It's the weekend! Time to pack up, gas up, and hit the open road/path to become one with Mother Nature. Sixty hours chocked full of throwing Frisbees, listening to the transistor radio, playing Go Fish, scribbling in the Mad Libs blanks...anything that could fit in a small backpack really. We would hike for miles, drink from streams, pee in the woods, scout out stumps for campfire seats, draw tic-tac-toe grids in the dirt, whittle our marshmallow sticks, and set the stage for that night's ghost stories. We went to bed dirty, slept in our clothes, and woke up to start another day with unkept hair and unbrushed teeth. Chances are we scarfed down a doughnut for breakfast, PB & J for lunch, and a hotdog cooked on a stick for supper (simplicity at it's finest). Throw in a couple hundred mosquito bites, a dozen blood soaked band-aids, a pile of muddy rain drenched clothes, and an empty bottle of Calamine lotion. Not in a million years, would you ever have been able to convince us that it was anything less than heaven on earth.
So why have we complicated things by "improving" the camping experience?