“Shoot, I forgot the tinfoil. For the baked potatoes.” I looked at Mike, who kept his eyes ahead on the path’s gentle curves. It hugged the ocean, the way back to the campsite. “That’s okay. We’ll figure something out,” he said, pulling Rusty to heel. “We can use two pans to create an oven for them. Stick it over the fire.” “I didn’t bring pans,” I said. “None of the meals I planned included anything that needed a pan.” “What about the chili?” “You don’t need a pan for chili. You just set the can over the fire.” “Oh. Well, we’ll figure something out.” “We can ask someone at the campsite.…