I was lying in my tent in Kenneth J. Wilson Campground in the Catskills last night when I heard the sound of leather on leather. Someone was opening my saddlebags.
I grabbed my lantern and jumped out of the tent (a relative term, as there were two zippers between me and the outdoors), ready to have a fight. From the seat of the bike, a small masked face stared back at me - a young raccoon.
I had a laugh, but after an entire night of the damn things pulling on my saddlebags, rattling around on the picnic table, and snuffling and grunting around my tent, I wasn't amused anymore. Especially when I found my plastic-bagged roll of toilet paper on the edge of the camp site.
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