“GETTING READY”: I was astonished at the preparation required for this camping trip. Truman, an experienced camper and desert rider, had already gathered most of the “STUFF” in one place. The spread made my eyes water. It took up more than one half of his triple-car port floor space. We borrowed his parents’ truck bed camper, and I just could not imagine how it would all fit. I was a little concerned that I would have to leave something behind that I wanted to take. The camper was not an over-the-cab or over-the-sides, but really compact with a slide out bed, sink and minute cupboard on one side, stove and an 18 inch closet on the other, and a portable toilet slid under the closet; in other words, a 6’x8’ space. Learning to live in a cramped space with bare necessities is quite a large learning experience for a new bride.

During our engagement, Truman had taught me to ride an on/off road motorcycle. It was great fun. We planned to take our motorcycles on our honeymoon, so all that “STUFF” was going too. This was not going to be just an enjoy-each-other-and-the-outdoors adventure. It would be a physical work out on miles of sandy, rocky trails. Besides the regular “STUFF” necessary for camping: food, dishes, cooking utensils, clothes, boots, towels, extra gallons of water, etc., etc., etc., we also had to stow helmets, canteens, extra gas, extra clothes, trail lunch packs, etc., etc., etc.. My thought, which I graciously and wisely kept to myself was, “THIS IS SO MUCH WORK FOR ONE WEEK OF FUN!”

The day after our wedding we came back from the lake, hooked up his motorcycle trailer behind his camper-topped truck, loaded the motorcycles, put the last minute cold items in the ice boxes, tied down an extra ice box and other boxes that would not fit in the camper between the two motorcycles, and drove out the driveway. That was the last of my “gorgeous” moments.

My clues that we must have looked very unusual to others on the highway were all the turned heads from passenger windows as cars passed us. “We must look like the Beverly Hillbillies,” I mused, tickled at my thoughts.

I highly recommend camping trips for families, but a honeymoon camping trip has some uncomfortable moments like sharing a portable toilet space with the kitchen and bunk areas. It is a togetherness that breaks down all modesty attempts all at once – a get-to-know-your-spouse crash course. But I wouldn’t trade the experience for a colorless hotel or motel. We’ve made several trips to Big Bend with our son, Gene, who learned to ride a Suzuki JR50 with training wheels before he was three. Motorcycles in Big Bend must be street legal, so Gene could not ride his in the camping areas until he was old enough for a license. But we took his current size motorcycle on our trailer every time we went, because there is a grand set of mining hills in Study Butte on which he left his tire marks. Our photo albums bulge with memories of each other and scenery from our many trips to Big Bend.

There has been no single disastrous trip. Our disasters and funny incidents have been spread out over several visits to Big Bend, which make each trip so memorable. Highlights:

1. On our honeymoon, we stopped to watch deer feeding in the desert that were larger than our local herd, so we took pictures from the highway shoulder. On the way back up the mountain on our bikes to the Basin, I experienced some pain in my legs when I sat down on the bike after riding standing on the foot pegs for a few miles. The pain was acute, and we were still a distance from our camp. When we reached the camp, I let my jeans down to see what was wrong, and there were giant red and black ants biting/stinging me. I had evidently been standing in or too close to an ant mound blithely taking photos of the deer not realizing they had climbed up the inside of my jeans. When I sat down on the motorcycle, the ants were pressed against my legs and began biting/stinging. Truman prayed and all was Ok quickly.

2. We arrived in Big Bend rather late one night and couldn’t find a camping spot in the Basin. We surreptitiously parked in the motel parking lot, carefully using flashlights inside the camper and constantly “shushing” each other so no one would suspect anyone was staying the night there.

3. Another trip to Big Bend with Gene, then age six, was eventful. Gene and I climbed up the 2.5 miles to the top of Lost Mine Trail, then I had to piggy-back him two-thirds of the way down because he was too tired. I slipped on loose rocks, and we skinned and bruised elbows and knees. We both walked rather stiffly for several hours. Then the next day on our way to a desert trail, Gene threw up in his full-coverage helmet while riding behind his dad on the motorcycle. He had warned us that he didn’t feel good. It took all the canteen water to clean him and the helmet, so he could put his helmet back on to return to camp legally.

4. One of our cousins fell on his motorcycle on a desert trail, slid into a Spanish dagger (yucca) and was stuck in his behind. After the men went to the showers, Truman reported that Harry had a purple-in-the-center-tri-colored wound that caused him to sit very gingerly on his motorcycle for the next two days.

5. On one of our trips Truman’s mother and two aunts accompanied us. We all decided to cross the Rio Grande River to see the little town of Boquias. The only way to cross was with the business that took people in rowboats for $1.00 each. We paid, climbed in, and so did eight other people. We hardly had room to breathe, and the water was only two to three inches from the top edge. Our oarsman assured us that he took big loads over all the time. “No worry,” he stated confidently. “I take mucho hombres.” The river was swollen from recent rains, and there was a strong current. When we got to the middle, he announced, pointing his finger at the water, “My cousin, he drown right here last week.” There was a visible stiffening of everyone on board, and an audible collective sigh when we landed on shore. We rented donkeys to carry us the one-mile ascent to the village. Aunt Johnnie had the lead donkey, and it stopped about every 20-30 feet to tinkle. We were laughing so hard, we could have fallen off our donkeys. And we certainly could have walked the mile faster.

6. There were two separate incidents of truck trouble that necessitated a 150 mile round trip motorcycle ride for Truman to the nearest auto parts shop.

7. The wind in the Basin blew all our food off the table more than once. We learned to clip the tablecloth corners together with clothespins, and when we were away from the campsite, to weight the food boxes with rocks.

8. And various clever critters were able to open the ice chests and party at our expense while we were out on trails. Bananas were a special attraction. While we were sitting at a picnic table, we saw a javalina trying to get in our tent. Before we could shoo him away he had broken the zipper. They have sharp tusks to be wary of.

In spite of all the major and minor incidents, I still would go camping and riding in the desert if Truman and I had the energy in our “later years” to get the “STUFF” ready. I learned a great deal from camping:

• I can do without many things I used to call essential.
• My appearance is not primary as long as I’m clean, modest, and not in rags.
• TIME IS FULLER than when I’m busy with regular duties. I believe this experience is the most precious.
• We were impressed again of the grandeur of the Creator and His Creation as we looked with binoculars at the clear night sky, revealing an astonishing array of stars not visible with the “naked” eye.
• Scanning miles and miles of mountains in all directions from the top of Lost Mine Trail perhaps compares with being in a glider. It was a little dizzying. The only sounds were birds and hushed voices of others at the summit. The climb was worth partaking of the peace.
• Encountering vultures (condors?) in the Basin whose wingspan extends way beyond each end of a picnic table is almost shocking.
• We watched and listened to a 9-10 member family of javalinas snort around our camp at night while we hid in the tent peering out the screen windows. Several came within inches of us, but did not attack the tent.
• We spotted a myriad of fascinating creatures including large deer, hundreds of cottontails in Rio Grande Village, coyotes, javelina, raccoons, a “herd” (what is a group called?) of brown tarantulas crossing the road to the Basin camping area, red and black ants that are longer than an adult’s thumbnail, and a hummingbird the size of a canary. Bear-proof food boxes had been installed in the campgrounds on our last two trips, but we saw no bears. We were, however, aware of shining eyes in the dark at various times.
• Returning to camp late one afternoon I had to hold my feet up in the air while riding my motorcycle as I saw I couldn’t avoid running over a long silver snake crossing the road. Both tires got him. At least the tires didn’t flip him in the air!
• Accompanying a large group of people, we waded across a wide Rio Grande tributary in Santa Elena canyon, sinking into thick mud under about 2-6 inches of water so that our feet made suction noises in the very shallowest parts, just to see peregrine falcon nests perched on the canyon sides. Unforgettable.
• And an endless array of photo subjects for later paintings can be found in nearly every turn of the road and behind every rock and bush.

So, grab the camping “STUFF”, but be prepared for anything.

Diane S. Spears