Friday Roundup: When Car Camping Goes Awry

"Camping" at Three Island Crossing.

If Not For This: Having gifted at least a dozen copies of "Indian Creek Chronicles" to friends and family over the years, I was tickled to hear Pete Fromm read of some his fiction, in the grass at The Cabin. Wrenching, wonderful work, particularly if you know anyone dealing with MS.

Giving new meaning to the term car camping: It started out so lovely. On a cool Saturday morning, Adie and I escaped to Three Island Crossing State Park. We set up our tent (the only one in the park), biked around camp, popped by the winery next door for a tasting and some fries on the patio, wandered back, built a fire, roasted some hot dogs. Then the wind kicked up. We doused the fire and huddled into our tent but it only got worse. An hour later, we were crammed in the car, trying to sleep as the wind howled outside. In the morning, the tent was in ruins (picture above) and we were stiff, exhausted, and slightly embarrassed. But, as we reminded ourselves when limping home at 7am, stopping only for a McDonald's breakfast, those are the trips you remember. 

Random t-shirt idea: "Straight Outta Franklin Randolph: The North End of South Boise"

And/Orlando: Only a few weeks after heading to Kentucky for my first trade show in the new gig, I was making my virgin flight to the Sunshine State for TIA. And even though I only went from the airport to the resort and back to the airport, I'm always excited about visiting a different zip code. Plus, the sushi was superb.

This is a three-part question, in two parts:  Currently enjoying Mallory Ortberg's hilarious jab at Q&A sessions over at "The Toast."

We don't need no stinkin' cars: While commuting out to New Plymouth isn't really an option for me (unless I wanna bike on the side of an 80mph freeway), I did get the chance to participate in #CarFreeForBBP. After working from home, I hopped on the bike and headed down to join the Oliver Russell crew for a beer at PreFunk before joining a two-wheel convoy back to the Bench. Methinks there are worse ways to close out a Thursday.