Glamping over camping any day!

I’ll admit it; I’m a wuss. As much as I’d like to say I’m an outdoorsy person, the simple truth is I like creature comforts and anyone who enjoys sleeping in a tent, on the hard ground, perched on an anthill, is nuts.

Oh, I can hear the hue and cry; all those dyed-in-the-sleeping-bag campers who extol the virtues of such personal contact with nature. I’m all for it, but there are limits.

There’s nothing as soul-satisfying as a walk in the woods, and staying in touch with our primal instincts is necessary in a world that insists on denying the value of such communion.

But I just don’t get the love affair people have with camping. You pack your car with all sorts of paraphernalia, including the obligatory Coleman stove, cans of baked beans, Spam, perhaps a wiener or two, change of clothes, mosquito net, Deep Woods Off, sleeping bag or inflatable mattress, and away you go. I don’t think Edmund Hilary had as much gear to conquer Everest as people pack to go camping.

And I’m sorry, but have you ever slept in a sleeping bag or on an inflatable mattress? Here’s what happens.

It starts well because the sleeping bag feels like one big hug. I’ll concede that. But after a while, the oxygen in the tent diminishes as you try your best to suck in a mouthful of air. Indeed, O2 gets precious, your respiratory system begins to work overtime and it isn’t long before you’re sweating profusely.

Add to this the persistent shifting that occurs as lower back pain settles in like a toothache. More and more, you’re not so much hugged by the sleeping bag as encased in it and you start to get that crazy leg syndrome you hear so much about. You jitter and jive like a contestant on So You Think You Can Dance and pretty soon the whole place feels as claustrophobic as a closet.

It’s no better on an air mattress. They’re great at the outset, but have you ever slept on plastic? That’s right. Your body heat warms it up so eventually there’s a film of sweat between you and the mattress, a river even a coverlet can’t possibly contain. All night, you’re laying in a puddle that grows in direct proportion to your discomfort.

Don’t get me started on what happens when it rains and the tent gets wet. Touch the sides and you create a chain reaction of epic consequence that results in water dripping on you as you try to sleep and it soaks into the sleeping bag until you’re ultimately a sodden mess.

Insects are another problem. It doesn’t matter how effectively you zip the tent or insulate your environment. Those little critters are going to get in and I don’t know about you, but there are few things as creepy as an insect with Daddy-long-legs skittering across your face or crawling up your leg as you lay entrapped in … that’s right … the sleeping bag!

Take a leaf (Hah! So punny!) from my book and go glamping. You heard me; glamping.

It’s upscale camping, where you do the chalet thing with stuff like a fully equipped tabletop grill, Henckel knives, cushy comforters, herbal teas. One place on the Internet offered weekly potluck suppers that featured gourmet dishes and fine wine. Another spot featured pedicures.

Even better, it didn’t cost a million bucks. It’s just another way to experience nature, albeit without the bugs, sweat, hassle and confusion that confront a guy like me who loves the outdoors but can’t nail a button on an outhouse door.

For me, it’s glamping all the way. Now I just have to convince the kids, who think a tent’s the Taj Mahal. Sigh - just one more thing about camping to deal with.