What is the point of a "camper"?

Well these days what little time I get to address the guitar is spent strumming chords and singing 'The Farmer in the Dell' and 'If You're Happy and You Know It.'

 

Any tents have wireless? How can someone post to SJ.com without a camper?

 

Lots of campgrounds have wifi now.

 

We have a tent, propane cookstove, sleeping bags and ground cover all of which fit in our SUV quite comfortably. There's a state park near our house, so it's reasonable. Dunno if we'd go cross-country with the gear, but for our once or twice a year long weekends it works.

 

I hated those fucking snaps.

Good news was, by age 10 I was stronger than almost anyone. 100 lb. tongue weight was a one-arm lift.

 

You're were the brawn to Starmans brains at the age of ten.

 

I love camping. I love spending two or three nights in Fruita or Moab on a mountain biking weekend. No showering. Wake-up, make some coffee with the jetboil, food then ride bikes for hours and finish the day off with beers, fire, and good food.

Now, I do understand the draw of pull behind campers RVs. I spend almost every weekend traveling to race my bike and the idea of having a more comfortable bed, parking close to the venue, and having a place for my dog is ideal. I don't want a pull behind or RV. I want a sprinter van that I turn into what we now call 'campers' or camper vans. Camper vans are very popular in the outdoor industry - surfers, skier/snowboarders, and cyclists - either buying ones or building.

 

Haven't read through the entire thread, but it's basically for guys who want to camp, but their wives hate camping.

 

My dad liked camping OK, but my mom loved it. Of course, she wasn't the one hoisting the 100-pound tongue off the trailer hitch and sliding out the wooden decks of the Nimrod trailer by hand.

 

Campgrounds are for campers, not tents. Go pitch your tent in the fucking woods.

 

I still remember those nights in the rain and snow of Montreal in June-July 1967, when I was late-8, sitting shivering in the add-a-room of the Nimrod camper, huddled around the Coleman stove and lantern and a low-burning wood fire.

I drank my first coffee those nights, the blue metal cup hot and steaming in my hand, as transistors kept on playing, "Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band."

I didn't take up drinking coffee for real until I worked at Happy Jack's a decade later, but it tasted damn good in that freezing rain.