Summit Day

When you climb Mt. Everest, your summit day actually begins about 11 p.m. the night before. You try to grab a few hours of sleep on oxygen in a tiny tent at Camp 5, and your Sherpa will awaken you with a thermos of Sherpa tea, entreating you to gear up and get going. You summon all your strength and climb till sunrise with a headlamp illuminating the fixed ropes. If everything goes right, you’ll make the South Summit around daybreak and summit around noon.

Now, I’ve never even been to Nepal, but one of my best friends has climbed Everest three times, so I am well qualified to offer hearsay testimony.

For me, the first day of Sun ’n Fun camping is my summit day.

On Saturday morning I got up for one of my regular and recurring 3 a.m. potty breaks (something God gives old guys who surpass the age of 65), and instead of going back to bed, I simply slipped on my clothes, brushed my teeth, and rocketed off in my previously packed Ridgeline. I think it is a brilliant strategy. The roads are virtually devoid of the clot of spring breakers headed south from Atlanta. It’s only you in the dark cockpit, navigating to your final destination—Lakeland, Florida. Although not as good as being in the cockpit of my old Skyhawk, the thought brought a smile to my face.

Once the sun came up, I called camping buddy Bill Bell, who had been on the road since 4:05 a.m. He had also threatened an early start and was now headed south on the same I-75 in his Dodge Ram. Since I was going to be the first one at the campground, it fell upon me to try to snag two tent camping spots. I was on a mission. I only stopped for gas, a potty break, and a drive-through Krystal scrambler with coffee (which I ate and drank underway). I rolled into camper registration—my summit—right at 10 a.m. Seven hours, chock to chock.

After setting up camp, Bill rolled in and we set up his enormous 10-man tent. Don’t laugh—he can actually stand up and move around in spacial luxury. We then walked into the show to reconnoiter all the vendors and volunteers setting up their venues. It is great to be on the summit—all of 142 feet of elevation—enjoying the sights and marveling at our accomplishment. The weather is clear, and a cool breeze helps to temper the Florida sun.

After a nap (old-guy necessity), Bill and I went out to dinner at Fred’s, a local buffet, and returned to the campground where we sat in camp chairs to reminisce about the past and speculate about the future. Even without a campfire, we attracted new friends—Frank from Mobile and Steve, a retired Spirit pilot. Next came Tammy, who had camped here for years with her beloved, who only died recently. The pain in her eyes was testament to her desire to get just a little of him back in this campground.

It is a sacred place.