August 21, 2005
Matthiessen State Park
Packed up in a record one hour! And that included sweeping out the tent and penalty time for forgetting to include the rainfly. Not too shabby! We rolled out of KOA around 10a and went back to the Lodge to gorge on their breakfast/lunch buffet. Was okay, not as good as their menu in my mind. Then again, that country skillet thing was incredible. And, the buffet is geared toward the masses. So many large, large, large people there. While standing in the omelet line, I got pulled into the gravitational field of a massive biker, gender unknown. When the line moved forward, I actually stumbled because I couldn’t get out of the way fast enough. We are not talking large here. Not "fat" or "obese." The person was just HUGE. MASSIVE. PLANETARY!!!
After brunch, we drove to Matthiessen to hike the dells. It was even more beautiful than I remembered. One of the canyons had a few little caves begging to be crawled through. We managed to squeeze through one of them, and were rewarded with a stunning view of the formation, striated with mineral colors. It was beautiful. Hope my photos will do them justice.
Matthiessen remains one of my favorite hikes ever, it's challenging enough to be fun, but you're never in any danger of falling off a cliff or getting eaten by animals.
Posted by carolyn at 03:13 PM | Comments (0)
August 20, 2005
Hiking in Starved Rock
Beautiful morning. Dave and I headed to the Lodge for breakfast. Oh my, protein and carbs. We got there before the morning crowd, so were able to enjoy a nice, meandering meal. From there, we went back to camp, grabbed our gear (i.e., camera, water bottles and camelbak), and made our way to the trails. What started off as a relatively gray, moist morning cleared into a beautiful afternoon. We hiked about three miles through the park, basically up to Starved Rock and out east to Lone Tree Canyon (which, by the way, has multiple trees). Think my favorite feature was Wildcat Canyon though. It's one of the first big ones you come across and offers great views of the river and canyon formations. The really nice thing about Starved Rock, is that they put in stairs to help hikers climb the elevation. The really nasty thing about Starved Rock is that there are so many stairs. On the loop around back, we took a set of stairs at a relatively good pace. Got to the top panting and grinning. Man, I think I'm in pretty good cardio shape, but I had to sit down for a bit to catch my breath. We hear some hikers headed our way and approach the descent. "Read somewhere it's 160 steps," says one of them. He's got a toddler perched on his shoulders, who looks awfully cute in a beige floppy hat and jeans. And that's only one set of stairs. There didn't seem to be too much wildlife, although I did get bit twice. Then again, I always get bitten by skeeters and other such creepy crawlies when I go camping. No matter that I'm wearing 100% DEET. Skeeters don't seem to care much.
We hit the grocery store on the way back, as today is our three-month anniversary (How cute, eh? In our 30s and counting in months) and Dave has offered to cook dinner. No girl in her right mind is going to turn down an offer like that! Two ribeyes, an onion, a lighter, some peanut butter mousse and horseradish cheese later, we're back at our tent. The first thing we do is hit the showers. Who would've thought that showering in a stall could be enjoyable? After soaping off all the stink, I re-applied more stink. DEET'd myself all over. Mmmm, fresh!
Then we just sat around the citronella and read for a few hours. The breeze and shade were so nice, I think I dozed off a bit. Dave made an amazing dinner and a couple Dixie cups of champagne and a s'more topped off the evening. Don't think I could've had it any better if I tried.
"It could be magic rain, you don't know!"
Posted by carolyn at 05:03 PM | Comments (0)
August 19, 2005
It's raining, it's pouring...
If you've never been trapped in a leaky tent with a 6'5" boyfriend during a flash thunderstorm, I don't recommend it. At 2am, the ground started shaking. At 2:01am, the rain started tapping. At 2:01:30, the rain was hammering down on the tent like there was no tomorrow, the tent was illuminated with lightning and the ground shook with the force of the thunder. You know that old trick, count the seconds between the flash and the thunder, and you can gauge how far away the storm is? It works. There were 0 seconds between the lightning and the thunder, and yes indeed, we were getting stormed on.
Groggily propped the eyes open, verified that indeed, it was raining, and tried to go back to sleep on my little camp pillow. (Hand-stitched that little pillowcase myself, thank you very much!) Argh, mumble, groan. "What?" asked Dave. "Lantern's outside," I grumbled as I forced my body up and into tevas. "Ungh," said Dave. Just goes to show that he and I continue to operate on the same wavelength. We both stumble out of the tent and still only half-awake, proceed to zip up the rain fly and throw gear in the truck. Back inside the tent, I peer up at the supports and thank God that the crossframe is made out of extending fiberglass poles and not telescoping, lightning-friendly metal rods. The stakes are metal, but they're driven deep into the earth. No worries, right? Wrong.
"Ungh," says Dave again, exhibiting his natural talent for verbal communication. He wipes away at his forehead. There's a leak in one of the seams of the rain fly. It's a slow leak, only about one drop every 30 seconds or so, similar to Chinese water torture, or so I'm told. "Not bad," I think to myself. After all, the only thing between us and the fury is this thin nylon tent, and it's doing a pretty good job of keeping us dry for the most part. And besides. The leak wasn't over me, it was over Dave! (Kidding, kidding.) The only solution was to move the sleeping bags away from the leak. Easy. Five minutes later, "Ungh," says Dave. Another leak sprung, this time spurring us to shine a flashlight on the tent to see where it was coming from. Same thing, through a tiny hole in the seam. Nothing we could do to fix it at night. We move the sleeping bags one more time. It's not so bad, my feng shui is a bit off now, but at least we're not under any leaks.
If Dave hadn't been there, I probably would have packed up right then and there and driven back to Chicago. But being with him, I knew everything would be fine.
"Ungh."
Posted by carolyn at 12:41 PM | Comments (1)
Utica: Cajun Connection
Headed out for the second camping trip of the season last Friday. This time, Dave and I headed southwest to Starved Rock State Park, in the tiny town of Utica. By tiny, I mean that the main drag was exactly one block long, and had about five bars, one grocery store and a screenprinter. The whole block sat under the shadow of a huge grain silo, so even if you were in the middle of the street, your eyes would be drawn away from the run down storefronts and plywood signage and up toward the towering metal structure. But Utica is not about that little strip of retail. It is about the wooded beauty of Starved Rock and the damp, sandy canyons of Matthiessen.
After setting up camp, we headed about over to Ron's Cajun Connection. It was probably the only real, sit-down restaurant for miles, but it was damn good. It's the kind of place that's got so much character, it makes up for the linoleum floors and vinyl chairs. I started off with a salad (and got a mouthful from Chef Ron over that choice, last time I order a salad in Utica!), Dave had a cup of gumbo that was incredibly flavorful and chunky. We ordered a sampling off the menu, jambalaya, bubba shrimp, crawfish ettouffee and chicken fingers. Midway through the meal, Chef Ron himself comes bounding out of the kitchen and makes a pit stop at every single table. "Didja like it?" "How was it?" "Whaddya think?" He's got a mellow Louisiana accent and drawls out, "Don't leave yet. Just wait right there. Don't go nowhere." Disappears into the kitchen. About ten minutes later, he plunks down a plate with a sliver of pecan pie and two plastic forks. "Try that. Try to guess the secret ingredient." Chef Ron grabs for the Tabasco bottle and smacks it down at the head of the table. Leans one meaty palm into the cap and says, "Now I can't tell you what it is, but it's on this table!"
I'm thinking, that can't be right. There's no way you could put Tabasco in pecan pie. It just doesn't make any sense. I give Dave the first bite to see if his head explodes. When it doesn't, I take a tentative forkful for myself. Chew. Filling's good, not too sweet, not too gooey. Crust, pretty good, definitely homemade. Pecans, nice. Nutty, definitely roasted. I swallow it down. Then...BAM! There's the heat! Oh man, surprising and clever. It just sneaks up from out of nowhere, kind of like the restaurant itself.
After dinner, we headed into "town" to stock up on s'mores fixins. It was 9p by this point, everything was quiet. Even though the bars were open, all you could hear was silence. No talking, no laughing, no music. Very strange for us city-dwellers, but probably pretty normal for Utica. The grocery store was open though, and we got in seconds before the sign flipped from "Open" to "Closed." Back at the campsite, we got our new mantle lantern going, stroked the fire, and alternated between lazy chats and moments of reflection. There's something about a campfire that erases all traces of petty stress from my mind. I get so mesmerized by the flames, that my mind goes gently blank and I realize that my problems, my issues are really insignificant in the grand scheme of life. None of the concerns I have now will define my life.
Of course, when you're done being meditative, there's always the traditional ghost stories. To which, Dave says, "Drip. Drip." What an eerie foreshadowing...
Posted by carolyn at 08:40 AM | Comments (0)