Most of you are familiar with the blue outhouses present at outdoor events. At the distance ride we attended this past weekend there was a rumour of flush toilets and a shower trailer. When we pulled in we saw, that like most rumours there was no truth in this one. There stood the ubiquitous blue and yellow outhouses. There were some impressive looking stripped tents, tented horse stabling, sand and grass riding rings but no flush toilets or shower trailer. And one trip to the outhouses confirmed that while the promise of flushes and showers were thin on the ground, things were piling up. The three blue outhouses were rapidly threatening to become an environmental bio-hazard.

Of course we made do–what else can you do in the middle of a 25 acres hay field with no place else to ‘go’. By nightfall several of us were sizing up the tree line edging the field. Reports of ‘no toilet tissue’ were leaking back to camp. Some of our group had already been camping 2 days before we arrived. They had weathered a nasty thunderstorm the night before. And with the condition of the outhouses and the lack of tissue supply, the tents weren’t the only thing that had to drip dry. Soon lengths off of extra rolls of tissue, stashed in the depths of the camping gear, were traded like contraband.

The horses had to be fed at 4AM. I set my alarm and as usual woke about 10 minutes before it went off. I lay in my sleeping bag, convincing myself to climb out of my warm nest into the cold and dewy morning. I clambered out–negotiated the cliff that you have to jump off of to descend from the trailer’s sleeping quarters, and opened the trailer door to meet the most spectacular display of night sky I have seen in a long while. It looked like every star in the heavens was dancing brightly in the pre-dawn sky. I also met one of the riders, who quicker than I, was already heading back to bed after sliding the horses’ pre-prepared breakfast into their portable corals.

Ah well, I thought, I am up now. I might as well toddle down to the outhouses while I’m up. I grabbed my book light, and with tissue in pocket headed out. A few camper lights glowed dimly. Up the hill, a porch light indicated the residence of our hosts. I rolled my pant legs around my knees to avoid them becoming dew saturated and set out in the direction I thought the outhouses were in.

I trudged along through the dewy grass, crunched over a gravel lane and set out through the grass again, while admiring the heavenly light show above. I trudged and trudged in my now squishy wet gardening clogs. I trudged some more…and some more…and then…I realized that I was lost. I was somewhat east of the outhouses and heading into the tented stabling area. Then I heard the screeching and squealing of a wild animal.

PANTHERS! I thought, my heart racing…

I steadied myself, panthers live in South America, stupid. What I heard was the screeching of fighting cats. I tried to discern which direction the sound came from. I pictured myself walking into a melee of scrapping cats with my exposed shins. But I reckoned the outhouses lie in the opposite direction. I adjusted my course and continued my journey.

I flipped on my book light. Its $2 glow illuminated a six inch circle in front of me. Finally, the dim outline of the outhouses loomed before me like a redolent plastic Stonehenge. My quest complete I headed back to bed with the surety of a homing pigeon to awake at the more civil hour of 6AM.

( Later in the morning the pump truck arrived and the outhouses were given a thorough cleaning. Every story should have as happy an ending.)