A pink ribbon around my wrist marks me an insider, a camper, a racer, but I’m not. I am the mother of a racer, a camper, an insider. But, I am the one returning with food for the kids’ race weekend extravaganza. After delivering groceries to my kids at the campground, I pull out of the mountain campsite nestled in a coastal forest and drive down the windy mountain highway back to my sister’s house where I will live in the comfort of a warm bed, hot water and a flat-screen TV, while my teenagers make due on old therm-a-rests, inside our twenty-year- old, and perfectly functiona
