left tire flapping against my
undercarriage!

I pulled into the large center median and we got out to inspect the tire. We
both agreed you couldn't mess up a tire much more than that, and yet, the
one new thing on this car was the tires. With my guitar, ukulele and all my
other gear strewn on the median, I set about releasing the munchkin spare
tire hoping it still held air. Now, I wouldn't usually give rides in this
car seeing as it's rather run down, so technically I should have been alone
when I found that the giant wing nut holding down the spare had rusted
solid-that way I wouldn't have felt so much like a wing nut. I had no tools
in this car other than a small leatherman tool with which I was soon turning
the rusty bugger. But it was all a tease! As the nut neared the top, all
progress ceased and my he-man twist only succeeded in breaking the jaw off
the pliers. I remember from mechanics class that when all else fails, beat
it with a tire iron and so I set about applying this strategy. Soon the
bracket attached to the car failed and with a yank, I had the tire free. I
put the Mickey Mouse wheel on the back and moved the back wheel to the front
and we were back on the road. Thirty six miles later, we hit Barstow and I
decided to buy a new tire for the rest of the journey. Perhaps I should have
been forewarned by the name of the store, but after a very short pit stop at
Tires for Suckers, we had one new tire and my wallet was lite $98.

There was no stopping us now and the miles flew by unburdened by the talk.
We soon hit the 405 and Steve and I hit a McD's for one last coffee for the
road. I got to meet Steve's wife Robin as she showed up to relieve me of my
charge. So my first ever trip to Lake Mead was not the adventure I'd been
seeking, but it was an adventure non the less!

Mark Sanders
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