Camping in August

We spent another week camping, this time with Rick’s sister, Kathy. It was a quiet week overall—if you don’t count Rick and his shenanigans. Kathy and I decided he’s been stuck at 13 years old his whole life. He’s the class clown, and he knows it. We got our laughs in, though, mostly because we love beating him at games. Nothing’s sweeter than watching a grown man whine like a middle schooler when he loses.

When Rick wasn’t pouting over a game, he was fussing with Kathy’s two dogs. Even on their leashes, they stuck to him like glue, mostly because he always had treats stuffed in his pockets. Kathy told him not to spoil them, but of course he did anyway. The dogs wagged, Rick grinned, and before long the three of them were tangled up in leashes while Kathy and I laughed from the sidelines.

Kathy had to head home a day early—she ran out of dog food—so that left me alone to babysit Rick. That’s when things got interesting. You know how I’ve told you about the back roads he drags me onto? Well, without Kathy around to distract him, he got bored. Apparently, I wasn’t enough entertainment on my own. He announced he was going on a road trip, camera gear in tow, and asked if I wanted to go. You can probably guess my answer.

“Headed up to the lookout tower,” he said. “Might spend the night and shoot star pictures.” He kissed me goodbye, and I did my best not to break into a happy dance. A night without cooking dinner, and a queen-size bed all to myself? Pure heaven. I settled into my camp chair with my phone, snacks, and a book.

But then—before seven o’clock—who comes rolling back into camp, covered in dust from head to toe? Rick.

Turns out, he’d hit a sharp rock, ripped the sidewall of his tire, and discovered our brand-new truck was missing part of the jack. There he was, blocking traffic on a one-lane mountain road. Lucky for him, a young guy and two ladies had no choice but to help the “old man” change his tire so he could limp back to camp.

Once he calmed down from the fiasco, I mentioned I needed to charge my phone. He said his needed charging too, but after tearing the truck apart, he came up empty-handed. That’s when he remembered—he’d used his phone as a flashlight until he found the “real” flashlight in the truck, and he was sure he’d put the phone back.

So, back up the dusty road we went. And wouldn’t you know it, the first thing lying in the middle of the road was that very same flashlight he swore he’d put away. We just shook our heads and laughed. If the flashlight was out here, who knew where the phone had ended up?

We kept searching, driving and walking stretches of road with no luck. Finally, on our way back down, we spotted a faint glow in the distance. Sure enough—there it was. Rick’s phone, flashlight still blazing like a beacon in the dust.

The next day it was off to Costco, but not before Rick started worrying about the clock. We were due to leave the campground the following day, checkout was at two sharp, and he wasn’t sure we could run into town, buy tires, and get back in time. So, in typical Rick fashion, he marched straight over to the camp host.

“If we don’t make it back by two, do we have to pay for another night?” he asked. His logic was simple: if we were going to be charged anyway, we might as well stay and enjoy another day. The camp host just shook her head and said no, we wouldn’t owe another night if we were a little late.

That was all Rick needed to hear. With the pressure off, we headed for Costco. Thirteen hundred dollars later, the truck had shiny new tires, and we were finally ready to go back and fetch the trailer. That part went smoothly. But when we got home? That’s when the real comedy started.

We pulled into the yard, and I made a mad dash inside for the potty while Rick got to work unhooking the trailer. By the time I came back out, he was up on his little step stool, ready to pull the pin. I stood there waiting to block the jacks when, all of a sudden, he dropped the front jacks and released the truck.

Except…the truck wasn’t in park. The second it was free, it jumped forward like a bull out of the chute—charging straight down the driveway and aimed directly at Dez’s parked SUV.

For a split second, I froze. My brain screamed, Oh no, this is going to be a call to the insurance company. Meanwhile, Rick’s brain apparently screamed, Save the truck! because I have never seen that man move so fast in my life. He came flying off that step stool like a shot, sprinting down the driveway, arms pumping, shouting words I won’t repeat here.

I swear, it was like watching an action movie unfold in real time. Just when I thought we were about to hear the crunch of metal, Rick managed to fling himself into the cab and slam the brake. The truck screeched to a stop, inches from Dez’s SUV.

He sat there panting, trying to play it cool, while I stood there with my heart racing. Then he gave me that look—you know the one—that smug “See, I had it under control” look.

Sure you did, Rick. Sure, you did. Forget star pictures—if anyone had been filming this scene, we’d be the stars of America’s Funniest Home Videos. And knowing us, this won’t be the last episode. I can’t help but wonder… what kind of adventure will we stumble into the next time we take the trailer out?