Among the many challenges camping provides, hygiene sits at or near the top. Campgrounds are a real crapshoot in this regard, as is accessing my toiletries. Let’s start with showering. Some campgrounds have them, many don’t, and it’s not always a given that I avail myself of one if they are on offer. The mere act of showering requires a concert of tricky maneuvers. First, I have to dig around to find the toiletries, and a fresh change of clothes, as well as my flip-flops and quarters (you don’t go into those showers without the last two). After getting Willy into the van because he’ll bark if I leave him tied up alone at the site, I juggle all of the above-mentioned items anywhere from 100 feet to a quarter of a mile to the showers. Once inside, finding a place to put the fresh clothes and towel so that they don’t get wet is the first bit of business. Once that is done, I strip down, pump in the quarters and wait for hot water, which sometimes comes, sometimes doesn’t. Then, I jump in and get everything done as fast as I can, trying to outrace the quarters. Countless times I have been stuck with lathered hair having run out of hot water, or just plain water, which is why I have armed myself with easy-to-rinse children’s shampoo.

After toweling off and getting some moisturizer on, it’s a comical balancing act to get dressed, not wanting my bare feet to touch the floors. Then, I have to get everything back to the van. By the time this entire cleansing process has been completed, I have usually broken out into a sweat, undoing that shower-fresh feeling.

So, I spend a lot of time unshowered, trying to tame my short hair from sleep the night before with a water bottle. Deodorant? Why bother. Thankfully, I’m not much of a make-up person, so no worries there. (As an aside, watching some women in the campground bathrooms trying to apply make-up and flat-iron their hair is hilarious—the mirrors are steel affairs so it would be like trying to doll up in a fun house.) My only nod to vanity is a wrinkle cream I apply to my face each night. I know it doesn’t work, especially since I’m out every day without any sunscreen, but it somehow makes me feel better, like I’m trying, at least.

Hands and feet get washed at campground hydrants (as does my hair sometimes) and nails get clipped whenever I just can’t look at them anymore. I laughingly brought along some nail polish, but I wouldn’t even know where to locate it. Laundry is done when I can get to a friend’s place or a hotel with facilities. The rest of the time, socks and underwear are “washed” wherever I find water. And teeth are easy—they are the cleanest part on me.

In all, camping is no glamorous affair. I don’t think I can scare small children, or drive people away with my odor, yet, so I’m doing all right. As I write this, I have just come out of a lovely shower, in a hotel, and I am clean, for now. (And, no, there are no pictures with this post!)