Many reasons why I don't like camping

A very sweaty Erin and Adina greeted me back at the hostel (this is why I don’t hike). We went into town, where I checked off a New Mexican vineyard (really good), and Adina planned where she could buy property. After a brief stop-off at Taos Pueblo, we started our long winding journey to Colorado. And, well, not much to say. It’s big. Lost of driving. Lots of mountains. Passed by a little dirt road with 4 trailers and a man hanging in effigy from the gates at the front. That was nice. If anyone ever meets anyone who grew up in an area like that, let me know. I’d be curious to meet them.

Colorado was, well, stereotypically Coloradan. The mountains are big, the rvs are aplenty, and we started seeing signs for elk crossing. Occasionally we’d pass by a sign for some ranch, and a road would lead off into the distance. I’m still not convinced anyone actually does live in southeastern Colorado.

After a disagreement over whether we should hotel or camp it, I begrudgingly gave in and agreed to camp on Mesa Verde campground, only because the nearby cheap-ass scary motels were out of our price range. And, yeah, I gotta say, night two of camping, didn’t see my love grow at all. Don’t get me wrong, it was gorgeous. The friendly guys at the campsite store agreed to charge our cell phones for us, we had a campfire, saw more stars than I’ve seen in a long time, and almost ran into quite a few deer on our way to the campsite. Again, at 3AM, when I am freezing cold in the stupid desert night, when I hear something rustling around behind our tent, my first thought is not, oh, I’m so close to nature, this is wonderful. It tends to go more along the lines of ‘God I hope that isn’t an axe murderer, why am I shivering while sleeping on gravel when I could be in a hotel room with sheets and pillows and don’t have to worry about checking my shoes for bugs tomorrow morning?’