Remind Me Again Why We're Doing This?

A recap of one muddy-mess of a bachelor party

On a recent Friday, I packed up the Subaru Outback with beer, a couple bags of chips, and sundry other essential camping supplies before hitting I-79 South for my cousin Eric’s bachelor party/campout in the lush, wooded surroundings of Farmington, Pa. I was looking forward to spending the weekend with my three younger cousins—Nate, Ryan, and the aforementioned Eric, along with their dad/my Uncle John, and a number of their cousins and various friends.

As I pulled out of the driveway, I said a little prayer asking God to deliver me home safely the next day. (You don’t know my family.)

I arrived at the campground at 2:30 p.m., where I found my cousins and uncle putting the finishing touches on the camp. Since there was a steady drizzle, they had set up a huge camp fly made ingeniously from an old swimming pool cover. Their tents were scattered around the site, which was one of the remotest in the campground. It was best that we were as far away from other campers as possible.

This being the coldest, wettest May in memory, I had no desire to sleep on the hard ground and freeze all night in a damp tent. Instead, I decided to sleep in my Outback. I didn’t even bring a tent, so I couldn’t be shamed into camping out with everyone else.

Fresh off the long drive, I started with a Sierra Nevada Bigfoot (9% ABV) to calm my nerves and get into the bachelor-party spirit. Go big or go home. After that, I switched to a more manageable 4.0% Bells Light Hearted IPA. After all, it was going to be a long day, and I had to pace myself.

It had been raining for days, and everything around the campsite was completely soaked. We did our best to scrounge up whatever standing dead wood we could find, but we still ended up with a sorry excuse for a bonfire, which we hovered around in a failed attempt to keep warm.

By mid-afternoon, more guys had shown up, and things really started to pick up. First, one of the guys pulled out a bottle of Crown Royal - Apple, which we took turns taking swings of around the sad, sad fire. If you can’t warm yourself on the outside, do it from the inside.

Then, someone pulled out a freakishly large cow’s heart—yes, you read that correctly—and plopped it on the campfire grill. I had never seen a cow’s heart before, and there was zero chance I was about to eat a single bite of that nasty-looking bovine organ. Until, that is, a few minutes later, when the fact that I hadn’t eaten anything all day caught up with me, and I ended up wolfing down slices of perfectly grilled cow heart like a champ.

After that, things really got fun. First, we REDACTED, which was awesome, then we REDACTED a little more, which was probably not the best idea. But, man, REDACTED sure was fun! I highly suggest REDACTED at your next campout.

At one point, I thought it might be a good idea to pour myself half a Solo cupful of Crown, rather than grab another one of those wussy, 4.0% beers. Spoiler Alert: It wasn’t.

Around 6 p.m., I decided I needed to take a little timeout in my Outback, so I slopped my way through the mud and climbed into the back of the car and plopped down on the makeshift bed, which consisted of a ratty old cot mattress and my pillow from home. It was heaven.

After about an hour or so, I was feeling refreshed and rearing to continue to act like I was twenty years younger than I am. Again, I made the questionable decision to grab for a Bigfoot (9%) rather than a much less aggressive beer.

Long story short, I was back in my Subaru trunk for the night by 8:30 p.m. Of course, before passing out, I made sure to lock the doors. This was for two reasons:

1. Farmington is known for Bigfoot sightings, and although I’m a fan, I wasn’t crazy about the thought of a 7-foot-tall man-beast reaching its hairy hand into my car in the middle of the night to arouse me from my drunken slumber.

2. My cousins and their cousins, knowing that I am into Bigfoot, not to mention being the mischievous crew that they are, might be tempted to sneak out to my car and scare the living you-know-what out of me. Or at least try to drag me back into the muddy mess that was the ongoing bachelor party.

Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that if you manually unlock the doors from inside your vehicle, say, at 2:30 a.m., when you attempt to exit the vehicle for a much-needed pee, it will trigger the car alarm. After about ten seconds of scrambling around in the dark, I was able to find my keys and silence the alarm, which by then had certainly awakened everyone from their drunken, soggy slumber.

At least I wasn’t the only one. My cousin’s uncle’s car alarm mysteriously started going off around 6 a.m. (Bigfoot?), and since he was down at camp in his tent along with the others, he didn’t realize it was his car at first and let it blare into the forest for a good five minutes before turning it off. So, I didn’t feel so bad about my alarm going off.

Until, that is, I did the same thing less than an hour later.

Saturday morning, as I sloshed my way back to camp, the guys were making breakfast and wandering around the cinders of the fire like the walking dead. The ground also looked as if there had been some late-night mud-wrestling going on. I guess I missed all the fun. Thank goodness.

After that, Eric and the rest of the younger, more foolish attendees went off to go whitewater rafting in the 55-degree waters of the lower Youghiogheny River. I, on the other hand, ate my breakfast, washed it down with a breakfast beer, and then eventually hit the road to home. Everyone else was all staying for another night of soggy revelry.

Now, you might think that I’d feel bad about being the only one to bail on the party, just because I wanted to be warm and dry and enjoy a good night’s sleep in my bed.

If so, you obviously don’t know me very well. (Congrats, Eric!)