Trending
It takes a tough old coot to leave modern conveniences behind and get out there and rough it. But that's what I am -- an old coot. And reasonably tough.
It takes a little spirit of adventure, grit and muscle to do what I did, and I have nothing if I don't have very little of those. Which is to lug my recliner out onto my apartment balcony and sleep under the stars.
OK, under the metal roof, but the sides of the balcony are open air and when I'm nestled into my lounge chair with my pillow, blankie, cellphone, porch light and cold root beer.
Camping out like that is not for the faint of heart. Lightning bugs roam free in the wild. One can hear the roar of Cougars, Rams, Mustangs, Beetles and the occasional Prius as they zoom across the asphalt trail below.
There is no outside electrical outlet on my balcony. If I want any modern conveniences at all, I have to unspool an extension cord out the sliding door of my apartment, which leaves a sliver of open air.
Who knows what aura of soft living could seep through that crack and infest my rugged balcony campsite with delicacy and ease.
I prefer the manly way -- raw, robust, hardy with a touch of hale. I take no wimpy shortcuts.
Why -- get this -- when I am ensconced in my balcony campsite, I am as far as 10 feet from the nearest refrigerator and microwave oven. And I'd have to climb out of my recliner to make the arduous trek.
These are not conditions that just anyone can endure. Or would want to. But me, I am built differently. I crave the open air of a balcony, a deck or even a wraparound porch.
Some of my cousins spend most every summer weekend doing what they call camping out. Ha!
They're simply pulling into a campground with a bunch of other "campers" and enjoy the great outdoors with a couple hundred other free spirits, all of whom are actually living inside their travel trailers and RVs stocked with beds, bathrooms, stoves, refrigerators, TV sets -- the works.
If I want the TV in my primitive balcony campsite, I have to heft my Adirondack chair two, maybe three feet for a view of my screen through the sliding glass door. And I have to use closed captioning. Just like in the pioneer days.
I boast a long history of roughing it. About 35 years ago--as I said, a long history--when my daughter was 4, I pitched a tent in the wilds of our back yard, just far enough from the porch so the extension cord would reach the kitchen.
Melissa and I lay on our cots reading comic books by the electric lamp I swiped from the living room while the Lakers played on the little TV, which was black and white -- because we were roughing it.
We slept in our tent until it started raining, and then we finished the night indoors.
These days if it starts raining, I don't have to dash through the downpour to finish the night indoors. I just roll out of the recliner and slide open the glass balcony door.
But Burton, you may ask, why don't you go camping in the woods, where nature tends to hang out? Where the crickets chirp and the birds sing. Where the bears and coyotes roam?
If the coyotes and bears aren't enough answer to your pesky questions, it has to do with my age. It's too much trouble to pack up all my meds, orthotics, CPAP machine and all my other "old-person" accouterments necessary for any kind of outing.
It's much simpler if all of my equipment is 10 feet away on the other side of the sliding glass door.
So, my back-to-basics friends, if you want to join me on my next camping trip, meet me on the balcony for rugged, he-man roughing it. Naturally, I have wi-fi, as nature intended, so we can stream our music to drown out the outdoorsy night sounds of trucks and cars passing on the street below.
Reserve your camping space with Cole at burton.w.cole@gmail.com.