Mosquitos love me. I’ve been to many outdoor gatherings where I was the only one bitten. The little buggers often seem to completely ignore everyone but me. If I stop on the side of the road for a couple of minutes while on my bicycle in a place like Bear Mountain State Park, I inevitably end up with a couple of mosquito bites while my cycling cohorts remain bite free.
The most mosquitos in one place at one time I’ve ever experienced was at a wooded campsite in the Altai region of Russia (known forever afterward as the “mosquito camp”) during my months-long cycling trip across Central Asia. We set up our tents in a seemingly peaceful forested enclave accessed via a dirt road. Within a few minutes of our arrival, swarms of mosquitoes circled from the brush. Before we could adequately dose ourselves with bug spray, most of us had been bitten multiple times (me, twice as many as everyone else).