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<< previous: day two
We both wake up in the middle of the night covered with a fine
layer of sand. It’s blanketed our chests, is in our ears and
encased in our hair. I also discover a nice track of bug bites on
my thigh and arm. We both grumble and try to get back to sleep.
As I lie there, I begin to giggle, remembering Goldwater’s
comments:
"Sleeping in the open is one of the most overrated opportunities
of camping. It takes the finest indoor sport and removes therefrom
glint, glamour, and original intent... My bedroom at home has
another distinct advantage over God’s big chamber: the lack
of sand and bugs. At home nary a grain of sand flecks my dreams.
Out here men are men, my dreams are born in sand, spend their
childhood in the sand, and whirlwind around me in blasts of cutting,
biting, itching, penetrating, everlasting emissaries of hell.
Bugs- although I have on occasion entertained minor members of
the clan between the sheets at home -are omnipresent here. They
falter on the place beneath (me) and I am twice bitten-once before
and once after. Bugs of all shapes and sizes have promenaded over
my carcass from stem to stern. Bugs with only a cursory interest
have wandered over me and have let me be. Others, carrying knives,
sabers, and broken bottles have passed my way and left a diverse
collection of tools of fortune firmly implanted in my flesh. One
result of their nocturnal visits is that I boast as fine a collection
of bumps and itches ever sported by one man. The lovely things
about these bites is that they never itch until I am nearly asleep."
continued: day three
- the little colorado >>
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