Live, learn, pack

I’m done packing for the Hiwassee River trip this weekend. It took almost five minutes and the better part of a small messenger bag.

In the 70s, an idea cropped up one night of our monthly poker game. Let’s rent a sailboat in the Caribbean and spend a week bumming around the islands in the “un-touristy” areas. The motion passed unanimously. It was then moved and seconded that I organize the trip. The vote was 5-1 in favor.

I scheduled the trip for February but began packing before Halloween. By the time the event rolled around, I had a duffel bag that about matched me in size and weight. It was an ordeal to wrestle through airports and down to the end of the dock.

The trip came off so well we just had to make it an annual event. The second year I packed two bathing suits and two t-shirts. What else did I need? I was either on deck (bathing suit), in the water (ditto) or at some native bar at night (add t-shirt).

By the end of the next decade, I was divorced and spending significant time astride a Harley. There was a big annual bike rally near Chillicothe sponsored by “Easy Rider” magazine. Photos from previous editions made Woodstock look like a church picnic so I just had to go.

I confined myself to strapping a tent, sleeping bag and backpack to the bike, but it still felt loaded. At least I didn’t have to repack for the ride home. I had never unpacked. You party till you drop (hopefully, leaned up against something in a sitting position). That’s really just for a cat nap. Your eyes flutter open, you pop a tab and dive back into the fray. The second year, I packed nothing but a toothbrush.

The first year we did the Hiwassee, I had a truck full of stuff, prepared for every eventuality. Now, almost nothing. I’ll either be on the river (bathing suit and neoprene top) or back at the cabin in the hot tub (lose the top and substitute bottle opener).

Live, learn, pack.