Dude, Where's My Beer?

For his birthday this year, I gave G a tent. My mom completed the theme by giving him some mess kits and pans and a propane stove. In turn, he bought me a sleeping bag and we prepared for our first camping trip together. He found a couple campsites in the Berkshires so we decided to head west for the long weekend. As a nice coincidence, the Saturday was also the start of Sukkot. I'm usually able to eke out the basic meanings of Jewish holidays from G-- he can tell me if they are happy or solemn, but further info I usually have to figure out elsewhere. Sukkot is historical-- commemorating the 40 years the Isrealites lived in temporary shelters while wandering the desert-- and agricultural-- a harvest festival. So by assembling the tent we (sort of) fulfilled the command to dwell in a temporary shelter.
Camping and car trips mean for me a sort of primitive way of eating: Lipton instant soup, saltines, Vienna sausages. So I was perplexed when G favored steaks and fancy cheese. We had two nights, so we compromised. We had hamburgers and hotdogs the first night, and steak and grilled veggies the second. And of course, we agreed on beer and s'mores.
The campsite specifically instructed us to not have alcoholic beverages. And I would have thought the rangers would turn a blind eye (who camps without beer? It's the only thing democrats and republicans can agree). But not wanting to risk eviction, we imbibed discreetly. G had a beer in his hand when we decided to walk down to the wash house. He left the beer on the top of the car to return to later. After washing our faces and brushing our teeth, we returned and the beer...was gone! We used the flashlight to look around the car if it had fallen, but nothing! We recalled seeing a ranger drive past when we were at the wash house-- could he have taken it? We'll never know.