Trimama and all my yankee peeps would have laughed at the Texans. In 45 minutes the temperature dropped from uncomfortably steamy to uncomfortably cool as a cold front passed over our campsite in the Huntsville State Park. By the morning, the temperature was in the 40s and the native Texans called it "cold." Superpounce, formerly known as the puppy, used two sleeping bags and snuggled like there was no tomorrow. I was the one in the technical wicking fabrics and bitchin' Oakley shades.
The water temperature was warmer than the air temp, so we got a beautiful mist rising off the lake in the morning light. It was a YMCA campout--those places where dads are in charge of the kids for the weekend, and thus, in the absence of maternal oversight, very few hands are washed, very few bed times are observed, and there was nary a vegetable in the entire campground. There was no running, except to run to the playgound. There was no biking except for kids. There was no swimming of any kind, becuase there are gators in that lake.
I am not sure the doc would have recommended sleeping on the ground as treatment for a creaky neck and rebellious shoulder.
Enjoy the pics