Japanese Tutors, Blue Lips, and Poo Gas: Yes, I'm Living the Good Life.

After I left the drive-in, I kept driving up Rt. 61 and stopped in Pottsville again. I parked my car at the same mini-mart where I had broken down the first time and waited. And waited. And turned the breathalyzer back on. It read "Service in 36 days". I was golden. I had been granted permission by the Breathalyzer Gods to keep going.

I hopped on I-81 to Binghamton, hoping to make it there by nightfall. I passed through Hazelton, Mountain Top, Wilkes-Barre, Scranton. They all look like Mayberrys nestled in the hills. I made a pee stop at a rest area near Wilkes-Barre and got to talking with an elderly gentleman who was sweeping cigarette butts and leaves from the parking lot. He told me he’d worked as the groundskeeper for 11 years, and said, "I’m 78 and I don’t want to stop working. Everything works on me now, but when I stop moving is when I’ll fall apart.!" I liked him immediately. He told me about his service during World War II, moving Japanese ammunition from its hiding places in caves underneath the Great Buddah and dumping it in the ocean. While in Kyoto, he befriended a Japanese professor and they taught each other their respective languages. He wasn’t allowed to assimilate much with the culture while on the job, but he snuck in secret meetings with his Japanese friend so they could learn from each other.

I said my goodbyes and headed on to find a place to camp. I ended up in Lackawanna State Park and had a bit of trouble figuring out just where I was allowed to park and pitch my tent. Once I found the campgrounds, I didn’t make many friends. The only other people camping out were a young couple with a tent like mine and a turquoise pickup truck. I pulled into a spot near theirs, imagining the fun we would have as we got to know each other and drank ourselves silly, but I think they had their own plans to make that tent go a-rockin’, so my presence was greeted with icy glares. I moved on pretty quick.

I ended up in a corner by myself, ultimately grateful that no one was around to see me butcher the process of tent-pitching. It was truly A Dork On Parade. The ground was wet and the air was chilly. Every so often a light sprinkling of rain would fall. To be honest, I wasn’t having very much fun at that point. The soil was so rocky it was almost impossible to post the stakes in the grommets and the tent kept falling down. Wet dead leaves stuck to my jeans, my shoes, the tent, the tarp. Finally I got everything situated and took a walk down to the lake. That cheered me up.

The sun was setting in the west and throwing pink and purple shafts of light across the clouds in the east, which reflected in the lake as I sat on the floating dock. I was only one there, save for a lone duck out in the distance. Everything was amazingly calm and quiet. I made my obligatory daily phone calls - my mom, Brian, Max, Steve, O’Neil, and Erik. I left slow, hushed voice mails, not wanting to disturb this scene. I remembered to breathe.
I have to remind myself to step back every so often, I’m finding. I figured this whole trip would be one big vacation, but trying to get pictures, find cell phone service, save money when I want to be spending it, having to pass by places I’d really like to stop, all of it is stressing me out a little. Overall, this is still the most amazing time I’ve ever had, "the time of my life", but I do have to stop every so often and meditate on that.

When I got back to camp I tried to stealthily open my beer and wound up making the crack of the pop top echo off the trees all around me (alcohol is prohibited in LSP). Then I figured I should make some dinner, even though I wasn’t hungry. I cut the top off a can of ravioli, heated up the pot..... and realized that I had no silverware. Again. Now, those of you who’ve known me for a while may recall me telling a story of the time I camped in Iowa when the same thing happened, the time when I ended up calling on my inner depths of resourcefulness and eating my beefaroni with a fine tooth comb - which I swore up and down I would never do again, because how could I be so stupid to forget silverware a second time? Well..... please pass the salt and mustard for this crow I’m eating. Thank god I hand a comb handy in the car. Which I will never again use on my hair.

So here is a vision of loveliness that I invite you to picture - me, in an oversized gray hoodie and a messy ponytail, sitting in a collapsable chair with a dirty wool blanket over my lap, using a washcloth as a napkin as I dip my big red comb into my little pot of ravioli and sucking the slop from in between the teeth, my nose red and dripping from the cold, a 22-oz can of Natty Ice in the cupholder to my right. Does that make you randy, baby?

I eventually got the dishes done in the campground washsink, and went to the bathroom, pepperspray in hand and cocked. It’s funny how I never get scared until it gets really dark, and then I’m the most paranoid person ever. I was REALLY excited to see that the bathroom not only had showers, but also electrical outlets, which meant I could wash and blow dry my hair in the morning. I pulled my fist into my chest as I breathed out a Napoleon Dynamite "Yessssssssssssssssssssss".

The dishes done, bladder emptied, family called, it was time for bed. I can actually sum up the whole sleeping experience in three words: Mother. Freaking. Freezing. I could barely sleep. Nothing helped, not fleece pants, flannel overpants, three shirts, special socks, extra socks, fleece blankets, thermal sleeping bag, wool blanket overtop. I still woke up stiff and freezing. I decided to go for a jog to get my blood pumping again and realized just how out of shape I really am. I didn’t last very long and my jog turned into a brisk walk. When I got back to camp I went to the bathroom and was shocked - even after jogging, walking, getting the heart rate up - my lips were still a dull shade of blue! Imagine if I hadn’t gone jogging!

After breaking camp and getting everything back in the car, it was time for my shower. My wonderful shower, that I had been looking forward to all night. With clothes, hair dryer, and toiletries in hand I marched proudly up the path to the bathroom. I set everything in the shower and turned on the water. And then I smelled the worst smell I’ve ever smelled in my life.

It was the type of smell that is so heinous it would drive a lesser person to insanity. It smelled like straight up POO! I wondered for a second if someone else was in the bathroom, suffering from a terrible case of gastrointestinal distress, but alas, it was the water. I turned it off and reacted like I had been burned with acid when some splashed onto my arm in reaching for the faucet. It was so incredibly horrific, this smell. The memory of it is still tainting my nostrils. I kept thinking of the scene in "Anchorman" when Paul Ruud uses his "Sex Pather" cologne and sets off the sprinklers. It was awful.

So the hair got pulled in to another ponytail. The teeth did not get brushed. The hands remained unwashed. And a dirty, cold, annoyed girl made her way out of Lackawanna State Park and up Rt. 6 towards Elmira, NY.