Saturday, May 23, 2015


Gill tiptoed to the edge of the tent.  He stopped, glancing back over his shoulder.  Louie lay on his back snoring louder with each breath.  Vernon lay curled up in wolf form on top of his sleeping bag.  Back in the last corner, Phil lay burrowed somewhere inside his sleeping bag.  Camping and the great outdoors. . .enough to make a squirrel. . .

“Horny,” he muttered, leaning down to unzip the tent flap.  His gonads could wait until the trip home for any sexual relief.  Chloe, Miss Ellie, Gladys, and Bettina slept in the other close-by tent.  In between the two tents sat Rachel and Tyburn’s tent like they chaperoned the group.  The kids bunked with the women in the largest tent of the three.  

Gill made his way out of the tent, savoring the quiet.  Louie’s snoring masked the other sounds of the night that most of them took for granted.  Strange animals and an unfamiliar section of the mountain might have left them sleepless until Vernon morphed and howled loud enough to stop the crickets from chirping.  Gill snorted as he made his way to the pine tree closest to the tents.  He unzipped his shorts and squatted.  Letting nature takes its course he wondered if they’d get back to town any time soon.

Driving back from their week long trip to the nude beach, a stalled weather front blocked access to the main highway back to town.  Three nights in a hotel had set nerves on edge.  Games and books kept civility going until the fourth day.  The hotel’s proprietor suggested they try the campgrounds two miles up the road.  Hastily procured camping gear from the local thrift store and here they were.  And here they’d likely be for several days more since the rain and flooding washed out two of the back roads they might have used.  

Gill stood up and fastened his shorts.  As he walked back to the tent, he hummed the tune Vernon and Louie were penning.  An anthem for the Peak sung to the melody of When the Saints Go Marching In.  Music rolled through the camp each night thanks to the banjo, harmonica, bongos, and guitar they picked up at the thrift store too.  Roughing it was okay.  They ate, slept, and made do with what they had.  Home had its allure and would be wonderful when they returned them.  For now, things were pretty good the way they were.



Our group finds themselves on the trip that doesn't stop.  I'm wondering what lyrics this group came up with.  As soon as Pris reveals them to me, I'll share.  What adventures await the gang next you ask?  Not sure.  Maybe we get them back at the Peak for the festival and sharing their penned anthem for the town.

Enjoy the holiday weekend and start of summer.  Keep safe, dry, and sane.  Remember to share a few good books with your loves and spice.  I know I will!

Until Next Week,



Savanna Kougar said...

Looks like our Talbot's Peak gang is doing well camping out, and roughing it... time for all of us to enjoy and reconnect with Nature... and, yeah, I'm wondering what those lyrics are... ~smiles~

Pat C. said...

Why do I get the feeling Vernon's the one with the bongos? Because he's the only one old enough to remember the '50s? (Maybe Elly too, but she's not saying.)