On a sweltering July day, my friends and I embarked on a trip to Lake Moomaw in the Allegheny Highlands of Virginia.  Early in the afternoon, a creamy brown Volkswagon van pulled into Sam Baldwin’s driveway.  We heard the clumsy chug and rumble of its engine many yards away.  As the antique vehicle made its way toward the house, Sam and I saw the smiling, bright faces of our friends, Matt and Emily.  Within 15 minutes, everything was packed and we were on our way; Matt and Emily occupied the front seats while the rest of the group — Sam, Aidan, Liza, and me — fought for room and comfort in the crowded back seat area.

The interior of the van was unlike any I had seen before.  Lining the windows were vintage curtains.  Tie-dyed stickers in pyschedelic colors were placed haphazardly on the paneling.  Directly behind the passenger seat was a small sink, and beneath that was a miniature refrigerator of faded yellow.  The seating arrangements were exclusive to this vehicle.  In lieu of the common bucket and bench seat combination found in most vans was a small couch that faced a backless, armless chair.  Both of these were a deep green in color, and neither was uncomfortable in the least.  Situated in front of the stool-like chair was a table capable of folding out or hugging the mesh-curtained window.

As we pulled into the campground, it seemed as if the van had a sign placed on top stating that all nearby should stare in wonder.  The bulging eyes of every bystander were glued to the vehicle.  Despite the lingering eyes, we continued to make our way to the location that we had in mind.  The nearer we got to the site, the fewer people we saw.  However, once we arrived, the scene suddenly changed into one of frenzied activity.  In every corner of the area, people donning leather cowboy hats and bootcut jeans played volleyball, grilled hamburgers, and listened to country music.  We began to search anxiously for a spot to park our van.  Everyone in the vehicle sighed in relief when we noticed a beautiful, shaded, open area right next to the lake.

After parking the van, we piled and took a greatly needed stretch.  We then began to unpack.  Sleeping bags, tents, coolers, knifes, machetes, backpacks, pouches, and other camping necessities formed a grand pile next to the van.  The smells of grilled meat, crisp lake water, and deep woods wafted through the air.  While Matt looked for a spot to set his tent, I decided to walk down to the lake.  However, approaching the bank’s edge it was clear that in order to get to the lake, one could not simply walk.  The cliff that dropped below my feet was a perilous, nearly vertical plunge.  A lone tree stood rebelliously on the bank’s edge, sporting a sleazy rope that begged to be taken hold of. 

I was intent on getting to the water.  With a mind full of adventure, I reached forward and grabbed the rope.  Having my first few steps planned, I took a deep breath and- tripped.  I swung out, desperately clinging to the rope with only one hand.  The coarse rope bit into my palm, making it more difficult to hold on.  Despite my effort, I lost my strength and let loose.  My side hit the tightly packed dirt at the tree’s base with a heavy thud.  I rolled down the earthy hill side multiple times.  This was followed by a brief period of weightlessness as my body flew over the sheer side of the hill.  Moments later, the dagger-like rocks at the bottom gnawed their cold teeth into my leg.  I continued to roll, and finally ended in the lake.  The sensation of the cool water was a soothing balm to my wounds.  The relief compelled me to stay under.  However, my lungs must have a stronger persuasion over my body, for seconds later I resurfaced to the sound of Sam and Emily screaming for Matt.

As I stood there regaining my senses, Matt made his way down the hillside as quickly as possible.  Before he reached me, I thought of how funny the whole situation was and began to laugh.  Once he reached me, the now confused Matt told me to stop laughing, saying that it wasn’t funny at all.  That’s when he noticed my leg.  After he pointed to my right lower limb, I looked down to see for myself.  The jagged rocks had torn a deep gash into my leg and blood was gushing out.  The sight of that was enough to remind me of how much pain I was experiencing at that time.  Holding onto his shoulder, Matt helped me up the hill.  I was forced to spend the remainder of our three day camping trip nursing my battered, bleeding, sore body.