Drumbeats

Ripe acorns, when they leave home, fall and hit the skin of camping tents. Plummeting onto that taut surface, acorns sound exactly like drumbeats. Sitting in my tent this weekend, I was treated to a percussion concert, conducted by the wind. It was rapturous.

Motorcycle-camping is, I discovered, fun. Arduous but fun. There's less comfort but you adjust to the hardships and even take pride in the effort. Making a cup of tea in the morning isn't flipping a switch; it's a 15-minute ordeal that starts with building a fire from scratch. Drinking that tea is satisfying because of the effort required.

Being in woods, especially at night, is calming. Quiet is punctuated only by sounds of nature (e.g., the splash of a jumping frog). Civilization's noises are conspicuously absent. I liked the quiet. After this positive experience I'm going to incorporate camping into my future motorcycle-travels on a regular basis.

There is, of course, a learning curve. An experienced camper advised me to bring tiger-repellant in case of an attack, but I spotted no wildcats. I guess, as Pee-wee Herman famously said, "there are some things they don't teach you in school."