Camp Chair

I was reminded to bring a camp chair to this weekend's MS 150 mile bike ride* from Duluth to Minneapolis by my team leader, Chuck:

"Lawn chair - Very Important - Drop your lawn chair [...] before 3pm on Friday and it'll be waiting for you in Hinckley - if you don't bring a chair, please don't assume that it's okay to sit in other's chairs in Hinckley. Danger!"

Ha! "Danger!"

This reminded me of a story: A few years back a friend of mine went on a huge 15-20 girl hiking trip up to the Superior Hiking Trail. One of the women on the trip was painfully shy and had never been away from her husband of several years, except for going to work and the occasional TWO HOUR MOVIE. Seriously, this was her first girls' trip, and a weekend one at that. 

Everybody was instructed to bring their own camp chair. The first night, as daylight started to dwindle, all the girls moved from picnic tables and smaller groups to one large circular group around the fire. It was noted that there was one chair missing. The picnic table was dragged up to the fire to accommodate everybody, and discussion ensued for some minutes about how one of their chairs must have gotten knocked over and landed in the weeds. Some even started feeling around in the dark to find the missing chair. The search was unsuccessful and it was decided that it was going to have to resume at daylight.

The next day, the chair was nowhere to be found. Speculation regarding it's fate began. Could it be possible that one of the other campers at another site STOLE it? Surely that couldn't be so. The chairs were counted, recounted and counted again. Someone had the bright idea that each woman should stand next to her chair so it could be determined whose was missing. Unfortunately a few of the girls were at the showers at that moment and so it wasn't determined.

The entire weekend went by with plenty of hashing and rehashing what must have happened to the missing chair. And when it was all over and cars were packed and miles were driven back to the city, one of the women dropped the Shy Girl at her home. As she was getting her stuff out of the back, her driver asked, "hey! Where's your chair?", when she breezed by -- briskly walking to the house, whispering over her shoulder: "I didn't bring one."


It must be mentioned that during the entire weekend: the fire the first night, the discussion at the fire, the search the next day, the "stand next to your chair" detective attempt...Miss Shy was always sitting in a chair (or standing next to one), not admitting anything.

Not her chair. She didn't bring one.

*(still accepting donations for my ride for MS Research here)