A Guy, A Bike, A Girl, and a Two-Person Tent: Something Had to Give

I love my girlfriend, I really do – but sometimes she just acts ‘nuckin futs (Dickie Roberts Child Star)’ for no reason.. She’s an amazing cook, a certified masseuse, has a tattoo that reads, “Live Free Or Die” stretching across her back, likes to watch Sportscenter four times in a row, and get this – she’s a scratch golfer. She’s also a total sweetheart, which is why I decided to take her on a special camping trip into the White Mountains for our anniversary.

The beginning of the trip was amazing: we drove the Kangamangus Highway at the peak of foliage season. We pulled over just before noon to talk about feelings and eat an exquisite picnic of carpaccio and figs. The hike was a little strenuous for me, as I was hauling my Iron Horse MK3 Team with me (she didn’t even offer to help, but that’s fine) in order to get a little ride in tomorrow morning before she woke up.

As we finished setting up camp in the warmth of the descending sun I pulled out my travel acoustic. I had written a song for her titled “Housecat”, and I serenaded her with the passion of a young John Denver. Massages and kisses ran roughshod through our campsite for the remainder of the evening until Mr. Sandman paid us a visit and we lay down to bed.

This is when things began to go south. I whispered, ‘sleep tight my little girlscout’ and received no reply. I tossed her out an extra pillow, but it was rifled right back at me. As I drifted to sleep I thought I her mumble something about my bike and a sledgehammer – what a jokester. She laughed herself to sleep.

Everything’s fine, right? Wrong. The next morning she stole my car while I was on my bike ride. Chicks are crazy.