Ah, camping.  You’re tricky. 

First, you lure me into working out with your mountainsides and your pretty views.  So sneaky.  Then you laugh at me as I huff and puff up the mountain.  Then you lull me into relaxation with a campfire and a warm sleeping bag.  And finally, when I think we’re getting along just fine, you send armed rednecks my way. 

Yep, that’s right.  There were drunk rednecks shooting guns at our campsite at 2 AM.  It was a little bit outside of the scope of my past camping trips. 

I could tell you all of the details of the story, but really, it was just a loud truck, some shouting men, two shots fired, and some more yelling.  After what seemed like forever, the truck started back up again, the high beams flickered towards our tent, and everything got quiet.  I’ve never been that relieved to hear quiet before. 

And what was established based on this experience? 

1. We’re really glad Peanut didn’t go with us.  Drunk rednecks with guns probably like to shoot at small furry creatures that run towards them, even if the furry creatures in question just want a belly rub.
2. We won’t be camping near an access road any time soon.  Only mountains with obscure walking trails. 
3. Going to the bathroom in the woods doesn’t seem like a big deal compared to potentially being shot in your tent.

Despite everything that happened between 2 and 3 AM, I have to say that it was a good camping trip.  The hike was just challenging enough to make me feel slightly accomplished.  The weather was cold, not miserable.  It didn’t rain.  Scott and I had a good time just hanging out.  And hey, we didn’t die. 

It was even kind of fun to go home.  Normally, it’s sad to leave the mountains, but this time, the leaves got prettier and prettier as we got closer to home.  Turns out that our leaves do change color in Norfolk. 

If you want to hear the story from Scott’s perspective, I hear he might be blogging about it soon.