Posted By AmyD. on August 7, 2007

And returned… alive and without an odd rash on my posterior region from being forced to use public restrooms. Friends, I have been to hell and I can tell you, firsthand, that they do not know Avitable there. Hell, as it turns out, is windy, cold, dirty, riddled with nasty seagulls, with large people who like to cook large amounts of disgusting smelling food, nasty public restrooms, with an ocean view.

Saturday morning we left for Morro Bay. Morro Bay Strand State Park. I read reviews, I was assured that this would be a half-ass decent place to camp. I was also sure that this was the only campground within acceptable driving distance, at the beach, with vacancy. I read the reviews in order to assuage any worry I might have regarding the strange fact that this campground had vacancy on a Saturday in August.

The reviewers? Were full of shit. I wanted you to be the first to read the review I plan on leaving.

To Whom It May Concern,

The Morro Bay Strand State Park camp ground description should probably just read:

This is a former day use parking lot converted to a camp ground for complete suckers. True, we have extremely close beach access. We also have semi to not at all clean bathrooms and a 20 minute drive to showers at the other state park where people look at you like you were just caught crossing US borders with a suspicious back pack and scuba gear complete with flippers. Feel free to reserve the last space we have left cuz you ain’t gonna find anything better this late in the season.

We arrived Saturday morning and were greeted by Mike, The Ranger, and an unnamed man known only as “Campground Host” who by all appearances had recently given up his recent membership in the Hell’s Angels to wear a mullet, camo jacket and drive a golf cart from his trailer near the front of the parking lot campground to the toll booth Ranger’s Station at the front of the park. Still, I am thankful for this particular camp host and in a moment I will tell you why. *Hint – it certainly is not because he is so good at maintaining his post at the “purchase firewood here” booth.

Mike The Ranger greeted us warmly and told us we had Space 26 reserved for our camping pleasure. We drove through the park looking for Space 26 and you can only imagine our surprise to find that our camp spot was, in fact, the former median/flower bed for the former parking lot. We were expected to pitch our tent in a spot that was about 5 – 6 feet wide and perhaps 12 feet long, 75% was already taken up by the well-worn picnic table and campfire ring.

We returned to the ranger station where I became quite thankful for Mullet/Camo Wearing Camp Host whose golf cart was still parked at the ranger station. We inquired about switching camp spots where Mike The Ranger began naming spots and Camp Host began assisting.

Ranger Mike: 42?

Host: Same size.

Ranger Mike: 74?

Host: Same size.

Ranger Mike: 53?

Host: That might work.

Ranger Mike: You folks drive on over to 53 and see what you think.

I was amazed that the Host knew the spots so well considering that I never saw him drive past his trailer the entire time we were there. Anywhoo… lucky us.

We arrived at a spot that would accommodate our large tent. This site was far superior to our original site because it allowed for just enough space for a large tent, campfire ring, and picnic table. At night we could sit at the front of the tent and enjoy the campfire. Imagine the luxury in roasting marshmallows from your sleeping bag! And, with careful maneuvering one could probably cook at the picnic table while reclining in the tent.

This campground also allowed for interaction with local wildlife. By wild life I am referring to the flying rats seagulls that seemed so much nicer in “Finding Nemo.” The same seagulls that woke us up every morning fighting over the dumpster contents and strewing it all over the place. The same seagulls that we awoke to at 4am attempting to break into our ice chests.

These were the same seagulls that caused the campers next door to us to constantly go about quoting “Finding Nemo” by looking at the seagulls and saying, “mine… mine… mine… mine…” These were the same campers that gave my family the opportunity to reconsider their opinion of me when they heard the mom over there screaming, “don’t let me see your ass outside of that fucking tent until you have all the air out of the mattresses!!” while breaking down their campsite.

After they heard the dad yell, “I have to be back at fucking work tomorrow for this shit? I pay for all this shit and this is how they treat it?” at another guy camping with them in reference to his 4 year old daughter losing one of her shoes, my kids were convinced they didn’t have it so bad. So it’s true, camping IS good, family togetherness.

We tried to use the restrooms as little as humanly possible. This might be due, in part, to the floors always being wet and strewn with toilet paper. It might also be due to the fact that the first stall we attempted to enter had puke covering it. I don’t know what kind of people you let into these campgrounds but I cannot imagine running a mile to the nearest bathroom to yack. I’d have puked in a bush first. Come to think of it… I REALLY, REALLY hope it was puke.

When asked about the men’s bathroom my husband replied, “I’d like to come back next spring when they clean them.” (he’s a joker that one, we have no intention of returning, EVER!)

I don’t know where the other reviewers stayed but they certainly didn’t stay here. And, why the hell don’t you offer the option of NEGATIVE stars?????

Sincerely,

Amy Doran

Sunday morning we decided to walk to the beach, given our close proximity and whatnot. Maggie has decided that she has a fear for all water except for what comes out of our bathroom sink and the shower in my bathroom. The sight of the sand and surf was enough to send her crawling up Mike’s back to perch on his head.

We walked on the beach with the intention of walking all the way to Morro rock. Maggie finally relaxed and began running along the beach with ahead of us picking up sand dollars and sea shells. It was a lovely moment that ended abruptly when Maggie tripped while running from a wave only to have the wave catch up and roll over her. She was wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a windbreaker which = 43.5 pounds of clothing when soaked in salt water and sand.

We stripped her off and Ethan let her borrow his thermal and she begged us to take her home so she could take a shower, all the way back to the campground.

Once Maggie was dry, relatively sand-free, and dressed in her own clothing we realized there was not much of a chance of getting her back on the beach. Instead we drove into town to peruse some shops. After 9 stores selling the same crap with the same Morro Bay logo and one selling flip flops for $65 a pair – we became a little snappy with one another.

By Sunday night we were barbecuing at the campsite and the kids entertained themselves long enough for Mike and I to have a couple of drinks. Shut up… you’d be amazed at how much mass murder a couple of beers and a few shots of tequila can avoid.

Monday morning I was up early (thank you teenagers who took the place of the other campers and fucking seagulls) packing while Mike and Maggie were still snoring. By the time Mike woke up we were breaking the tent down around him.

In retrospect, I have never been so thankful to get home and have a hot shower in my life.

Categories: Family Antics, General Pointless Bitchiness, Observations, Stupid Husband Tricks, Stupid Wife Tricks, Things That Could Get Me Killed
Tags: Family Antics, Funny Stuff, General Pointless Bitchiness, Memories, Observations, People I Love, Personally, Stupid Husband Tricks, Stupid Wife Tricks, Things That Could Get Me Killed