And then there's family camping, when you all pile into the family truckster and head to the mountains for a few days -- or until you appreciate the monotony of civilization, work, bills and hemorrhoids. We went family camping with the Mormon Representative's tribe a couple of weeks ago. As an experienced camper, the Mormon understood the need to pack in plenty of bad beer. It travels well, and you can cool it in a lake. It relaxes you enough that your blood pressure doesn't go sky-high while you struggle with your "pop up" tent for three hours. It makes the process of starting a fire for another three hours seem fun, too. You can teach the young ones valuable wilderness survival skills, like how to crush a beer can by standing on it while dimpling the sides with your fingers. And any camping game -- including Uno! and Candyland -- can be turned into a drinking game with bad beer. (Wilderness survival tip: "6" on the Candyland wheel is a "social" for all players.)
Most important, enough bad beer will distract you from the fact that death is imminent. When a storm blew in over Grand Lake, we sent the women and children to high ground while the Mormon and I stayed behind to secure the boat in the midst of a spectacular lightning display. Thunderstorms don't typically make me nervous -- unless I inadvertently fly into one -- but standing knee-deep in water, mooring a fiberglass boat at 8,000 feet, was enough to raise the hair on my neck. Or maybe that was the static electricity. Fortunately, we'd stowed a cooler on board and quickly swilled some nerve-calming brew. And then kept swilling. As safety-minded people, we knew that a big pile of empty aluminum cans would make a great lightning rod.
Despite our best efforts, we made it out of the mountains alive and still married. Although I continue to hold a harsh view of cheap American "beer," when you're roughing it, there's nothing better. Or worse.
