45 weeks.
Thank God for 300 pound teenagers.
It's time for the Turkey in the Hole at camp this week, and for the past two weeks, we've been sending our campers off property to collect wood for our Thanksgiving celebration. On Monday night, we will be lighting a bonfire that rivals the great Aggie tradition, but the only differences are that the fire is in the ground, and that there will be 12 turkeys in it rather than the 12th Man. (I'm glad I could slide in that reference for all my Aggie buddies.)
I've never driven with a trailer in tow. As much as I have learned from my dad by watching him all my life, my skills in trailer-hauling are pretty lacking to say the least. A couple of days ago, I loaded all 12 of my campers into a 15-passenger van, hooked up the 10-foot trailer, and carried them a few miles down the road to a dirt path that I impressively navigated without a snazoo.
When we came back to camp to drop off the wood, things got tricky. My mind apparently only operates in Drive because Reverse had its way with me. To the tune of my kids yelling that a) I'm a sucky driver (I mean if a 12 year old can do it, why can't I?) and b) "you're going the wrong way, chief!" and c) gangster rap, I successfully sank my van into a foot of sand.
No worries, though. I have a 300 pound camper who saved the day. Not only does the kid know how to unhook a trailer, he can move the trailer on his own, and then hop on the back of the van and provide enough weight to easily allow the van to back on out of the huge hole I sunk it in.
He seriously made up for last week when he took off his shirt in a fit of anger, and I had to hold him back. Nightmares, I tell you. Two nights of them, at least.
