-- Check-in time at the campground in Gettysburg was officially three o'clock on Friday but, they said, if our site is empty we could get there early. We hitched up our trailer Thursday night, before the rain set in, and was all packed and ready to go. But when should we leave? I didn't want to get there at noon, and have to drive around town for three hours with the camper attached to my truck. It's hard to be cool with an aluminum box of beds chained to your bumper. It was a frustrating situation. Three o'clock is too damn late, I'd never heard of such a thing. But Toney called around 9:30, and was told that the previous tenants had already shoved off. And we were on the road minutes later.

We'd hoped that the dotard local weatherfolk had it all wrong again. They were predicting rain, and lots of it, but they're not exactly reliable. Sometimes it's actually comforting when they forecast bad weather on special days. It usually means it'll be clear. But, of course, they had it right this time. It rained like we were in Georgia again, and it was foggy too. I don't mind the water so much when I'm driving, but I'm not a big fan of fog. It's just a personal preference, but I'd rather be able to, you know, see. During certain stretches on Friday my sphincter was clenched-off like some industrial crimping tool.

In addition to the shitty weather, somebody turned over a tractor trailer north of Harrisburg, just to screw with us. Apparently they thought it would be a funny joke if they slowed us way down, and cost us a half-hour of travel time. So, they drove their rig off the highway, spilled their load, and had to be taken away in an ambulance. I failed to see the humor. Why can't people just leave us alone?

My parents were there when we arrived. They got the site right next to ours, and their big-ass Blue Oyster Cult tour bus was already leveled and casting a long shadow in our direction (or so it seemed). After my Dad and I set up our pitiful little camp I felt like the guy we used to make fun of in Junior High gym class, who had a penis like a cherry tomato. It's not a feeling I much enjoyed, if you want the truth.

While we were putting up the awning something happened and I nearly passed out. I became light-headed and sweat was rolling off my face, like when Michael Moore has to scratch his arm or turn his head to see what time it is. I hadn't really eaten anything all day, except a peck of gourmet jelly beans and a gallon of coffee, and shit was shutting down. Lights were flashing inside my head and I had to sit in a chair for a while, to get my bearings back. I shotgunned two big ham sandwiches and some chips, and eventually returned to the land of the living. But it was touch and go for a while. Maybe I should wear one of those medical bracelets, with the words "NEEDS LUNCH MEAT" engraved on it?

The sky ruptured as soon as were finished setting up, and it rained so hard it was almost scary. It was pounding the ground and the tops of the campers. We couldn't even talk, the roar was so loud. Creeks began flowing where creeks are not supposed to flow, and I had horrifying visions of Camp Slop in Myrtle Beach again. But it was over almost as quickly as it had started, and it was no big deal. Everything was wet, including our chairs, but what's a slightly damp ass amongst friends?

The bathhouse was too far away. I realized this as soon as I needed one. The thing was half a mile away, and I'm not joking. It's quite a hike when time is of the essence. It was a new problem for us. Usually they put pop-ups near the community toilets, because most other campers come equipped with their own facilities. My parents' place would do in an emergency, but there's no Castanza buffer-zone in there, and it seems to have Hollywood Bowl-like acoustics. Someday I may invest in a defecation scooter, with flashing light and siren.

We explored the big-ass campground in the afternoon, had dinner, then sat around my parents' place in the evening. Toney and I had a few Yuenglings, and my dad built a big roaring fire.

It was nice. I had serious doubts about camping in the beginning, I'm not exactly a rugged outdoorsman after all, but I think it's gonna work out for us. We've had more experiences already this summer, because of our rolling box of beds, than the last two or three summers combined. And we ain't done yet. We have our sights set on Lake George, NY next. I'm pleasantly surprised that it's working out so well. Usually things don't.

After dark a couple arrived to claim the empty site across the road from us, and we sat and watched and, for the first time, felt like camping veterans. Apparently it was their inaugural voyage, and they were making all the same mistakes we'd made in the beginning. The guy couldn't back his camper for shit, and had it sideways in the site, after nearly taking out the electric box. And when he unzipped the bag that contained his awning, the aluminum poles clanked out on his head. Oh, I'd been there, but it didn't stop me from laughing at the poor douche anyway. When it came time to hook up the electricity, he found that he needed an adaptor, something we veterans carry with us everywhere we go. He had to go to the campground store, and pay their desperation prices. It just put me in a good mood, all of it.

The next morning was incredible. The sun was shining, there was no humidity, and the temperatures had plunged about twenty degrees. It was nothing short of perfect. We opened up the camper, all the way around, and let the breezes blow through it. Everywhere we'd gone was hot, so the thing hadn't really been aired-out since we owned it. Andy was loving it, lying around on beds but having a 360-degree view of what was going on. All dogs go to heaven, they say, and Andy got a sneak preview on Saturday morning.

I'd had to tramp to the bathhouse in the middle of the night, to shed some Yuengling, and it was really dark out there. I took a flashlight but I still wasn't sure I was walking on the road. It was a little unnerving; I was afraid I might fall down a hole or something. Toney went too, but she took the Blazer. I'm sure our neighbors appreciated that, at three in the morning. But, tough toenails.

Toney said we should buy a porta-potty, and a tent, and create our own outhouse. At first I thought she was talking about a pup-tent, and imagined myself lying in there on my side, peeing sideways. But she was talking about a tall tent, big enough to stand in. Interesting idea... We might do it, before one of us falls in a river in the middle of the night and gets washed over a waterfall or something.

Toney and I spent the day in downtown Gettysburg, checking things out. I was surprised at how touristy it is. I'm not sure what I expected, but it's a money-sucking operation of the highest order, like Main Street at Disneyland. It's sort of a theme park based around massive loss of human life, really. You can buy Battlefield Fries there, take one of a hundred different tours of the town, and purchase any number of overpriced souvenirs. And if you're a millionaire you can even pick up actual rifles and pistols and uniforms used during the Civil War. It's fairly mind-boggling.

I guess I should know better by now, but I think I was expecting something a little more respectful. How many tens of thousands of people died there, again? Something like fifteen 9/11s-worth? Yes, in that case, I'll have an order of the Battlefield Fries and one of your two-piece Dismemberment Chicken dinners, please? Oh, and could my son have a Union toy in his River of Blood Meal today? We're from Michigan. Thank you.

One thing we noticed in the shops is that the Confederate stuff is obviously in the highest demand. There's not much Union paraphernalia to be had, but you can get anything with a Confederate flag on it. Including brassieres. Lincoln is a big seller too. His somewhat frightening mole-face is everywhere you turn. Wonder if he was much fun to hang with, that Lincoln fella? He seemed a bit severe. If he were alive today I can't really picture him on a log flume ride at an amusement park, or anything like that. Y'know?

Another thing that baffled me was the unusually high concentration of gay men there; the place was like San Francisco East, I'm not kidding. What's the story with that? Homosexuals and the Civil War?! I'm sorry, but the two just don't go together in my mind. Have I been in Scranton too long? Am I losing touch? Is Ulysess S. Grant now the new Diana Ross?! Man, I really need to get out more...

Occasionally we'd pass a person in full period uniform, just milling around and shopping. Apparently they're Civil War fanatics who just aren't afraid to take things too far. You've got to admire their batshit craziness. In fact, I'd like to see more of it in the future. Next time I'm in Cooperstown, for instance, it would be nice to spot a few Ty Cobbs and Enos "Country" Slaughters down at the Walgreens. And when we go to Sea World I wouldn't mind seeing a CPA or two, from Toledo or wherever, dressed as sawfish. It keeps things fresh.

The cemetery was a little creepy, as were the battlefields. They had vintage engravings posted here and there, showing what happened right where you stood, during The Battle. Scary. So many casualties... I almost passed out once when I heard a complete stranger having labor pains in a hospital lobby. I can't imagine being in the middle of those fields, when it was all going down. I really can't. All the men who died had dreams and ambitions and a novel's worth of complicated life experiences underway. It's pretty horrifying, once you get past the souvenir snow globes and cannon-shaped cigarette lighters.

The rest of the trip was fairly uneventful. My friend Steve called from Harrisburg on Saturday evening, and asked if he and his wife Myra could stop by the campground for a short visit. That was nice, but a bit surreal. It's always strange bumping into people you know, in an obscure place that doesn't have anything to do with either of you. I've known Steve all my life, but always on logical turf. Me and Steve at a campground in Gettysburg, PA ain't really logical; it felt like reality had shifted a few degrees. It wasn't as weird as the time the planets aligned and my friend Bill and I somehow ended up drinking seven-dollar Heinekens at the Beverly Hills Hilton, a few feet from Ed McMahon, but it was similar.

And that's about it. I woke up in the middle of the night absolutely sure that I'd heard a small army company march past our trailer, but it must've been a dream. Right? I mean, what else could it have been? ...Hello?

Here are some pics I snapped during the trip.

                                     
                 The West Virginia Surf Report!