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Generator X

By David Feela

Found in: | Outside | Camping |

I camped two nights in La Plata Canyon, early June. Spring runoff was at its peak. The sight and sound of water roiling just 100 feet from where I rested my head had to be exactly what the manufacturers of sound therapy machines were after when they digitalized the soothing nuances of nature and recorded them to be played on portable devices that fit on a bedside table.

I suspect the manufacturer of the portable generator running in the site beside mine was not concerned that the word soothing would never be used to describe its product. Watts, fuel consumption, total weight, peak performance and efficiency had to be its buzz words. And buzz it did, all afternoon, cranking out the power to run my temporary neighbor's second home.

His 36-foot 5th wheel trailer with dark tinted windows and an expandable room sucked power like a sponge. I checked the rig out when nobody was home, paced its length and scouted its license registration. A couple neatly sawed logs were stacked picturesquely beside the fire ring. I supposed they gave the campsite a sort of primitive look, but the image that popped into my head involved roasting marshmallows over a burning generator.

I also checked out the machine, a 7.8 horsepower gas model, scanning it for a kill switch I could flip if it continued to drone. I figured nobody would leave it running all day without at least returning before sunset to shut their power station down.

The first night of my camping expedition, that's exactly what happened. A truck finally pulled in, parked, and somebody promptly turned the generator off, exhibiting a modicum of woodsy etiquette. Park campgrounds everywhere prohibit the use of generators at night while campers try to sleep.

The next day after I returned from my excursion, the same generator rarified the air, and again, nobody home. How rude, I said to the tree beside me, to leave a noisy generator running and not be obliged to listen. Maybe as one gets older, campgrounds start to look more like Comfort Inns.

I am not, however, blind to the advantages of the gas engine. In fact, I had just anguished over the purchase of a mower for my three acres, having spent days looking at electric cordless models. I wanted something small, quiet, and more responsible than a traditional gas mower, but every online forum recommended an electric for cutting up to an acre. My lawn was wily, the kind of green that grows out of control, especially when I spend so many summer days camping.

In the back of my pickup truck sat a reconditioned gas mower. Any moral high ground over my neighbor had been leveled by that purchase.

As dusk approached, I scouted my neighbor's site once more, scrutinizing the generator more closely. Then I had an idea.

When he finally pulled in to shut off his generator, I would climb out of bed and start my new lawnmower. Maybe make a few passes around my campsite, spruce up the grounds around the old spruce trees. Maybe be a good neighbor and offer to cut his. Let the engine idle for a half hour or so between our campsites, break it in properly.

When he actually pulled in and shut down his power plant, he spoiled my plan. I wanted to get out of bed, but the sound of spring runoff rushed through the open window. A breeze stirred the aspen leaves above me. Birds chirped. Even better than silence, the sounds of a primitive campground returned. Powered by nature.

I fell asleep and slept deeply all night. I woke before sunrise and packed up, prepared to head home. I did slam the truck door quite a few times. Unnecessary, really, but not uncalled for.