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“Go ahead and start loading your packs, everyone. The water reservoirs are already filled.” Deena slips closer to me, and her eyes dart down to my roller bag as if I might have an alpaca in there. If only I’d known it wasBYOA. “I think you might have overpacked. Did you get the list I emailed you?”
Everyone else seems to have a small duffel bag or a tote for their clothes. My bright, shiny luggage is doing its job, and then some—it stands out in a crowd. A plastic grocery bag would have been less conspicuous here.
“I used the packing list, but this is the smallest bag I have.”
“Let’s take a look at what you brought and see where we can pare down.” She kneels right by my bag, waiting for me to open it.
Everyone else is loading their backpacks, but careful side-eyes shoot my way. This is worse than when TSA flagsmy bag and paws through it looking for the six ounces of vitamin C serum I forgot I packed.
I get on the floor with her and unzip my bag. Deena doesn’t paw, but she assesses everything in a single glance.
“You’ve got a few too many things here.” Her smile says she’s trying to be sweet, but her volume says she doesn’t care who hears this conversation. “What you’ve got on and a single change is enough.”
“For five days?” I manage not to screech, but barely. That can’t possibly be right. We’ll be sweaty and dirty from hiking every day—of course I’ll need more clothes than that.
“It’s a relaxed trip.” She shrugs as if that’s explanation enough. When I go on staring at her, she adds a little more. “By the end of the hike, you’ll be happier to have a lighter pack than clean clothes.”
I try to keep my smile in place as I look over everything I brought. Following the packing list she emailed, I’d carefully selected my clothes: light layers, a warm fleece jacket, a raincoat, athletic shirts, long sleeve camp shirts, thick socks, an extra sports bra, and several sets of undies. Just to be safe, I also packed flannel pajama pants, fuzzy socks, a swimsuit, and a cozy sweater, but thankfully, she isn’t making me inventory my luggage.
“Doesn’t it get cold at night?”
“You’ve got room for the fleece and the rain jacket, and a pair of long underwear to sleep in. Bring the lightweight shorts and a tank top if you think you’ll want to swim. Leave everything else but one extra shirt behind. We can put your bag in the office until we get back.”
Having said her devastating piece, she gets up to check in with some of the others.
What did I do to deserve needing to alternate between two shirts for five days? I haven’t committed anyheinous crimes lately. It’s been at least eight months since I bumped another car while parallel parking. Maybe seven, but it’s up there.
Cindy leans my way. “Don’t worry. Everyone winds up smelling equally ripe on a trip like this.”
I try to laugh but just make a sad seal sound instead. Arguing about my clothes seems pointless, since I can’t take anything with me besides this backpack. I pull out the two warm layers, an extra pair of socks, and the overly optimistic swimming gear. Checking that Deena’s not looking, I grab all the underwear like a raccoon scooping up forbidden trash. I’m sure I can handle carrying a few extra ounces for the comfort of wearing clean underpants every day.
Following a helpful diagram on the wall, I load everything into the pack. First goes the sleeping bag and the sleep mat, both stuffed into tinier bags than seem possible. Next, the spare clothes and secret underwear, plus an abysmally thin camp towel and my extra-small toiletry bag. I predict a tween-level zit breakout in my future after a week of minimalist skincare, but if Deena thinks underwear is too much, I’d hate to see her reaction to my usual intensive routine.
The other containers and bags they’ve set out are a mystery to me—and an even bigger mystery is when I manage to get it all in the pack. I give the straining backpack a test heft, and can’t help the little whimper I make. Why did I sign up for this again?
Right—to prove to Mayor Martinez and the town council that I’m serious about championing Sunshine’s many outdoor activities, as well as our restaurants and shopping scene. Which I am…I’d just prefer to do it from a distance. I can encourage everyone else to get outside without having to experience it myself, can’t I?
Mitchell double-checks our packs while Deena wheels away my rolling luggage in an embarrassing display. She disappears into a back room, and I long for my extra changes of clothes.
“You look like she just kidnapped your baby.” Cindy doesn’t do a good job of containing her smirk.
I clear my face of whatever pathetic thing it’s doing. “It’s just clothes. Who cares what I look like on this rustic adventure?”
This is another “fake it til you make it” type thing. I always care.
Shannon just grins. “You lose your pride pretty quickly on trips like this.”
“Especially when you have to carry a personal trowel for digging private holes,” her husband butts in.
A shudder wracks through me, crumbling my bravado. If that’s the upside I have to cling to this trip, it’s going to be a rough five days.
Meh. I always knew it would be a rough five days. Still.
“Do you go on trips like this a lot?” I ask them.
Cindy gestures between the two couples. “The four of us have had a backcountry adventure every summer for the last fifteen years.”
“You might say we’re professional outdoorsmen,” Scott says. I don’t think that’s a thing, but he beams like he’s just itching to point out a plaque with his name on it somewhere. “We can guess already that you’re new to this, Lila.”
