Of Campers and Bandits...

Often when we act on our bad ideas and false impulses we live to regret it, or don’t survive long enough for said regret. We have an initial impulse to act, realize it was a stupid, stupid idea, and then act on it anyway. Then again, sometimes what seems like a bad idea at the time turns out OK in the end. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? Some times what doesn’t kill you just makes for a good story.

I recall several bad ideas from my formative years. Lying in front of a homemade ramp while someone jumped over me on their bike, and then returning the favor. Sitting in a plastic sled and zigzagging around our neighbor hood tied to a 3-wheeler. Sitting in our overheated attic in August for hours, just to see who could stay the longest. Dousing GI Joe figures with gasoline and burning them in the back yard. Bad ideas all. Yet all turned out OK.

I lived to tell the stories. Those, though, are all stories for another time. I have other bad decisions to tell you about.

As a kid, like most, I was sick many times. Not many of those times were memorable. There was the occasional virus or sinus infection that truly made an impression on my memory, but not many. The truly memorable illnesses are those of the self-inflicted variety.

There was the night I drank and entire half-gallon can of Grape Hi-C. Sound innocuous enough, right? Well, there is such a thing as Vitamin C poisoning, and the drink is called Hi-C for good reason.

The most memorable, though, occurred a few years earlier. For a little more than the first decade of my life, my dad had an old pop-up camper. My brother and I loved this thing. When closed it looked like a large blue bathtub with a white cover. We went camping most summers. We would hook the old camper up to my dad’s old blue Ford truck and head to Waterloo.

Once there we would open the camper and behold it’s full glory. The canvas tent was originally white and red striped. To see it would remind you of a large piece of peppermint candy. By the end of the camper’s life, its stripes were darkened by mold and mildew.

My dad cleaned the canvas a few times. Each time the mildew returned. The interior began to smell like an old locker room. The mattresses became flat and lost their sponginess. Even the plywood of the bed platforms was disintegrating. My dad knew it was time to retire his old red, white, and blue beauty.

Despite the musty smell and lack of comfortable accommodations, my brother and I wanted to sleep in her one more time. We begged for one last camping trip, but it was not to be. My dad was working out of town during the week and the last thing he wanted to do on the weekend was drag a rundown camper and two hyper under-10 boys half an hour for a weekend in the woods.

My brother and I discussed our options (AKA conspired) and came up with a plan. We asked if a few friends and we could set up the camper and camp out in the back yard. Our parents agreed. So we began to plan our evening and make our preparations.

As anyone who’s ever been an 11 or 12 year-old boy knows, those preparations included a trip to the store for the necessary supplies. And as anyone who has been an 11 or 12 year-old boy can tell you those necessities include lots of candy. The day of our camping adventure we made our weekly trip to PJ’s Corner for the staples. Sugar Babies, Now & Laters, and various candy bars. My parents also gave us some extra money for hot dogs and buns since the night would include a fire and we needed to eat something besides sugar.

While we shopped the aisles (there were at least 2, so the plural applies if just barely) of PJ’s Corner someone had a brilliant idea. Placed conveniently at our eye level at the register was a display of Skoal Bandits. For the unfamiliar, Skoal is a smokeless tobacco, snuff, or dip. Skoal Bandits were the brands attempt to make dipping a cleaner habit. The tobacco was contained in small porous pouches. This way the tobacco stayed in place between your cheek and gum. After all, being a health conscious industry, they wouldn’t want the cancer to spread over your entire mouth, right?

Upon seeing the small round cans so temptingly close to our faces, our curiosity was piqued. And we began to deliberate the pros and cons. When we discovered there was a variety of flavors, (Wintergreen and Mint? Who says they don’t target children?) our young minds were made up. We pooled our money and bought 2 cans of each flavor.

We hurried home to make our final preparations. We set up the camper a few days in advance to give it a chance to air out, but we still had much work. We had to get our sleeping bags ready, build a fire pit, and run an extension cord for our portable 12” black and white TV so we wouldn’t miss any late night TV fun.

The night began in great fashion. Our fire was enormous and dangerous. The hot dogs were black and blistered, the stories were scary, and we boys were loud and rambunctious. After dinner we broke into our camping supplies. Candy and Skoal Bandits. Sugar and nicotine.

By now I’m sure you’ve guessed the ending of this story, so I’ll wrap it up.

As I lay in the camper breathing the musty air and eating copious amounts of chocolate and nougat, I began using the Bandits. One after another. Keep it in your mouth until the flavor wears off, then immediately replace it with another. Alternating flavors, of course. I started with Wintergreen and was just finishing the first Mint flavored when I began to feel light-headed. After another Wintergreen and another Mint, the camper started spinning.

I replaced the second Mint with a Wintergreen. I didn’t make it through that one. I ended up in the house. In the bathroom for an hour or more. My dad spent several minutes in the open door chuckling to himself. He knew.

I spent the longest night of my young life in my top bunk, shivering and sweating. Remembering hot dogs and candy, then hurrying to the bathroom. Then back for more shivering and sweating. I didn’t sleep much that night.

It was night of lasts. My last bit of time in the camper. My last time I ever tasted Wintergreen or Mint tobacco. But it was not the last time I camped in my backyard, and it was far from the last bad idea I ever had.