3B Limo

When I was younger and tougher (in other words, broke and ignorant) 1 enjoyed roughing it when I hunted and fished with my friends. Our camps were bare-bones affairs, and 1 still remember my old $2 chicken-feather surplus Army sleeping bag that had no warming properties whatsoever and a canvas tent (also surplus) that leaked like a sieve in a light mist. We preferred the romance of the open fire (we didn’t have a gas stove), so cooking meant impaling channel cats on green sticks and then squatting and coughing over a smoky fire.
Later there was a short-lived minimalist stage where I slept out in the open wrapped in a cheap plastic tarp. On clear nights I marveled at the white smear in the sky we know as the Milky Way; on cloudy nights I learned to fear the first faint drops of rain.
I still have buddies who enjoy backpacking or striking off to a spike camp, and they willingly sacrifice certain creature comforts because of a lack of adequate carrying capacity. Not me. Nowadays I camp out of the back of a big truck. Why? Because my rig lets me indulge myself. I take what I want and treat myself to all the luxuries of a new found five-star hotel.
By big, I mean full-size pickups and sport utilities, vehicles with the necessary room to store all your gear.
You’d be amazed at how even a half-truckload of the right items can move the pleasure needle into the ahh-yes! zone. Oversize captain’s chairs, a camp kitchen, thick airbeds, cots, a folding table, and coolers full of your livorite eats and drinks are some of the extras that are worth their weight (and space) in gold.
The fellow who taught me the virtues of abb-yes camping is Jim Reid, director of public relations for The Coleman Company. I first spoke with him about truck camping after a disastrous three-day outing in which I had elected to sleep in the bed of the pickup because the tent could not accommodate three adults, one of whom snored loud enough to wake the dead. At the time Jim and I were comfortably ensconced in his camp after a long, hard day of quail hunting along the Kansas-oklahoma border. He had just made the appetizer— fresh quail soup—and was preparing the main meal—grilled Kansas City strip steaks—as we enjoyed a libation. I noticed that for the first time in camp I was warm, comfortable, and completely relaxed.
“Yeah,” Jim said. “Basically, the happy camper is the one who sleeps well and eats well. Add convenience and comfort while loafing in camp, a righteous cocktail hour, and a big campfire, and you have all the ingredients for a world-class camp.” ‘So, how can you make sure you get a comfortable camp?” I asked.