Olive Dell Ranch, the family nudist resort.

In a nudist park, everything is striped down, so to speak. As Tim observed, there’s no macho, no posturing. Your balls (and whether or not you have any) are out there for everyone to see.

On our first night, Tim starts closing all the curtains in the bus. I wonder why -- we’ve been nude, anyway, all day. He explains it’s because he’s going to cook, so wants to put on clothes without offending anybody.

Our favorite nudist has to be the maintenance guy, who walks around with nothing on but a tool belt. Every time he turns around, I nearly exclaim, “Hey! You dropped your…” Oops. Never mind.

Busing in the Buff

So, we pull in. Usually, I head to the office to check in. Do I have to strip beforehand? What if this is some god awful joke and everyone is clothed there but me? I’m wearing earrings. Do I take them off? A valid question, for is the place nudist because the inhabitants eschew all trappings of commerce and society (including earrings) or because they want to get back to nature (my earrings are made of silver, not twigs) or because they just want to be free, free FREE (in which case, I suppose one can wear whatever body jewelry one wants). I could call them on my cell phone and ask, but it seems a mite like the shoes question and I don’t feel like being laughed at again just yet, especially as I’m anticipating that reaction imminently…

This is supposed to be a year of trying new things, expanding horizons. So, in that spirit, I agree (Tim’s idea) to go to a family nudist RV park.

I check around on the internet. One place seems promising, but I’m not quite clear what they’re about. I call and ask if they are clothing optional.
“No,” the lady unequivocally answers.
“Oh. I’m sorry. I must have the wrong information,” I apologize, hoping she doesn't think I'm some weirdo. But, something in her voice makes me query further.
“So, people don’t walk around naked?” I try to confirm.
“Oh, yes, they do.” She answers. Is this place English optional, perhaps?
“Okay… but you’re not clothing optional.” I offer slowly, with impeccable pronunciation.
“No, we’re nudist.” She snaps. Well, excuuuuse, me.
“I’m not sure I know the difference,” I concede. She explains that when inside the park, one is required to be naked. Now I get it. It was the optional, not the clothing, that was the problem in the whole clothing optional thing. Who knew? Fine, I decide to play along and proceed with what I think is a perfectly reasonable question.
“Can I wear shoes?” She laughs and muzzles the phone to call out to some other nuditity requiring linguaphile.
“She wants to know if she can wear shoes.”

For those of you as clueless as me, the answer is yes. Which means, then, that the correct expression should be partially nudist or perhaps shod optional.

Just think if the entire world were nudist, what expressions would we never have had the pleasure of using: butt crack (nothing to crack it with), get your shorts in a wad (nothing to wad up with) and picking lint out of one's navel (nothing to lintify with) and… ????? Anyone????

Death Valley after the "hundred year rains."

I begin the hike in Death Valley in my usual attire: Capri Nike pants, my World Figure Skating cap, Polo Ralph shirt, Ecco slides and Chanel sunglasses. As I arrange myself and dubiously peer at what we're about to do, Tim surveys me and shakes his head.

"It's known as Nail Breaker Canyon," he says. "Are you sure you're up to it?"