Why are books so hard to read? Not in the way that they are hard to comprehend what is written, but hard to actually get myself to read the thing? And I love reading. No, I looooove reading. It’s been one of my favorite things since forever.
I contstantly promise myself that I am going to commit to reading more, especially when I go camping. In fact I’m so delusional about it, that sometimes I’ll bring TWO books on a trip.
That’s insanity.
Nobody can read two books on a camping trip. Literally nobody. But I still bring them. And you know what I end up doing with them? Nothing. They sit in my truck nearly the whole time, waiting to have something like Hot Cheetos or coffee spilled on them.
For example, I am currently reading Suttree, by Cormac McCarthy. He’s the guy who wrote No Country for Old Men - in case you’ve seen the movie, and Blood Meridian - one of the most violent books ever written. He’s one of my favorite authors, but for some reason, and I’ll blame camping, I’ve never gotten through this particular novel.
My copy of Suttree is beat to shiiiit now. It lived in my truck for about 5 years, bouncing around behind the driver’s seat amongst a couple of tow shackles, my winch remote, and probably a few rocks that I thought were cool at the time. The first quarter of the book has come completely delaminated from the rest, so it falls out every time I pick it up. The corners look like a dog chewed on them, and there is a stain on the back cover that just screams “old pickup.”
This book has been to Mexico twice. It’s been to the Middle East. Most recently, it’s been to two Overland Expos, and it will go with me to the next one in Colorado, a week from today. This book has seen more places than a lot of people, but that’s not the story it wants to tell. It has been so long since I started it and got halfway through, that I’ve had to start over again because I don’t even remember what old Suttree has been up to for 5 years hiding in the back of my truck.
But I still want to read it when I go camping. I want to sit in a nice cozy camp chair and drink hot coffee and slowly turn pages and in general be a mature and sophisticated adult outdoors-person. Oscillating between enjoying the purest form of existence - sitting in nature, and expanding my world view through the stark landscapes and sparse dialogue that is Cormac McCarthy’s signature style. But nope.
What do I do instead? I stare at bugs. I watch a mouse creep in on some food I dropped, and I wonder if he likes Hot Cheetos. I take naps. I drink a lot of coffee, but I cannot say it makes me look like a sophisticated adult if I don’t have a book in hand to complete the aesthetic. If I’m camping near water, I get in and out of it about a thousand times a day. You can’t read with wet hands, or shouldn’t anyway, so that takes a good portion of the day’s reading time off the table completely.
So I guess camping is to blame for the number of unread books on my shelves at home. I don’t think it’s an intentional act of camping, to keep me from reading, but I’m not going to hold a grudge, nor will I avoid camping in the future. I just want camping to be honest with me about the number of distractions out there, and the fact that I will most likely never have the aesthetic of a mature and sophisticated adult outdoors-person. Perhaps I should learn a lot about plants and bugs so I can point things out and be like “that there is a Juniperus Scopulorum” or whatever. But gawd that sounds boring. I’d rather eat bugs and stare at Hot Cheetos.
Anyway. We will be at Overland Expo in Loveland, Colorado the weekend of the 23-25th. Hanging with the good folks at Goose Gear. I’ll be the guy sleeping in a swag, who looks nothing like a mature and sophisticated outdoors-person.
Bye y’all.
Curt
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