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Something Light: Vacation nightmares
The summer of 2008 will not go down in history as the Chapman household’s best camping vacation season.
We had three opportunities to go camping this year. The first time in May, torrential downpours led us to cancel the trip altogether. The second time in July, it rained about half the time, but we still went since we had planned the trip for more than a year in order to rendezvous with college buddies. (We didn’t sleep well, however, since our daughter took to waking at 4 a.m.–wailing.) For the third trip last week, it once again stormed part of the time, but in addition, the state park where we stayed was not well-maintained. The trash bins were overflowing when we arrived but weren’t emptied for another two days. I’ve never seen so many flies!
What vacation nightmares have you lived through?
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I drank a bee on a bad camping trip once. Don’t leave your soda can sitting around unattended in the great outdoors.
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This one was a train wreck waiting to happen.
When I was a child, my family used to take an anual 2 week fishing vacation in Canada. (We lived in upstate NY and our destination was about 40 mi into Ontario after crossing the Thousand Islands bridge, on the Rideau Lakes.) In its heyday, we went with my granparents and another family whose kids would bring one or 2 friends and we would too. There were other families who were always up there the same 2 weeks and we kept in touch with them, some from Ohio and some from NJ. When our parents got divorced, we stopped going on the vacation, but fond memories have stayed with all of us. After awhile, we lost track of our friends from other states as we all grew up and life just moved us all on. My brother and sister and I talked about going back up there again, but we never got around to it.
My father died in 2001, and my sister decided that we needed to do something to boost morale, and she called the camp and rented a cabin for her family. She said that they were going and any of us were welcome to come along. (The old cliche about “you can never go home again” came to mind), but against my better judgement I decided that I would go. But I told my husband and kids that they were under no obligation to come along. Being the supportive people that they are, they decided to come too. Having spent a lot of time with the Boy Scouts, we decided to camp in tents, and we brought our dogs. There are a lot of volitile personalities in my family and we don’t get together often. My mom and step-dad have a camper and decided that they would make the trip in the camper because the new owners of the camp said that there were camper hook ups. My brother was in, and Mom said he could stay in the camper with them.
Timing is not always great, but my sister had just hired an au pair and the poor young lady had just arrived days earlier when this vacation happened. So she was introduced in one week to her new family (she would be living with them for the next year – she was from Brazil), and the dysfunctional fruits, nuts and flakes in the extended family, and a vacation that was not all it was cracked up to be.
The camp had changed hands several times since we had last gone, and in fact the people my sister made the reservations with were not the latest owners, who honored the reservations. The place had changed a lot. It was very run down and I don’t think they put any money into maintenance since we used to go, 20 years earlier. The new owners had all kinds of plans for the place, but had not been able to implement them yet. It had gone from a family camp to being a fish camp. There were more permanent trailers that had been there for years and only 2 temporary hook ups. We happened to choose the week of a heatwave, the likes of which they had not had in years, and the electrical hook up was so iffy, that the camper couldn’t run the AC and cooking in the camper was out of the question. All meals either had to take place at my sister’s cabin or at the camper where we grilled.
My sister’s cabin should have been condemned. there was a cable from floor to ceiling holding up the floor in the back bedroom, and we decided that no one was to go into the back bedroom – we were afraid that the floor would fall down. It was hot and stuffy in the cabin and the fridge stoped running and we lost a lot of food that was stored in there. plus, only 2 burners on the 4 burner electric stove worked in the cabin.
We rented a boat and motor, but in a week’s time, we only caught enough fish for a fish fry on the very last day. Of course, tempers flared, the small children were bored. There were distinct differences in parenting styles, and nobody approved of the bad behavior of my sister’s spoiled children. The heat and humidity and the poor conditions did not contribute to the trip at all. My brother-in-law was afraid that my dogs would attack his children, He was usually fighting with one or another member of the family about his kids, and my husband was to “go-to” guy for everyone to vent to. He was usually in the middle of helping to smooth things over. My brother was the only one having a good time – he had no wife and kids and he spent his days in the boat fishing with someone else who just wanted to get away, usually my son. My daughter spent the whole time with her nose in a book and in the end, we left early and decided we would never do that again. (never try to “go back”, never vacation with extended family.)
We laugh about that awful vacation now, but it was no fun while were were on it.
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Twice now the motorcycle has tipped over in the trailer as we were in transit. The first time was on our way down to Texas, I think it tipped over as we made our way through KC on I-35. Man, that was one rough road.
The second time was this past Wednesday as we made our way home from the Rally in Sturgis, and it’s hard to say which nasty bump on I-90 caused it to tip. Suffice it to say that my husband was not a happy camper when we stopped in Sioux Falls, SD, and I looked in the trailer to see it tipped almost on its side. Nothing happened to it the first time, but the second tip-over bent the handlebars and the clutch, so those items need to be replaced before we can do any riding here at home.
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Well, there’s this for perspective: Georgian Holiday.
(I can’t remember any vacation nightmares right off. I usually have those at home. Of course, I rarely go off on vacation, so that helps.)
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“We laugh about the vacation now…” A great reason for vacations is the bonding. We have great many nightmares. Our camping seems to have been mostly in lightening storms.
There should be a thread on just hotel horror stories. Our worst was not on vacation, but took place while bringing our daughter to live in a different state. We stayed in a hotel that we had stayed in twice before. It had changed hands. My husband did not pay much attention as he registered us. I was horrified at the condition of the rooms, but we decided to stay anyway. A big mistake. We didn’t sleep a wink. The next day we left early and quickly.
Unfortunately, we stayed in another bad motel the next night. It turned out that the young people of the area were celebrating something and they were doing it all outside our door. I called to complain and then tried to sleep again. Cars were peeling in and out of the parking lot. The noise was unbelievable. I looked out the window to see several young people sitting on our car! Again I called. No sleep again that night. Several people complained to management while we waited for our turn to check out and complain too. I doubt it did much good.
Thank God for the good times and for safety in the not so good times!
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Our worst vacation together was on our honeymoon. I posted about that before. But she stayed with me anyhow.
But the absolute worst “vacation” event was a week I spent at Camp Hon-Ah-Wah on Wadmalaw Island in the Boy Scouts. I remember three things:
We played “Indian War Games” (Now it would be Native American War games) and the biggest/strongest guy in the camp was on the other side. I came up against him, and we each “killed” the other simultaneously. Put both of us out at the start of the game.
I got the “Cooking” merit badge in a heavy rain. That was an ordeal I’ll never forget. I had to keep the fire going and cook a meal and eat it. But I did it. Some commented on my determination.
At the end of the week, we were sitting around the campfire and some guys in Indian costumes grabbed me. I was inducted into “The Order of the Arrow”. This was quite an honor for a scout. But the initiation was an ordeal that finished out a difficult week. My scoutmaster was more proud of it than I was. Later, I was glad for him, but not at the time.
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Chas – were you an Eagle Scout? OA is/was a huge honor.
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The National OA was clearing trails at Teton Pass just last week and Jackson Hole hosted a lot of BSA troops. Great kids.
Worst camping vacation? My husband was in charge of packing for the family trip because I was busy with three boys under seven, including a baby.
When we got to the lake, we discovered he had brought the two-man backpacking tent, rather than the family tent. And then it began to rain.
The baby and I slept in the car. I don’t know where the rest of them slept.
Worst airplane trip? Using three box tops from Chex cereal, I “earned” a free companion airline ticket from some airline now defunct. To get from Groton, CT to Orlando, FL, my two-year-old and I (six months pregnant) had to fly Groton to NYC to Atlanta to Pensacola to Jacksonville to Orlando.
“But it’s practically direct coming back!” Orlando to Detroit to NYC to Groton.
After a week spent catching up with my husband whose submarine was in port in FL, the boy and I flew home. He spilled his juice, went through every extra outfit I had onboard, threw up and created mayhem while I followed suit in my pregnant state. When we landed in Detroit, it was snowing and I had one diaper left.
Fortunately, the plane could still fly but the airline lost our luggage and when we finally arrived home hours late, the kitchen sink had been stopped up the entire time we were gone.
That’s where I came up with the phrase which has consoled me for a long time: “This will be over tomorrow.”
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Let’s see. I guess a combination of several bad experiences comes to mind. But the worst was when I was 13. My grandparents were visiting from New York (we lived in Tucson, AZ). My dad and uncle decided to rent a large station wagon so everyone could ride together, and go up to the Grand Canyon. There were eleven of us: my grandparents, my uncle, aunt and their three children, my dad, two brothers and myself.
First, the car was not ready when they went to get it, so we left about two hours after we intended. It was very hot, so those of us in the far back suffered through the heat (the a/c was fine for the front two benches, but not the rear facing one in the back). We finally got to Flagstaff for our motel late (around 8pm, I think). The next day was supposed to be the highlight, as we went on up to the canyon. But my aunt was extremely afraid of heights, so none of us could get within 10 yards of the canyon, thus making it unenjoyable (she must have said “Get back!” a hundred times). So, after seeing a couple of viewpoints, and not getting to go in the tower by the rim (she thought it would fall into the canyon), we left for home within an hour of arriving.
Needless to say, a three day trip to the Grand Canyon turned into a three day road trip, only stopping for gas and motel. Although, my dad ignored her protests and we took the scenic route from Flagstaff to Phoenix, along highway 89A, through Oak Creek Canyon, Sedonia and Jerome, ending in Prescott. If you ever have the chance, take that route! We also stopped at Montezuma’s Castle, which is an ancient native cliff dwelling. So I guess the trip wasn’t a total loss after all.
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KLasko, I only made it to Star Scout. (Governor Strom Thurmond gave me my certificate.) When I got into high school I became interested in other things. But I appreciated my time in the scouts. We usuallly went on a winter camping trip. In those trips, 100% of the time is taken in survival. But I learned a lot.
I called the BSA office in Charleston to try to retrieve my records; but they had nothing as far back as the 1940’s. I was trying to recall the names of some of the guys in Troop 5.
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PETERL,
I ride my motorcycle on the 89A route to Sedona and Jerome all the time. It is one of the great motorcysle rides in the USA. I also like the Hiway 550 ride to Ouray CO but it is pretty tough to beat Oak Crak Canyon. I also like Salt Creak Canyon ride In AZ too.
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My most vivid camping experience was with my family (Mom, Dad, Sister, Aunt) travelling through the Canadian Rockies with a (very) small pop-up camper. It was basically a canvas tent on wheels. With 5 of us I had to sleep on the floor with my head next to a port-a-potty. My dad was having some angina pains which caused him to be sick during the night. You can guess where, right next to my head. Almost hurled myself. Anyway, years later my own family took the same camper on a 4-week trip from Ohio to Yellowstone, Montana, Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico. Much fonder memories on that trip…
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Camping at Goose Creek CO (one time and the only time) was a nightmare. We camped with my wife’s first cousin who lived in Boulder. This was about about 30 years ago. The nitwits camping next to us were shooting off their pistols all the time for no reason on Friday night and it rained the whole night and next day but the worst part was the storms on Saturday night. Saturday night was so bad a huge flood came down the creek and just washed everything away. There was nothing left We huddled in the car all night after we drove to high ground. It was a miracle we got out of there in time and were not all killed.
Got to buy all new camping equipment though.
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Chas,
What was your lodge? Some lodges also had a tribe (what was yours) and OA members were given Indian names when they were inducted as Arrowmen. It wasn’t nearly as selective like being an Eagle Scout though. You just had to camp for a couple of weeks a year with one of them being a week long and display the best traits of the Arrowmen. My dad was Chief of our lodge so my and my twin’s getting in wasn’t too difficult.
My Dad’s name was Swift Foot, my brother’s was Big Swift Foot and mine was Little Swift Foot. None of us was that swift either but we loved to camp and get out into the wilderness. We would just go out and live off the land. That way you didn’t have to pack all the food with you and you actually learned how to survive without it.
It made survival training in Pensacola, before Nam, much easier too.
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We camped a lot when I was growing up–some tent camping, some trailer camping (we went through three different trailers, from a tiny one without a toilet up to a nicer one, but none were luxury models), and very occasionally staying in the very cheapest motel in every town. I tended to get carsick and we had three kids and a dog in the backseat. (And my brother and sister got along with each other better than with me, and Dad would get it in his head to drive another 100 miles past our planned stop for the evening if we were arriving before dark, and then at the 100 miles all campgrounds would be full and we’d have to drive another 50, and then we’d set up in total darkness before we could have supper or even use the restroom….)
I do have good memories of those trips, but not many. My sister has the good memories.
Since I cannot choose just one, I have the memories of . . .
the time it rained in the tent and we spent the rest of the night huddled in the car,
the times spent standing at the side of the road wishing desperately I could just throw up and get it over with,
the time the dog threw up all over the car,
the time I wet my pants waiting in line at the the campground rest room since I had already waited too long,
the time Dad took a turn wrong and we went over a steep incline that jack-knifed the trailer against the vehicle and Mom with a white face carefully directed who could climb out when,
the time we checked into a hotel late at night and Mom announced “Bedbugs!” and marched us all down to the office to check out and find a different place to stay,
the time we drove all the way to Niagara Falls (from Arizona) and Dad decided that going on the “Maid of the Mist” was too expensive and so we just looked at the water for a a few minutes and left,
the time Dad hit the accelerator really hard and Mom and my little sister yelled, “That huge rock almost hit our car!” (it was as large as the car and would certainly have killed us when it broke loose from the mountain and fell on the road if Dad hadn’t seen it and outrun it–on future trips down that road, we had to swing around it, since it had fallen onto the edge of the road and it was too large for the road crews to move, and Mom and my sister would always point it out as the rock that almost hit our car),
the time my sister and I ended up in our only serious fight and she ended up with gum in her hair (to this day I believe she deserved it),
the day we took a “shortcut” that the rangers highly advised us not to take and Mom joined me at the side of the road throwing up,
the time Dad opened a hot radiator and the geyser spurted higher than the raised hood of the car,
the time Dad steered the car as a tractor pulled car and trailer out of a canyon that signs had warned us not to go into unless we had a tow bar (we didn’t have one)–and my sister remembers vividly Mom’s white face and her terror that Dad would be killed as that tractor slowly pulled the vehicle and trailer out,
. . . and many miserable hours in the backseat of a hot and overcrowded car with a queasy stomach, a dog that would jump from one window to another every time a car passed us (invariably landing on my legs or stomach at some point during her jumping from one window to the other), and a brother and sister who’d ignore me and try to speak in private code I couldn’t understand.
I also remember chewing half a Dramamine (I simply could not swallow it)–it is extraordinarily bitter and would numb my tongue and throat for a good while, so unless the road was expected to be unusually treacherous I’d simply put up with nausea for the whole day rather than chew one.
My best camping memories are, ironically, the worst ones for Dad–the times when a car repair would strand us in a campground for several days. Dad would pace for several days, impatient to get back on the road, but I knew that until that car was fixed we were not driving anywhere and I could explore the campgrounds and nearby wilderness to my heart’s content, take the dog out for walks, and stop by the campground store to buy post cards and pretty rocks.
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No nightmare vacations for us, though on reading your stories we have many similar experiences. But, in our summer of camping, we have one more week long camping trip coming up so perhaps when we return, I can regale you with tales of woe. Meantime, we have been having a wonderful time and hope to continue the trend. Oh, and the kids are having a good time as well.
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My husband and I took a trip by ourselves, leaving the kids with their aunt and uncle. We took their small car and left our minivan so they could cart the kids around. It was August (VERY HOT) and I was pregnant.
The borrowed car died in Atlanta (6 lanes one way). I stood out by the car with my pregnant belly to flag down a tow truck (no cell phone).
The tow truck driver that stopped apparently wanted to make some money under the table on the way to an assigned pickup. He dropped us off in a BAD part of Atlanta. We entered a little convenience store to find some help.
Help arrived in the form of what I am pretty sure was the neighborhood drug dealer. He mentioned this was “his” corner, and everyone was very deferential. My husband went off with this man (who thankfully had great respect for a “man of the cloth”), singing a hymn.
I was left with the store owners, one of whom brandished a gun as a joke when 2 teenage girls started to leave without paying for their sodas.
The girls weren’t laughing, but they did throw money at the owner before they ran screaming. The owners laughed heartily. I think I smiled weakly.
I spent my time between the lottery table, sitting next to a man with an enormous stack of previously played lottery tickets, who spent quite a lot of time figuring out which numbers he hadn’t used yet, and the bathroom (I was after all a nervous pregnant lady), which was disgusting and which had a door which would not close all the way.
When several police officers arrived to chase the robbers who had run to the side of the convenience store, I was able to finish my wait for my husband in the back of one of the police cars. That was an improvement.
And my husband actually did come back alive, with a sort of friendship with “James”.
Later that evening, we dined at the top of the Peachtree Hotel (think I have that right) in the swanky revolving restaurant. My husband’s boss (he was bi-vocational at the time) had arranged the meal and a stay at a VERY nice hotel as a thank you for his good work. Never have I had another day spent in the lap of luxury and in the bowels of a city all in the same day!
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Cheryl D: Not to diss your dad, but I kept thinking, “And I thought I did some stupid things.” And I did.
Llama, #14. I really don’t remember much about it. I was first class scout that summer. I soon got my star badge, but didn’t go any further. I got six merit badges if I remember correctly. The only thing I remember we did as a group was usher at a Citadle/William & Mary football game.
The first college game I saw. I don’t know why they needed an usher, but we did it. I remember that the guys & girls were different from high school games.
A couple of years ago, at the request of my son & his family, I started writing a short autobiography. In the process, I called the BSA office in Charleston and asked if they had records Of BSA Troop 5, Trinity Methodist Church sponsor. No one knew and were not helpful at all. I don’t even clearly remember the time frame. We collected scrap paper for the war. I should look for when Strom Thurmon was governor. That would be a clue.
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Chas, more than anything, Dad simply wanted to “get there,” and that often overrode his judgment–driving with a disabled car, continuing to drive when the whole family was past exhaustion, trying roadside repairs he should never have even attempted, etc. And once we “got there,” he became impatient to get to the next destination. And the funny thing is that I remember the results of Dad’s impatience, and my sister remembers that she liked car trips because they were the time when Dad was relaxed and in a good mood. In other words, I suppose his traveling impatience was good-natured impatience or something, because my sister and I sure remember it differently!
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We visited friends in Phoenix last February. Our friend drove us to Sedona and then on through Jerome. We were suppose to have lunch in Jerome, but he said he could not find a parking space and we whizzed on through. On the way down the mountain, he took a wrong turn and went 50 miles out of the way. He didn’t mind, as he loves to drive. My husband and I were on anti-nausau medicine by that time. We were both mainly focused on not throwing up. We were also quite sleepy.
People who do not get motion sickness, have no idea.
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Chas,
1947-1951, according to http://www.strom.clemson.edu/strom/bio.html
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KBells–Wow. I’ll bent that sent you to the ER.
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I recall (vaguely, I was young and the whole family worked hard to forget as much as poosible), a brief stay in a run down roach motel in Nova Scotia. The family (of 5) opted to sleep in the car (and Oldsmobile sedan) instead.
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Thanks Cameron. It must have been 1947 because, as I said, I left scouting about that time. But I remember shaking Thurmond’s hand.
The write in campaign was unique. The part I remember is that there were (must have been millions) lots of golf type pencils that said “Write in Thurmond”. But he was still governor when I joined the Af.
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Good grief! It seems that many of you went through quite a bit. And where’s Drill? He must have an experience to share.
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I wish I had time to tell you of all the trips taken to and from Alaska….
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Not a nightmare, but the family accompanied my dad on a business trip about six or seven years ago. We stayed at a La Quinta in El Paso. Then we stopped in Albaquerque, at another La Quinta, and the room LOOKED EXACTLY THE SAME AS EL PASO. Funny, if nothing else.
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