How Our First Camping Trip Landed Us in the ER (And Why We Went Camping Again Anyways)

Thirty Minutes. That's How Long We Lasted Before Everything Went Sideways.

Picture this: We finally borrowed a camper for our first "real" camping experience. We pulled into a beautiful state park, set up camp like semi-competent adults, and patted ourselves on the back for not destroying anything in the process. The campground had gorgeous paved roads and bike trails. The sun was shining. The vibes were immaculate. We were WINNING at this camping thing.

Then my kids asked to go for a bike ride.

Spoiler alert: we were not, in fact, winning.

The Setup (AKA: Everything Was Fine Until It Wasn't)

Thirty minutes into our camping adventure, I hooked up the bike trailer, loaded my toddler inside, and off we went to explore. My older boys—ages 8 and 6 at the time—took off ahead of me like they were training for the Tour de France. The hilly terrain was fun, the kind of challenging that makes kids feel invincible and parents feel... slightly nervous but mostly fine.

"Wait up!" I yelled to my middle son as he got too far ahead.

He couldn't hear me. So naturally, he did what any enthusiastic six-year-old would do—he turned his bike around to come back to me.

On a hill.

A steep hill.

The Moment Everything Went Wrong

I watched it happen in slow motion. My son lost control of his bike coming down that hill, picking up speed with every second. At the bottom? A fire pit. Because of course there was a fire pit.

He crashed. Hard.

When he looked up at me, blood streaming down his chin, I heard my toddler's voice from the bike trailer behind me deliver the most matter-of-fact observation I've ever heard: "He's bleeding. He's crying."

Thanks for the play-by-play, kiddo.

On the outside, I shifted into business mode—calm, controlled, handling it. On the inside? My brain was on a loop screaming "HE'S BLEEDING!" over and over like a broken record player.

His chin had split open about 3-4 inches. My oldest started crying while riding his bike. My toddler had officially missed his nap window and was spacing out in the trailer. And there I was, trying to figure out how to get everyone back to the campsite when I was still a solid distance away.

The Walk of Shame (Except It Was More Like a Chaotic Bike Ride)

I yelled for my oldest to ride ahead and tell his dad that his brother was hurt. Then I tried—and I mean TRIED—to walk both my injured son and his bike back while also managing my own bike with the trailer attached.

Yeah, that lasted about thirty seconds before I realized this was impossible.

New plan: I loaded my bleeding, crying six-year-old into the bike trailer with his spaced-out toddler brother and biked back to camp like I was competing in some twisted parenting Olympics event.

A woman around my age watched this entire disaster unfold from her campsite. Once she saw we had it under control (generous assessment), she quietly walked back to her site. I found out later she checked on my son the next day when she saw him riding his bike again. Silent campground solidarity—we see you, and we appreciate you.

The ER Marathon

My husband swooped in like the hero he is, loaded our son into the car, and disappeared toward the nearest emergency room.

Then I waited.

And waited.

Four hours. He was gone for FOUR HOURS.

I spent that time watching the other two kids and helping prepare dinner around the campfire, keeping myself busy so I wouldn't spiral into full-on panic mode about how badly my kid was hurt. Spoiler: I still cried by myself in the camper for a solid ten minutes when no one was looking, because sometimes you just need to let it out.

When my husband finally returned, our son sported five fresh stitches in his chin covered by an enormous band aid and a story he'd be telling for years.

I looked at my husband and said what any rational person would say after their first camping trip turns into an ER visit: "Well, I guess we're all broke into the camping adventure now. At least we got the hard part done on the first day."

The Plot Twist: He Got Right Back On

The next day—THE VERY NEXT DAY—my son was back on his bike, playing like nothing happened.

Was I proud? Absolutely. Was I also slightly terrified watching him ride around with fresh stitches? You bet. But I could see something had shifted. He was more careful, calculating his risks a little more thoughtfully. I watched him grow up a bit in that moment, learning that resilience doesn't mean being reckless—it means bouncing back smarter.

When he tried to get on the hoverboard later, I drew the line. "Not today, buddy. Doctor's orders—nothing that'll tear those stitches open." Some battles are worth fighting.

What This Camping Disaster Actually Taught Us

Here's the thing nobody tells you about family camping: something WILL go wrong. Maybe not ER-level wrong, but something will definitely not go according to plan. And that's actually okay.

This experience taught me three critical lessons:

1. Expect the Unexpected You can plan and prepare all you want, but kids are basically tiny chaos agents. The best you can do is stay calm (on the outside, at least) and handle whatever comes your way.

2. You're More Capable Than You Think I juggled two bikes, a trailer, two other kids, and an injury that required medical attention—and we all survived. Even after crying in the camper, I still made dinner and kept the adventure going. That's not failure; that's resilience.

3. Safety Gear Isn't Optional After this trip, I bought helmets for all three kids. Every. Single. Camping. Trip. Do they complain? Sometimes. Do I care? Not even a little bit. Five stitches taught me that prevention beats emergency rooms every single time.

The Happy Ending

We didn't pack up and go home after the ER visit. We stayed the whole weekend. We made s'mores, told stories around the campfire, and created memories that had nothing to do with blood or stitches.

And you know what? We went camping again. And again. Because one disaster on day one doesn't define your entire camping journey—it just gives you a really good story to tell.

That borrowed camper weekend convinced us that camping was worth it, even when things go sideways. It showed us we could handle emergencies and still love the adventure. It proved our kids were tougher than we gave them credit for.

Most importantly, it taught us that the hard parts don't cancel out the magic—they just become part of the story.

Your Turn: What's Your Camping Disaster Story?

We can't be the only family whose first camping trip included an ER visit, right? Drop your camping disaster stories in the comments below. Bonus points if medical professionals were involved. Let's normalize the chaos and celebrate the fact that we all survived to camp another day! 👇🏻

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See you on the trail! 🫶🏻

P.S. - That six-year-old is now seven and still has a small scar on his chin. He thinks it makes him look tough. I think it makes me look like I survived early parenting camping. We're both right.