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I spent one week every summer at Camp Tapico for every year I was a Boy Scout The camp felt like an entire separate country, or as if the rest of the world had disappeared and we were the only ones left alive We traveled in packs We rode our bikes everywhere About ten or fifteen feet before we reached any destination, I would yell, "Dismount!" and we would swing our bodies over the frame in unison onto the left pedal and coast to a halt I felt like a grown up (or how I imagined one must feel) and I could mostly come and go as I pleased One summer, sirens blared out over the camp P.A. in a shrill and ugly tone with an infinite refrain that carried for miles and miles I had never heard that sound before Our counselors were panicked and told us to return to our campsites immediately My friend Nate and I mounted our bikes and sprinted home as branches fell all around us It felt like we were the leads in a video game and we were too caught up in it to understand we were in any real danger When we got back, everyone was huddled under the mess tent, except for Nate's brother and his friend, who were stuck in a rowboat in the middle of Gra** Lake during the full brunt of the storm The adults had to hold Nate back from going out after him as the pair raced across the water like a glacier or a hawk We watched from the shore and didn't feel the pouring rain until long after they safely pulled in