Some reasons why walmart tents are bad-wrong!

            So, last night, we were in Odell, Illinois’ town park. It was relatively sweet. The sun was out! Matt’s family had camped out by the swingset, and clapped for us as we rolled in! Such camraderism! Is that a word? It is now.

            Betsy, Drew, Brandon, and I were the first to reach camp—we delicately stacked our bikes along the perimeter fence, and set out to investigate the shower situation. We ventured through the painted, white brick of the pool building and found a wall with chain-activated spigots and a large sign reading, “All visitors must take a NUDE, SOAPY shower before entering the pool area!” The words, “nude” and “soapy” were capitalized for emphasis and retroactive psychological terror.

             Hm! Perhaps a shower is not so important, I thought in an attempt to lie to my dirty, dirty self. Oh, the wall of spigots. There was no way I was getting naked in that public restroom. Well-without being paid, that is!

            I eventually rubbed some soap on my head while still partially clothed. At least I could carry on the façade of cleanliness. A large group of us then went out for dinner at a bar called Richard’s Pour House—where, ironically, there were no beers on tap. Cassie made the mistake of requesting an IPA; the waitress looked at her like she’d ordered a basket of deep-fried baby puppy.
            But, more importantly, today I learned the value of expensive camping equipment. I will admit—I was  once the first to trollop through the aisles of elite backpackeries and scoff, “Hah! Eighteen dollars for this toothpick? What is it made of, adamantium?”

            Alas. The Walmart brand does not always equal, or even rival, the real product. Yes. I must sound like an infomercial. But really! Really, friends! This is for your own safety and comfort!

            The night was a mild one, I put the rainfly on my tent just because it looks neat and I like the color green.  WELL! Destiny, it would seem, was on my side. Because around four A.M., the wind became upset or something and decided to physically remove my tent from the earth. Or, maybe it thought that my tent had always dreamed of being a space cadet as a wee tarp. I don’t know! I like to find the good in things!

            So I was sleeping, and Kathryn was next to me on her little sleeping pad, also asleep. Suddenly, the tent stopped being a room and started being more of a pancake, or like, a strangulation machine of sorts. For about ten minutes, I legitimately thought I would die. But, being the Wilderness Girl that I am, I sprang into action! Yes! I grabbed hold of a tent pole and became a human stake of sorts!  Kathryn helped as well, and quite valiantly I must say. The tent didn’t like being manhandled, and it fought vigorously to be all over the ground. It was not unlike handling a belligerent drunk person.

            The tent fought with all of its vinyl-polyester might, but we were able to restrain her. Him. It. It was an awkward ten minutes of suffering. Rain peeked in through the spots in the walls where we’d leaned against the poles. Our sleeping bags winked with tiny tears. I flopped over on my pool-floaty/mattress and wished profoundly that I had spent more on a fancy tent with neat brochure-worthy features. Such as the ability to repel water, and/or remain upright.

            Anyway. Tonight, scarred by the wind and the rain and the lightning, we overnight in the Henry Harbor Inn. It is spacious and the beds are skirted in striped bedsets. I am very comfortable and dry!