Camping with the Kids

We interrupt this series of boring bike-across-the-country journal transcriptions for a tale of potential child negligence, short-sightedness, and generally poor judgement . . .

Molly and I are from Pittsburgh. We're not Inuit, Scandinavian, or Siberian. We're not even Yoopers. While many Pittsburghers like to complain in their own sort of proud way that winters here are tough, they are mild in comparison. Winter here generally kicks in sometime around mid-December, then snow arrives in January, and by late March we're starting to thaw out. The temperatures rarely dip into in the single digits (Fahrenheit) and storms rarely drop more than a few inches of snow at a time.

So, taking the kids (ages 2.8 and 1.4) camping in late October isn't all that crazy an idea.

Molly and I have little exposure to media. We don't get network or cable television. We don't listen to local radio. So, we never received any kind of notification that the forecast had changed as we were packing up the car for an evening in Morgantown followed by a night in the tent at nearby Coopers Rock State Forest, WV. We did expect cold temperatures so I packed a large amount of blankets and even tossed a crib mattress in the car, but none of this would make us feel prepared when we turned off the highway to see a forest blanketed in snow. Even the tree limbs were sparkling.

But that wasn't until a bit later. I don't want to get ahead of myself.

Earlier in the afternoon, as we drove south from Pittsburgh, the weather looked to be generally clear. The skies were blue with few clouds. We planned to drive to Coopers Rock to set up the campsite before heading into Morgantown. It was cold, but not too cold, even for a family of Pittsburghers; maybe somewhere in the low 50s. Even when it began to rain, I wasn't phased. Our tent has stood up to the elements many times. We decided to go straight to Morgantown so that we could give the rain a chance to stop before setting up camp.

Several hours later, Molly and I were in the car looking at each other and reconsidering our plan. We were about to leave Morgantown to drive up to Coopers Rock. I was soaking wet from walking no more than 15 feet to the car and then strapping Otis into his carseat. Molly was similarly wet from the same routine with Indie. For some reason the kids were happy. It wasn't even 9 pm; we could be home before 10:30.

"Indie has been looking forward to this all week," Molly told me. "I left the wipes in the Black Bear," I replied to her, as if the conversation made any sense. We'd eaten dinner at the Black Bear Restaurant and at some point I took Otis into the Men's room to change his diaper. Since there was no changing table in the Men's room I had to change Otis on a bar stool (not sure why that was in the Men's room). Somehow I managed to do it, but in the ridiculous process of changing a baby on a bar stool I left the baby wipes on top of the paper towel dispenser. For a parent about to take his kid camping in the forest for the night, leaving the wipes on top of the paper towel dispenser had enormously burdensome consequences.

"We'll go to Rite Aid. There's one right down the road here." At that point I was exceptionally glad I remembered leaving the wipes on that paper towel dispenser.

We hit the road. "I didn't see the diaper bag. Did you?"

"I didn't have it. Did you?"

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Watch your mouth!"

As important as the wipes may have been, the contents of the diaper bag were even more so. Beyond the obvious content (diapers), there were binkies, sippy cups, medicines for ailments ranging from coughs to diaper rash, both of our cell phones and wallets, and more. A man's wallet or woman's purse contain the effects of an individual; the diaper bag contains the effects of an entire family. Losing the diaper bag might have been worse than losing a kid.

"Okay, I'll pull over and take a look."

Five minutes later I was even more soaking wet than I'd been at the beginning of our 40-minute, 3 mile car ride, and had not located the diaper bag. We found it shortly afterward at the coffeeshop/artspace we had just left, and it was Molly's fault (zing!).

After finding or replacing each of our forgotten items and all of the driving back and forth through Morgantown, we really felt like we had our shit together. Then we started to climb Chestnut Ridge, the mountain on top of which Coopers Rock lives. Upon turning off the highway, the road went literally from wet pavement to slick ice. The trees went from colorful autumn to stark white.

"Is that snow?"

"Holy shit. You have got to be kidding me."

"Watch your mouth!"

"We can be home by 11 if we go right now. Our tent is not a four season tent."

After a short discussion, proper judgment was discarded and we established a plan that would make every father proud. Molly and the kids sat in the warm car while I quickly set up the tent and shuttled gear to it. I was sliding down a snow bank in my sneakers every time I returned from the car. I slipped a few times and tossed everything I was carrying like confetti. When it was ready, I returned to the car and heroically announced that the lair was ready. All were safe.

In the tent (a 3-person tent), the blankets that surrounded us made a fluffy floor eight inches thick. We lost Otis a few times in the fluff because he was camouflaged. He was wearing layers of three one-piece fleece jumpsuits. There was no room for a hat under the three hoods, but I'm certain he was plenty warm. Indie was in the sleeping bag I'd made for her just for this trip, and was comfortably wearing a hat and mittens as well as at least three layers.


Both kids fit together just right on the crib mattress and Molly and I climbed into our sleeping bags. There were blankets cushioning us underneath and warming us above. The snow piled on the tent outside at a rate that would be quick in February, and it was cozy for the time being.

Believe it or not, we had neighbors, and those neighbors had kids with them. We saw them as we drove in, at a site about 50 yards across a snowy field, and they came prepared. They drove RVs. As we heard them chatting around a roaring campfire, we knew they had the comfort of a warm bed awaiting them. They didn't have to worry about their kids freezing to death in October on a mountain in West Virginia. As they laughed and told stories, we tried to fall asleep and I wondered if they even saw us arrive.

Indie fell asleep first, though I will never forget the ten minutes before she did. With little locks of red hair creeping out of her winter cap, she was beaming with excitement about being in a tent in her new sleeping bag. She was clearly the family member with the most confidence in our survival. Toddlers can be so naive, can't they?

Then, Otis fell asleep, but only after Molly put him down to sleep on her chest. He wouldn't sleep on the mattress. Perhaps he was scared or uncomfortable, but he wouldn't calm down unless he was on top of his Mommy. Then, I passed out, and I was even hot as a I slept in the fluffy blankets.

Molly, of course, never fell asleep. How could she sleep with a kid on her chest?

At about 11 pm, Otis woke up and was complaining. He isn't old enough to talk yet, and so we spent the next 90 minutes trying to get him comfortable. The problem, I think, is that he was not able to move with all the layers. He would try to roll over, but couldn't do it. He was miserable, but we weren't willing to take off any of his layers. It wasn't warm in the tent, and a kid his age can't be put into a sleeping bag.

So, at 12:30 am we threw in the towel. I inverted and reversed the process I'd done only 3 hours before by putting the kids in the warm car and breaking camp. There were 3 inches of snow piled up on top of the tent.

On Sunday night, after unpacking and drying out gear and recovering from the botched attempt, I found that an old friend had posted some photos from his weekend on Facebook. The photos looked oddly familiar. As I investigated, I realized that they were taken at Coopers Rock State Forest. Our neighbors at the campsite were neighbors from back home, and they had plenty of extra beds in their RVs.

Git r dun.