AS MY FATHER likes to say, “I don’t mind roughing it, as long as everything goes real smooth.” Mind you, that’s a relatively new philosophy for Dad. When I was a kid, hunting camp had gas lights and an outhouse. These days, my father complains because the light in the microwave doesn’t work, and the satellite dish picks up only 105 channels. It’s almost enough to make him venture out into the woods to hunt . . almost.

Lately, the little woman, Winnie’s, idea of roughing it is staying in a Holiday Inn instead of a Hilton.

I don’t mind camping occasionally; though over the years our idea of camping has changed significantly. When the kids were still rug-rats, we had two small tents, a cooler, and a Hibachi stove that actually burned charcoal briquettes. My children have fond memories of their dad throwing a match onto the lighter fluid and burning off his mustache, both eyebrows, and those awesome, long, wide sideburns.

Eventually, we graduated to a pop-up, which required a bigger vehicle to pull it around. That did little more than get us up off the ground. Two years later, we moved up to a 17 foot trailer with some creature comforts like beds and a propane cook stove. Guess what; I needed an SUV to haul it. Do you see the pattern here?

It wasn’t long before we, (Winnie), decided we needed a bigger trailer with a shower, toilet, fridge, and stereo system—our aluminum love shack. And, oh yeah, an F150 pickup to tow it.

I was feeling like we’d gotten away from roughing it until a recent stay at the White Mountains RV Park and Resort. We’d seen giant motor homes in our area before, often parked beside a little house in dire need of paint and a new roof, with three broken down snowmobiles, two ATVs, and the rusted skeletons of various cars and trucks in the dooryard. But, I’d never seen anything you could drive on the road like the “camper” of Thomas R. Howell IV, our weekend neighbor at the RV Resort.

Thomas, (“don’t call me Tom”), was proud of his gigantic mansion on wheels. That thing seemed to be 120 feet long! He was kind enough to give me the grand tour and I couldn’t believe my eyes. There was a dish antenna on the roof to provide TV and internet reception. He had automatic levelers and steps, an 80 inch, plasma TV inside, a smaller 70 inch built into the outside, back-up monitors, marble countertops, a fullsized refrigerator and cooking appliances, and a live-in cook/maid. In the bath, there was a shower, Jacuzzi hot tub, and something called a bidet, which looked as though if you pushed the button to activate it, it would cause you to emit a high pitched “woohoo”.

During the course of our weekend “in the wild”, I observed Thomas constantly negotiating deals; texting on two Blackberries, while talking, non-stop, into the Bluetooth hooked to his ear, and emailing on either the computer built into his dashboard, or the laptop he used from under his fifty foot awning.

One evening, I was out flipping burgers on my rusty, old gas grill as his maid served Thomas and Mrs. Howell Coq Au Vin and Chardonnay.

“It was a nice day, huh?” I offered.

“Marvelous,” Thomas replied. “It’s great to get away from it all and commune with nature.”

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