How Much Chuck Would a Black Bear Eat... - Night 2

Night 2*
After my charming visit to Blue Ridge, Ga., my time was growing short to reach Richland, Ga., where I’d be camping that night.

I headed south on Rt. 2, jagged west again on Rt. 76, then turned south on Rt. 411, driving down the spine of Georgia’s western mountains, then eastward toward Hotlanta. As I reached the northwest outskirts, Google Maps was telling me that all the non-interstate routes around the city would add too much time to my trip. So I opted for I-75 south, took I-285 around the west side of Atlanta, then continued south on I-85.

When I got to I-185, I took it south through Columbus, and was finally able to get back off the interstate for the last 30 miles to Richland, Ga., and my camping spot.

I call it a camping spot but, in fact, I’d be sleeping in someone’s back yard, or least in the woods behind their back yard, next to an airstrip that for some reason is also in their back yard.

An interesting discovery as I began looking into this trip was how the explosion of #nomadic #vanlife during and after the pandemic spawned a supporting economy of cheap alternatives to regular campgrounds, advertised and reserved through myriad phone apps.

I came to prefer the Hipcamp app, which works like AirBNB except it lists spots for tent camping, car camping, RVs, cabins and more.

Fig A: The giant Hipcamp Tent

While the app includes RV parks and state and federal parks, it also has become a way for people to rent overnight space on their land for campers and truckers. The options run from “primitive camping” (read: poop in the woods) to full-service glamping with drum circles and hiking tours, and everything in between. The prices per night range from $2 to hundreds of dollars, with most landing between $20-$60 (this is my guess, not substantiated with data, you do know me, right?).

When I arrived at the home/camp site, called “Ark Airport and Retreat,” I was greeted by two outdoor cats and a talkative donkey. The owners soon pulled up the through-road in a pick-up truck from the woods behind the house. I followed them to the camp site, and they pointed out the small building where the shower and toilet were (note: I am not a primitive camper of any sort).

They said I was welcome to burn a fire in the pit, but that recent rains had probably left the available wood too wet to light (and I’d neglected to pack fire starters - note: add that to the list).

By now it was dark and, after the couple headed back up to the house, I opened the back hatch my Pilot, made sure my air mattress was still inflated, laid out the sleeping bag, and pulled out a chair, a bottle of wine and a speaker. I set up my back woods throne by the fire pit and sat down.

Fig B: Campsite

Now what?

I opened the wine and looked around. A full moon was rising through thinning clouds, the air was cool but not (yet) cold, and the tree frogs were in full throat. I dialed up Lucinda Williams on Spotify and it was just about perfect. Then I heard the coyotes.

It was a little freaky. I knew coyotes would steer clear of me, but I wondered whether the black bears had gotten the memo (although, in reality, they would steer clear of me too).

I retrieved the bear spray from the Pilot and set it next to my chair. I also grabbed a headlamp and a book and sat back down. As the imaginary bears drew closer, every crack, snap, grunt and yip yanked me from my reading as I nervously raked the tree line with my headlamp. I was tearing through Meditations by Marcus Aurelius three words at a time, distracted every 0.7 seconds by the sound of a charging bear.

Picture the scene. Or, better yet, here is a picture of the scene:

Fig C: From bottom to top: book, wine, bear spray
Not shown: freaky animal sounds nearby in the woods.

Fortunately, no bears charged out of the woods, and the coyotes kept their jam session well in the distance. At one point I sneezed SO LOUD (read: at my normal sneeze volume) that it set off the donkey a quarter mile up the road. But as I got used to the ambient racket and the wine kicked in, I was able to relax and enjoy a very nice night in my chair.

Then I crawled into the Pilot through the rear right-side passenger door (grateful that my lack of grace was witnessed only by the nearby black bears and tree frogs), wriggled around until I was aligned with the air mattress, settled into my sleeping bag, strapped the BPAP (which is a type of CPAP) to my face and plugged it into the special, portable, very expensive, high-tech BPAP battery that I’d bought for the trip. Now with that high-tech battery powering the BPAP, I could drift off to sleep.

Fig. D: Gonna be some good sleep up in here tonight!

The special, portable, very expensive, high-tech BPAP battery did NOT work.

I’ve got central sleep apnea, which means when I’m sleeping, my brain “forgets” to tell me to breathe dozens of times a night (I swear that was the sleep doctor’s explanation, but it sounds very “I have no idea” to me). When that happens, I wake up gasping for air, feeling like I am suffocating, making for a pretty unrestful night (if by “unrestful” I mean “miserable”).

Sleep apnea causes more than a miserable night. Untreated over time, sleep apnea inflicts multiple organ damage and leads to death. The treatment is a CPAP/BPAP, or the surgical implantation of a very expensive electrical device into your chest that connects to your nerves, which kick-starts your breathing again if your brain neglects to do its job.

A side-gression: I heard a single woman once say that seeing a CPAP next to a guy’s bed is a real turn off. My first thought was that impressing this particular woman (or anyone) would not be worth an early death. My second thought was I now understand why this particular woman is single.

In any case, using a BPAP sucks. It’s like having an HVAC unit strapped to your face running at full steam while you try to sleep. It’s so bad I even wrote and performed a song about it, called “The CPAP Blues.” Take a listen! It’s not terrible…. it’s funny even.

Fig. E: I just realized I sing out of the side of my face…

In ANY any case, back to the battery failure.

When hit the power button on my now battery-powered BPAP, it sprang to life, pumping that sweet sweet air through the tube and into the mask. I breathed, excited to be camping and not suffocating.

And THEN the BPAP shut off. After about 20 seconds it came back on again, ran for 5 seconds, and shut down. This was worse than suffocating on my own.

So I tore the mask off my head and resolved to make it through a miserable night. Which I did. In the morning I was so tired that I slept (miserably) late. It’s like the joke where two people are in a restaurant and one says, “This food is terrible!” and the other says, “It IS terrible! And the portions are too small!”

Fortunately, I brought an extension cord. So, for the rest of the trip, I’d need to be sure to stay at places where there was power (most regular campgrounds have that).

In any case, now I was awake, sort-of, and ready to hit the REALLY back roads on my way to the Gulf of Mexico! (No, I’m not going to call it the Gulf of ‘Merica.)


* Moment of Truthiness: I’m already back from my walkabout. In fact, it occurred LAST January about this time. I was going to post about it after the trip, but I sort of ran out of steam. So now I’m going to pretend I’m posting about my walkabout real-time, just like a reality show pretends to be reality.

Take the whole trip! I’ll even cover the gas!

TravelChucklions, tigers, bears, coyotes, bear sprayComment