Way back when I was growing up, our dad was a do it yourself kind. Save money mostly. He built a camper on the back of his pickup. It was something to see. He was not a carpenter. He didn’t work with wood. But that didn’t stop him.
The camper got the job done. It kept the rain out. Not the cold or heat, but at least we were dry. He drove that sucker all over the country and we did a lot of outdoors stuff.
From the camper my brother and I progressed, if you could call it that, to a tent. The tent had belonged to a Boy Scout troupe that raised enough money to buy a new one. One with fewer holes and all the parts. The tent flap didn’t reach all the way to the ground and the ground sheet flap had been torn so it no longer stood up. We were laying there reading comic books with a flashlight when something caught out attention.
Someone was standing right by the tent flap. We could see their feet below the flap. The person was wearing convers basketball shoes. The kind with the rubber toecap. We both froze and lay there waiting to either be killed or discover it was our neighbor, come to say hello.
We never found out who had been standing there as if about to attack.
Here are some misadventures in camping.