Most of my family vacations growing up involved camping trips in the mountains
of East Tennessee.
We would pack up the Chevy Bel-Air or (later) the Rambler and spend two weeks in
a tent or trailer beside a creek.
Man, what great days! Playing in the cold, cold mountain water, hiking, fishing,
reading, and sitting around a campfire (because it got chilly at night in the
mountains even in summer).
It didn’t occur to me at the time, because it just wouldn’t, that this was not as much a vacation for mom and dad. They enjoyed camping,
for sure, but there were still grown-up things to worry about, including the
no-small-undertaking of providing for three meals a day using only a camp
stove. If anything, mom’s “vacation” was probably more actual work than being at home.
It is a great gift that parents can give children to allow them to be oblivious
to the cares and responsibilities of the world. Most of the kids in the world
don’t have that, and those of us who did should never forget what a gift it is.
When my brother Tim and I were old enough to have bikes, we started bringing
them along when we went camping. We would ride up and down the mountain roads,
savoring the wind in our faces. In those pre-iPod, and even pre-Walkman days, I
even rigged up a way to strap a cassette player in the basket of my bike so I
could listen to music as I rode along. I pedaled up the shady cool roads,
favoring the wildlife and other campers with selections from the Beatles’ “Abbey Road” and Elton John’s “Madman Across the Water.” I’m sure both the people and the bears were very appreciative.
But the real highlight to having bikes on our camping trip was the day we went
home. We would get up and work at all the tasks needed to break camp: taking
down the tent, packing up and picking up. And then, dad would say, with a big
smile on his face because he knew this is what we were waiting to hear: “Take off.”
And Tim and I would get on our bikes and begin riding down the mountain on the
winding, downhill road that, 20-some miles later, emerged into the small town
of Tellico Plains. We would meet up, dad would attach the bikes to the camping
trailer, and home we would go.
For the adults, it would have made a lot more sense for us to hurry back to the
city. It was a long day of driving, and there was a lot of work to be done once
we got home to reopen the house, buy groceries, and generally get the household
humming again. The most efficient thing would have been to get an early and
quick start. Nothing was less efficient than allowing a couple of kids 20 miles
of free downhill bike riding.
The bike ride from the campsite to the bottom of the mountain really was
downhill all the way. A free gift, really, since almost any other bike ride is
a zero sum game: every bit of downhill you get to coast is balanced by the
uphill you have to pedal to get back to where you started. Tim and I got a real
rarity in life, the joy without the pain.
And a gift of love. I know that now.
