The Sausage Pad Lays Siege to St. Joseph, Pt. IV

(contd.)

The morning of Day Four.  The thrilling conclusion to our PG-13 affair.

Kris fries up even more bacon.  As if we weren't all fat enough already.

Not sure exactly how it happened, but I got suckered into playing board games with the kids every morning.  Here we're playing through one of our girls' favorite games, 5 Minute Dungeon.

The younger kids were pretty much useless, but Damon's boys got the hang of it pretty fast, and my girls are already pros.

Today was supposed to be, at least with regards to the weather, the nicest day of the weekend - low 80s and super sunny - so we decided to hit up St. Joseph's premiere beach - Silver Beach - and spend the entire day there.  Smitty was still asleep, so Rita assured us she would drive them up later when he got around (you know, 'cause Smitty likes sleeping in.)

We arrived in the late morning, and realized - in horror - that, like, everyone else in Southwest Michigan had the exact same idea as us.

The beach was packed.  We found a vacant spot that was about 10ft from our closest neighbors, and began establishing Sausage Pad headquarters.

Not a face mask to be seen for miles.

Zack Smith, a soulless Ginger himself, enthusiastically approves of Smitty's recent purchase.

Watching the kids play in the lake.

(Kris is dancing to rap music.  Like only a middle-aged white woman can.)

After a few hours of hanging out on the beach, me and the guys got bored, so we decided to head back up to the shopping district to hit up some more shops.

Just in case you were curious.

I didn't take a lot of pictures during our going in and out of shops, but while Zack and Damon bought sweatshirts and t-shirts for their wives and kids, I ducked back into that antique store from the day before and picked up four or five more records.  I made out like a bandit on this trip, I was pretty pumped.

We got back to the beach just as a huge freighter began to slowly pull into the canal that cuts through the town.  Pretty cool to see - like watching a city block float through the water.

On the way back from the beach, later on in the afternoon, we sat in standstill traffic waiting for the bridge to lower for a solid half an hour.  The freighter we had watched from the beach was making its way - ridiculously slow - through the canal.  Like, you could walk faster than it was going.

See ya later, asshole.

When we got back to the campground, we saw that most of the grounds had cleared out.  It was Sunday, after all, and most people had left.

This had all been previously jam-packed with RVs and tent.

 

We're still here, though.  We had a solid four nights and five days reserved.

 

The kids broke out this Headbandz game that they enjoy taking along on camping trips.

(I didn't take any of these vidoes.)

We barely put a dent into these snacks. . .

Our fridge game was on point this weekend.

Kris, prowlin' for snacks.

Zack breaks out some ice cream sundae supplies for the kids, in his usual not-at-all kid-friendly, Zack Smith way.

 

The more sugar the better.  Screw it, we're on vacation.

Smitty swooped in for ice cream as well.  Of course.  He needed the pick-me-up - him and Rita had driven around St. Joseph for hours trying to find a parking spot at the beach, and in the end they, too, got stuck at the bridge waiting for the freighter to pass through the canal.  He was pretty pissed he missed out on the beach trip for the day, but his spirits rose after he got some ice cream - and some beer - in his system.

I could've easily watched this all day - Kris and Rita attempting to close up Smitty's beach tent.

The brothers Smith are equally amused at the spectacle.

 

We were forecast to get a thunderstorm in the late evening, around 10pm, so we did our best to breakdown as much of the camp as humanly possible.  We struck all but one of our shaded pavilions, and loaded up as much of the camping gear as possible in our vehicles.  Not wanting a repeat of our doomed vacation in Silverlake's Jellystone Campground, I put all my expensive items - my ukulele, camera and lenses, laptop, etc. - in Kris' van, for safe keeping.  Fool me once, Rain God.

I started a bonfire in the late afternoon to start ridding ourselves of the mountains of cardboard and paper waste we had lying around the campsite.  It raged like a funeral pyre for hours.

The usual from the Cannonball.

Dance party around the campfire.

Hours later, still raging.

The rains did, in fact, roll in late in the night, and came down super hard for about an hour.  During the duration of the storm, we regularly checked our tents, and - miraculously - nothing got wet.  No flooding, no nothing.  After awhile, the rain let up and we continued hanging out and playing cards late into the night.  At one point, some grizzled old park associate told us to quiet down - despite us being pretty quiet, and nowhere near as loud as a group of old drunks about six sites over that we could all hear clear as day.  Oh well, I guess after twenty some years, the Sausage Pad still has that Troublemaker look about them. . .

 - Fin - 

- Brian

The Sausage Pad Lays Siege to St. Joseph, Pt. I

Packed to the hilt for another go-round with the Sausage Pad. . .

It had been a long, long time since the Sausage Pad had last hung out - a quick weekend trip down to Kalamazoo at the beginning of December, if you'll recall.  We can't get together very much these days due to conflicting works schedules, and summers are even worse because everyone has plans with their own individual families. 

Picking out a movie for the 3 1/2-hour ride.

This is why Zack and Damon and their respective clans have never accompanied on any of our Michigan camping trips with Smitty and Rita over the years (to Traverse City in 2016, to Mackinaw in 2017, and to Tahquamenon Falls in 2018.)

Well, this summer we were all adamant about getting together and doing something a little more ambitious than, say, bar-hopping around Kalamazoo for a weekend pretending we're back in our '20s. 

We had initially decided to hit up Mammoth Caves, down in Kentucky, and were looking into booking a large house - very much like what we had when we visited Gatlinburg back in 2014 - through Airbnb.  The caves offered enough outdoor activities (hiking, cave exploring, etc.) for the more adventurous of us, and the house provided plenty of space for hanging out, grilling, and relaxing for the homebodies.

Camera bag, personal cooler, uke.  At the expense of some leg room.

Unfortunately, dude to Covid-19 ('cause yes, that's still a thing), most houses we looked at in the area weren't renting out to visitors, or else didn't have a refund policy worth a damn.  After weeks of trying to find suitable lodging in the area, and with coronavirus cases spiking in the South over the last couple weeks, we decided to throw in the towel and find somewhere to camp in Michigan instead.

Happy camper.

Rita and Kris, once again, took the reins with planning and reserving adequate camping accommodations (God knows us guys couldn't plan our way out of a wet paper bag.)  After a few days, they found four available sites at a KOA Campground in St. Joseph, southwest of Kalamazoo, close to Lake Michigan, and pounced on it. 

A fraction of the price of renting a house in Kentucky, closer to home, and easier to plan out.  Sure, there were no caves on hand to check out, but we did have close access to the lake.  It was a trade-off we were willing to live with.

What follows, dear readers, is a run-down of our five-day, four-night stint in the south of Michigan, featuring the Sausage Pad, its families, and a shit-load of pictures and video.

Enjoy. . .

You can never pack enough hats for a camping trip.

Three and a half hours - and a Harry Potter movie - later, we arrived at the KOA in St. Joseph. 

I neglected to take any pictures during the set-up process - we were all pretty busy - and, since no one else bothers to take pictures like that, you don't have any.  Smitty and Rita had arrived the previous evening (because, had they waited for Smitty to wake up, they would've rolled in at night), and Damon arrive around 1pm.  The Smiths and Houghs rolled in around 3pm, minutes apart, and spent a couple hours throwing up their respective family tents.

Smitty and Rita's tent (on the left) and Damon and Carrie's (on the right) formed a perimeter on our southern side (we once again opted for a communal hang out space in the middle.)

The food tent.  About five coolers, seven food totes/boxes, two mini-fridges, and a crap-ton of lights.

Zack and his kid continue setting up their stuff.  We threw up a couple canopies (as seen in the background) to use for eating, playing games, etc. - which ran along our northern border.

Damon's son, Luke.

. . . and his daughter.

The Houghs' tent (ours and the Smith tent comprised our western edge.)

We tent-camp like badasses.

The girls threw up room dividers for privacy.  Whatever makes their co-habitation easier. . .

Smitty, the Cannonball, and Rita, chilling around the not-yet-made campfire after setting up all the crap.

Couldn't resist taking a pic of Zack - a proud Farwellian - with our camping tote, emblazoned with my alma mater.

A similarly-sized collection of tents was right to the north of us, and they had an insane amount of pink flamingo decor everywhere.  Not sure why, exactly.  But at least they were a decent group.

While us guys stayed back and caught up with one another over some beers, the wives took the kids a short drive down the road to an easy-access beach on Lake Michigan.  They wanted to get a sunset swim in before the day ended.

A swimsuit and a coat.  That's how the kid rolls.

Sunset on Lake Michigan.

Abby and her beach hair.

Houghs in a lake.

Back at camp, at the close of the evening.

Stay tuned, folks. . .

- Brian