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When the Boys put their outward-bound adventures into high gear "things" happen. The White Mountain Adventure (NH) was no different.

An impromptu dinner gathering found Cecil B. Dewallis, the recently arrived Steve-the-Knee-from-Jersey and "g" sitting at the Ripe Tomato late Thursday evening - the night before the trip. Brewkies and dinner were nearing completion when DeWallis disclosed that he had a sudden and unavoidable circumstance that required him to meet the Boys at their campsite on Saturday - day #2 of the trip. Shortly there after, High-Altitude-Joe arrived with somewhat of a leeward list - An outcome of a basketball challenge with his eldest son. It became apparent that Joe's last minute hurty-back would get an extra day of rest if he traveled with DeWallis and met the Boys at "base camp" in the Great Gulf - a large, heavily wooded basin to the east of the Northern Presidential Mountain Range.

Greetings, manly hugs and another round of drinks gradually gave way to the real purpose of this rendezvous - backpacking-gear-talk. Then, one little detail emerged. A little known bug-in-the-works that put the-Knee into acute despair. "So which tent am I sleeping in?" queried the-Knee.

Slurping on a Saranac Black and Tan, DeWallis chirped in, "I think you're sleeping with "g."

"Sorry, Knee." said "g," "I'm bringing my solo tent."

"Well then," continued DeWallis, "I guess (gesturing to the-Knee) you'll be sleeping with Whiskey-Tottin'."

"I don't think so," "g" embarrassingly added, "Whiskey-Tottin' is bringing the same tent I have!"

The laughter picked up a little, except for the-Knee (of course) who bolted from his seat in the restaurant, flapped his arms like Big Bird and shouted, "What do you mean! Warren, you told me I'd have a place to sleep. There's no room in your tent with Joe, and "g" and Roger have their own tents! Where am I supposed to sleep? I didn't bring a tent! It's 9:30 PM. What am I gonna do?"

"Don't worry," mused DeWallis, "I'm sure you can sleep with On-Time-Jimmy."

"Houston, we've got a problem," says "g," "Jimmy's packin' his solo tent too."

How unfortunate. The-Knee seemed to be shelter-less for the trip. After a quick phone consult with Jimmy in Lake George, "g" was on the cell phone to EMS. "Great… You have a solo tent in stock? 2 ounces? What time do you close? Now? Oops. (Click)… "Hello, Wal-Mart? Camping Supplies? Yes… you have a tent in stock… 10'x12'... how many tons?" (Click)

The following morning, the-Knee, On-Time-Jimmy, Whiskey-Tottin'-Roger, and "g" left for northern New Hampshire. For most of the six-hour drive the Boys tried to console the-Knee who eventually retreated to the van's way-back where he over-and-over muttered, "I had it in my hands… I should have bought that tent… I was at Campmor last week… I had it in my hands… Oh me…"

Despite Jimmy's low gear groaning and insistence that the Boys had spent too much time as backpacking-touristos and had wasted precious trail-time on pre-trailhead-fine-dining, the Grand Caravan happily rolled into the trailhead parking lot around 1:00 PM. Gear was unloaded, and except for "g" who took his wallet (he repeatedly told the Boys about trail narratives that warned hikers about frequent car break-ins), the other's found really-clever (?) spots to hide their money clips in the van. "Besides," boasted Jimmy, "what will we need money for on the trail?"

The hike in was splendid. A mildly strenuous, 3.5-mile hike was set in simply gorgeous spring weather.