We finally made it up the unmarked, rough dirt road from the established campground below to a quieter and more secluded area of forrest. It had been raining all afternoon, and the darkness of the sky indicated its intention to continue through the night.
Justin didn't miss the turn-off this year so we made a sharp left down a short hill so steep you can't see tracks untill you are already heading down them. Once the truck leveled out we follow the tracks into a thicket of pines. At times I loose sight of the tracks and it seems as if we are just randomly driving off into the forrest.
But soon Justin fits the truck between a few trees and a puts the bumper right up next to a large stump. Even in the mountains we can't shake the grip of society as we feel compelled to park in the place most resembling an official parking spot.
We sit there, in the cab. Sit with the engine off watching the water slide down the windshield thinking about how wet our gear must be by now, how wet we are going to get putting up the tent, and how long we can sit in the truck without the other making a comment on toughness or something of that nature.
And so I jump out and walk to the bed of the truck, heft the giant red North Face bag of gear out and toss it under the truck - out of the rain. Justin follows suit and tosses the tent poles to me while he separates the tent and fly. He doesn't say much, and I don't say much, but in 2 minutes the tent is up and we are making trips from the truck filling it with gear.
3 minutes later I've got my shoes off sitting on my Z-Rest in the tent sipping a beer and listening to Guns-N-Roses playing through the miniture speakers connected to Justin's discman.
