Sally (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
shiredancer) wrote2006-01-30 03:09 pm
shiredancer) wrote2006-01-30 03:09 pm
Entry tags:
Female bonding
Saturday night I went on an overnight campout with my co-workers. Not terribly remarkable, but it was the first time I'd been camping with women friends since sometime in the early 80s, I'd guess. Looooong time ago, anyway. It was very cool.
We were invited to one of our faculty's 50th birthday party, a big bash he was holding at a popular dude ranch in the coastal foothills -- actually, the area right by Ronald Reagan's "Western White House" ranch. So my dear friend and co-worker C. got the idea of camping at the beach at the foot of the mountain road leading up to the ranch, ostensibly to save the long trek home but really because she just wanted to get wasted at the party and not have to drive far *g*. So our entire staff of four (plus D's life partner) got on board with it and plans were made -- mostly plans for elaborate food preparations, but still. We set up camp in the afternoon, and I was quite proud of getting the tent pitched without my husband's help. Then I drove everybody up the mountain in my van (the official transport of the staff of the Department of Religious Studies), having foolishly volunteered to be the designated driver, with the promise of heavy drinking back at the campsite. LOL. Now, it's a pretty rugged road for a van, albeit quite beautiful. I've been there many times before, as the ranch does dinner theater every season and we've known many of the actors involved -- so at least the route was familiar. The hardest part was once we were at the ranch, following the parking signs to the back lot behind the horse stalls -- all pitted and gullyish and rocky, and having to head up a little dirt hill to what looked like a dead end where a horse was parked (do horses park?), which was a bit terrifying until the cowboys talking there waved me forward and pointed out the tiny littlegully trail road that led down and back further. Then there was a string of horses, also led by a cowboy, coming right at me (definitely no room to pass), also rather terrifying until he brought all the dudes, or dudettes, or whatever people at a dude ranch are called, to a halt so I could once again veer sharply to the right down another gully. Then we got to park -- it took three tries before I found a pit spot that I was confident I could get out of in the dark, although it was on an uphill incline and I had to put a rock behind my tire just to be sure. Then the cowboys, who kept addressing us as "ladies", made sure to herd all the horses right past us and make us wait, giving them the opportunity to hit on us chat a bit.
The party was great, my co-workers got suitably toasted, and we all laughed and talked by the huge rock fireplace while everyone else was watching the flamenco dancers (it was that kind of party). I stayed sober but I *felt* really high, like somebody had thrown some pot into the fireplace or something -- that kind of contact high, you know? And it was pretty hysterical, all told, although I'm not sure I should have been querying one of the faculty about how many times he'd dropped acid in the 70s (none--which is why he didn't have the suitable appreciation for Disraeli Gears), but he's one of the Trusted Few so it was all good. Somehow everything C. said sounded like "naked by the campfire" in the din (well, she *did* want to go skinny-dipping in the ocean), and that became the theme for the night.
Then at 10:30 or so it was time to head down the mountain. We did remember to remove the rock from the tire, and once I put it in gear we backed rather quickly down the incline. Then I had to negotiate the gullies and hills again, spitting gravel and small rocks as I floored it to get up (and wondering why it was so fricking hard and why did it smell like burning rubber?), and in general slithering our way back out to the road. That was when I realized I hadn't taken the emergency brake off... d'oh! No wonder. I'm pretty amazed I made it up some of those dirt hills at all. Shows how determined I can be...
Back at the campground, we realized that our plans for further hell-raising and libations were a bit squelched due to the late hour -- that was one dark and silent campground. We did our best to (quietly) carouse, but the miserable fire wouldn't catch -- there went the marshmallow idea. (I know, I know, I really have to work on my idea of wild carousing...) But I did bring a bottle of amaretto so that added to hot chocolate made a *very* nice nightcap. And the stars were *amazing* -- it's rare to have a good, clear night on the California coast; usually the fog intervenes. But it was stunningly clear, and while everybody chatted and tried to get the fire going, I stared up at the sky. I saw two shooting stars, too. We never did go skinny-dipping, much to C's dismay -- I need to get pretty good and droonken for that kind of adventure.
We had counted on cold (camping on the coast is usually a freezing affair even in mid-summer, and much to be dreaded in January), so I brought four sleeping bags, five fleece blankets, two thinsulite pads, and a borrowed egg-crate foam piece, just for my bed. And it was sufficient -- cold was not the problem that night. No, it was the wind that had crept up. I have a cheap, Sears tent that is nice for family camping but not meant to withstand weather -- it stands rather tall, which is comfortable because I can stand in it, but in the wind?? No way. Inside that tent, it was like being in a wind tunnel -- it roared and swayed and pulled the sides out and then crashed them back in. It was just *unbelievably* noisy and blowy. I came crashing awake at 2:30 and couldn't get back to sleep for anything (plus I was having just a touch of claustrophobia, always a problem with me and tents). Finally at 4 or 4:30 I gave up, rolled up all my bedding, and stuffed it in the back of the van, where I scrunched up on the back bench seat and tried to get some sleep. Then J., who was sharing the tent, came creeping up to the car door to ask for shelter. We hauled everything out at 4:30 a.m., lowered the back seat, piled in the bedding, and crowded in a space where we couldn't even stretch out our legs, and finally fell asleep in the blissful quiet. (Plus we could see the stars out the car windows -- a bonus.) Slept until 7:30, and crawled out again, *not* well-rested.
But then we had a rather gourmet breakfast of scrambled eggs, blueberry pancakes, and pastries, which made up for a lot. Lots more talk and laughter over what a ridiculous night it had been, and I ended up telling some of my stories that have been reported in this very journal. "You should start a blog" one of them said. "Well, actually I already have one." So now their goal is to discover my online name... heh, if only they knew that I wear it on a Daisy-made keychain on my purse!
It was a really neat thing to do, and I venture to guess that there aren't too many co-workers who would do it. We're getting pretty close. It's good.
We were invited to one of our faculty's 50th birthday party, a big bash he was holding at a popular dude ranch in the coastal foothills -- actually, the area right by Ronald Reagan's "Western White House" ranch. So my dear friend and co-worker C. got the idea of camping at the beach at the foot of the mountain road leading up to the ranch, ostensibly to save the long trek home but really because she just wanted to get wasted at the party and not have to drive far *g*. So our entire staff of four (plus D's life partner) got on board with it and plans were made -- mostly plans for elaborate food preparations, but still. We set up camp in the afternoon, and I was quite proud of getting the tent pitched without my husband's help. Then I drove everybody up the mountain in my van (the official transport of the staff of the Department of Religious Studies), having foolishly volunteered to be the designated driver, with the promise of heavy drinking back at the campsite. LOL. Now, it's a pretty rugged road for a van, albeit quite beautiful. I've been there many times before, as the ranch does dinner theater every season and we've known many of the actors involved -- so at least the route was familiar. The hardest part was once we were at the ranch, following the parking signs to the back lot behind the horse stalls -- all pitted and gullyish and rocky, and having to head up a little dirt hill to what looked like a dead end where a horse was parked (do horses park?), which was a bit terrifying until the cowboys talking there waved me forward and pointed out the tiny little
The party was great, my co-workers got suitably toasted, and we all laughed and talked by the huge rock fireplace while everyone else was watching the flamenco dancers (it was that kind of party). I stayed sober but I *felt* really high, like somebody had thrown some pot into the fireplace or something -- that kind of contact high, you know? And it was pretty hysterical, all told, although I'm not sure I should have been querying one of the faculty about how many times he'd dropped acid in the 70s (none--which is why he didn't have the suitable appreciation for Disraeli Gears), but he's one of the Trusted Few so it was all good. Somehow everything C. said sounded like "naked by the campfire" in the din (well, she *did* want to go skinny-dipping in the ocean), and that became the theme for the night.
Then at 10:30 or so it was time to head down the mountain. We did remember to remove the rock from the tire, and once I put it in gear we backed rather quickly down the incline. Then I had to negotiate the gullies and hills again, spitting gravel and small rocks as I floored it to get up (and wondering why it was so fricking hard and why did it smell like burning rubber?), and in general slithering our way back out to the road. That was when I realized I hadn't taken the emergency brake off... d'oh! No wonder. I'm pretty amazed I made it up some of those dirt hills at all. Shows how determined I can be...
Back at the campground, we realized that our plans for further hell-raising and libations were a bit squelched due to the late hour -- that was one dark and silent campground. We did our best to (quietly) carouse, but the miserable fire wouldn't catch -- there went the marshmallow idea. (I know, I know, I really have to work on my idea of wild carousing...) But I did bring a bottle of amaretto so that added to hot chocolate made a *very* nice nightcap. And the stars were *amazing* -- it's rare to have a good, clear night on the California coast; usually the fog intervenes. But it was stunningly clear, and while everybody chatted and tried to get the fire going, I stared up at the sky. I saw two shooting stars, too. We never did go skinny-dipping, much to C's dismay -- I need to get pretty good and droonken for that kind of adventure.
We had counted on cold (camping on the coast is usually a freezing affair even in mid-summer, and much to be dreaded in January), so I brought four sleeping bags, five fleece blankets, two thinsulite pads, and a borrowed egg-crate foam piece, just for my bed. And it was sufficient -- cold was not the problem that night. No, it was the wind that had crept up. I have a cheap, Sears tent that is nice for family camping but not meant to withstand weather -- it stands rather tall, which is comfortable because I can stand in it, but in the wind?? No way. Inside that tent, it was like being in a wind tunnel -- it roared and swayed and pulled the sides out and then crashed them back in. It was just *unbelievably* noisy and blowy. I came crashing awake at 2:30 and couldn't get back to sleep for anything (plus I was having just a touch of claustrophobia, always a problem with me and tents). Finally at 4 or 4:30 I gave up, rolled up all my bedding, and stuffed it in the back of the van, where I scrunched up on the back bench seat and tried to get some sleep. Then J., who was sharing the tent, came creeping up to the car door to ask for shelter. We hauled everything out at 4:30 a.m., lowered the back seat, piled in the bedding, and crowded in a space where we couldn't even stretch out our legs, and finally fell asleep in the blissful quiet. (Plus we could see the stars out the car windows -- a bonus.) Slept until 7:30, and crawled out again, *not* well-rested.
But then we had a rather gourmet breakfast of scrambled eggs, blueberry pancakes, and pastries, which made up for a lot. Lots more talk and laughter over what a ridiculous night it had been, and I ended up telling some of my stories that have been reported in this very journal. "You should start a blog" one of them said. "Well, actually I already have one." So now their goal is to discover my online name... heh, if only they knew that I wear it on a Daisy-made keychain on my purse!
It was a really neat thing to do, and I venture to guess that there aren't too many co-workers who would do it. We're getting pretty close. It's good.