Category Archives: Work Camping

Jun18

More Adventures in Cleanliness

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My first few weeks as a camp host were too cold to worry about showering. Even if I had some armpit funk going on, who could possibly smell it through my shirt and my other shirt and my thick Carhartt jacket? I swiped my armpits and ass and crotch with wet wipes every couple of days while shivering in front of my little propane heater and called it good.

But then the weather warmed up, and I moved to my summer campground home. I realized the time had come to find a place to shower.

I’d looked at solar camping showers online and at the Big 5 Sporting Goods in Babylon. Basically, a solar camping shower is a thick black plastic bag one leaves in the sun until the water heats to a comfortable temperature. Then one hangs the thick plastic bag, and the water comes down a tube and out of a nozzle. In the campground, I’d have to use it in a privacy tent.

The inexpensive privacy tent I looked at online got poor customer reviews. It took two people to set it up. It was poorly made. It had to be hung from a tree. The ones that got better reviews were more than I wanted to pay. At the Big 5, the only privacy tent available looked just like the cheap ones I saw online. I didn’t know how I’d be able to hang it from a tree or how I’d install it alone, so I gave up on the solar shower idea.

I’d read about a hot springs “resort” 15 miles from my campground. The review mentioned showers were available. Entrance to the resort cost $12 for the whole day, which didn’t sound so bad for a shower and unlimited soaking.

I arrived about an hour after the resort opened. From my parking space, I could see the outdoor swimming pool (into which is pumped the spring water) and the two smaller hot pools. The entire outdoor area was overrun by shrieking, splashing junior high school kids.

The woman working explained to me that the kids were on a field trip and would be there for another three hours. My plans for relaxation shot, I decided I still wanted a shower.

I descended the stairs to find a locker room that looked more “poor school district junior high school” than “resort.” It didn’t look dirty so much as decrepit. The colors were drab. The lighting was depressing. Small lockers lined two walls. One of the long benches was extremely warped, making the sitting surface angled instead of flat. The toilet stalls were claustrophobia-inducing, and when I sat on a toilet, it rocked. The shower stalls were separated by rigged up curtains that were too small for the job they were being asked to do. When I went into the stall, I found no hook for hanging my towel or robe and no shelf upon which I could place my toiletries.

I threw my robe and towel over the toilet stall wall which also served as one of the walls of my shower stall and hoped they wouldn’t get totally wet. I placed my shampoo, soap, and razor on the concrete floor and balanced my glasses on the shower head.

I hadn’t shaved my legs since I’d left the city. On my way to the hot springs, I had been undecided about putting on my bathing suit and getting into a public hot tub with my hairy legs on display. But as soon as I saw the mob of young teenagers, I knew there was no way I’d let them see my hairy legs.

So I got in the shower and began to shave my legs. I’d taken my glasses off because once they get steamed up and wet, I can’t see through the lenses. Of course, without my glasses, my vision is pretty bad. I can see that I have legs, and I know they’re covered with hair, but I’m working mostly by feel, with a little visual supplementation. It’s not a quick or easy process, and since I was going to put on a bathing suit (shudder!), I couldn’t stop at my knees. (Of course, I could and can do whatever I want with my own legs, but since I did not want to discuss my leg hair with a bunch of 12 year olds, I gave into peer pressure involving strangers who weren’t even my peers!)

While I was doing shower shaving yoga, packs of preteen girls were in and out of the locker room without adult supervision. There was much shrieking bouncing off the metal lockers. At one point a girl pulled back my curtain to see who was in the shower. I’m not sure what parts of my anatomy she saw, but I feel like it’s not my fault if she’s scarred for life since I didn’t invite her to open that curtain.

On the plus side, the water coming from the shower head was hot and plentiful, and it did feel good to scrub up.

I went back to the “resort” earlier this week for a shower and a soak. When I got down to the women’s locker rook, there were no curtains around the shower heads. Good thing I’m not shy, I thought as I stripped. I noticed that the ceiling above the shower area looks old and the paint on the concrete floor is peeling. I also noticed what looked like cobwebs covered in dirt (or maybe plant matter) stuck to the wall of the shower area. Gross!

As I was getting into my swimsuit, one of the workers came into the locker room and started spraying some kind of chemical cleaner on the shower wall. She apologized for the lack of curtains and said she had taken them down so she could clean. When I cam back from soaking, the curtains were hanging again, still too small for the job they were asked to do.

I had to drive out of my way for the second shower I paid for. The city I usually go to on my days off doesn’t have a truck stop, but there’s a Love’s Travel Stop about twenty miles north. I spent the night in my van in the parking lot, then  went inside around 6am for my shower.

I was half afraid I’d be asked for trucker credentials or called out as an imposter, but instead the woman at the counter took my $11 and gave me the key to my shower room, which was anticlimactically wonderful. The door locked securely. The room (which included a sink, mirror, toilet, and shower stall) was private and sparkling clean. (I didn’t see one speck of dirt, mold, or grime anywhere in the room.) I was given two blue towels and a blue washcloth to use. The shower stall had a shelf for my toiletries and unlimited super hot water. There was no limit on how long I could use the room, so I took  my time scrubbing up, drying off, lotioning, and dressing.

The third shower I tried was at an independently owned truck stop on a different route to Babylon. A co-worker mentioned to me that the Shell station at a certain crossroads had showers, and sure enough, when I pulled into the hot and dusty parking lot, the letters on the side of the building proclaimed “Propane Showers Fuel.”

I went inside to scope things out. The lone worker was mopping the restrooms. The merchandise on the shelves looked old. The whole place seemed tired.

Another customer was waiting to pay at the counter. I joined him. The mopping worker bellowed for assistance. I think he was shouting a name, but I couldn’t be sure. No one materialized.

The worker washed his hands, then helped the guy in front of me. When it was my turn, I asked the cost of the shower. The worker said I didn’t need a shower. (I think that was his way of joking or maybe flirting.) I told him I did need a shower, and he said it would be $10. I told him I’d get my stuff and be right back.

When I came back in, he took my $10 and gave me the key to shower room #3. To get there, I had to walk to the back of the convenience store part of the establishment, through a doorway, and past a droopy, dingy couch that must have been the trucker’s lounge.

The shower room reminded me of countless scummy cheap motel rooms I’ve stayed in. Part of the plastic plate around the light switch was missing. When I unfolded the threadbare towel on the counter near the sink, I saw a faded black stain on it that looked like a smudge of engine oil. A bottle of shampoo and a bar of soap left by a previous shower client were sitting on the back of the toilet. I opened the cabinet doors under the sink just to see what was stored there (more towels? cleaning supplies? gold?) and found that the particle board floor of the cabinet had gotten wet and partially disintegrated, but no one had bothered to gather and throw away to broken, blackened chunks. The entire room was dingy and poorly maintained.

Then I slid open the door to the shower stall. The stall was spacious with ledges to set my toiletries and two little bench areas where I could sit to shave my legs.

The shower stall was also filthy.

It looked not as if truckers had been showering there, but as if the diesel mechanics who worked on the trucks had been showering there.

Have you ever brought your car to a repair shop and used the restroom while waiting? Did you notice that the sink looked grungy, as if the washing of greasy, dirty mechanic hands had stained the sink to the point that no amount of scrubbing was ever going to bring it back to gleaming white? That’s how this truck stop shower stall looked.

But I was there, and I had paid. By that point I was as hot and dusty as the parking lot, and I really wanted to clean up. I was once again grateful for my purple shower shoes. And I did not let my butt touch either of those benches.

I don’t typically go through my life worrying about being raped, but being naked and wet and having my glasses off makes me feel vulnerable. I wondered about the security of the door’s lock, which was the kind on the doorknob, probably easily jimmied or kicked in. I wondered if the worker had another key that he could use to let himself in. I didn’t like that the shower rooms were isolated from the busy part of the building. Resolved to fight if anything scary went down, I started scrubbing my dirty self.

When I began my shower shaving yoga, I wondered if there were hidden cameras filming me. Would I end up on the internet? Probably not. There probably aren’t enough women showering there to make installing hidden cameras worth the time and effort. In my particular case, there’s probably not much of a market for fat, wet, naked, middle-age lady hidden camera video footage.

Once I was scrubbed and dressed, I had to pass the front counter to get out of the store. The worker asked how my shower was, and I lied and said great while thinking (Scarlett O’Hara style) As God is my witness, I’ll never shower here again!

When I go to Babylon, I’ll drive the extra miles (and pay the extra dollar) to shower at Love’s, where the room is clean and the door locks securely.

 

To read more about how I stay clean while living in my van, go here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/06/17/adventures-in-cleanliness/, here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/07/09/adventures-in-cleanliness-revisited/, and here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/07/12/another-adventure-in-cleanliness/.

Jun17

If I Knew the Way…

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If I knew the way/ I would take you home

–from “Ripple” by Robert Hunter

I’ve been working in the parking lot since Memorial Day Weekend, and again and again tourists have asked me How do I get to…?

Usually they want to go to Babylon, or MegaBabylon, but sometimes it’s Northern Babylon and yesterday it was Babylon Springs. Sometimes a tourist just throws a number at me: How do I get to the 342? (or whatever).

When my co-worker is around, I let him field those questions. He’s lived in the area for years; he knows how to get places. But after he leaves for the day, the tourists are left with me and sketchy knowledge of geography.

The other day, a tourist (I think he was European) driving a big, rented RV asked me how to get to MegaBabylon. I said I was sorry, but I didn’t know. I told him I was new to the area, and didn’t know how to get from where we were to where he wanted to be. He looked at me as if looking at me long enough would cause the answer to pop into my brain. I suggested he look at his map. He told me he didn’t have a map.

Come on! Who comes from Europe (or Maine or Alabama or wherever) and rents an RV, but fails to pick up a map? Who takes a trip to the mountains without first getting directions home from Google  Maps or Yahoo Maps or MapQuest or one of the other internet sources of maps and driving directions? Obviously many tourists do.

People probably think they can get directions on the go, like they do in the city. Probably many of them don’t realize how far into the wilderness they are going, don’t realize they’ll be lacking constant internet and cell phone services. And since GPS devices are often wrong, even in the city, they can’t really count on those things either.

(Side note: The parking area is a one-way loop. Drivers pull in and are determined to go the wrong way because their GPS is telling them to go left, even though real live human people are gesturing–and sometimes shouting–that the car needs to stay to the right.)

Since I’ve been working at the parking lot, I’ve heard my co-worker give directions to Babylon and MegaBabylon enough that now I can more or less do it too. I also found a map in a free info guide for tourists which shows the area we are in and how to get out. I’m learning, but the company I work for gave me zero training in helping people get where they’re going. I wasn’t provided with a map to use to help people either. (My co-worker has a good map of the area. He got it from the Forest Service and paid $10 for it. No way am I forking out $10 for a map.)

The company seems to think my job entails nothing more than collecting $5 from each car that parks and then handing that money over to my supervisor.

The tourists, however, want more than that from me. They want me to get them home.

Jun15

I Am Not Disgruntled

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I realize that in my writing I often come across as disgruntled. Generally, I am not. I am particularly fortunate this summer. I’m living and working in a beautiful area, high in the mountains, surrounded by huge green trees. I wake up to bird song instead of the annoying buzz or beep of an alarming clock. I can do my morning chores whenever I want, so if I’m moved to write for a while before I get out of bed, I can. I get along with my co-workers and my supervisor. The majority of the people I meet are friendly and polite.

Unfortunately, true stories about friendly and polite people don’t have the punch of stories about jerks and idiots.

A friendly and polite people story would go something like this: The campers who stayed on site 6 last night were pleasant and caused me no problems.

Or maybe: Today a driver had the $5 parking fee ready when she pulled into the lot, and she handed it to me with a smile.

Also: When a man and his young-adult son paid their parking fee, the son handed me a $10 bill and said they also wanted to pay the fee for the next strangers who pulled in.

I will do my best to work these positive folks into my stories, lest my readers think I am perpetually grumpy and negative.

I did have a positive experience last time I was in Babylon. I stopped to fill my gas tank on my way out of town. The young man working the counter at the gas station/convenience store was bubbling over with positivity and good cheer. He was obviously a person who saw the glass as half full and wanted to offer a drink to everyone he met.

I think I saw his positivity first in the way he greeted me when I approached the counter. I could tell he really meant the Hello or Good Afternoon he gave me. He didn’t mumble or look past me. He looked right into my eyes and spoke directly to me, while smiling BIG. The smile was on his face, and in his voice too. He wasn’t simply practicing good customer service. He really meant that smile.

I said something dumb, like You sure are happy, and then we were grinning at each other.

We spent a few minutes telling each other how life is short and how lucky we are, how really good life is. We were each preaching to the choir, but I walked back to my van smiling, feeling buoyant. This young clerk really lifted my spirits and reminded me of my great fortune in living this life of mine.

Jun13

Whackadoodles in the Parking Lot

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It wasn’t a very busy day in the parking lot, so three nutballs in four hours was actually a lot.

The first guy was driving a motorcycle; a woman was riding with him. He wanted to go the wrong way on the one-way loop. I was signaling (head shaking, hand gestures) no, No, NO! I walked up to talk to him, to tell him we don’t charge people on motorcycles, but to please not take up a parking space a car could use, to park somewhere small. He told me he wanted to park right over there, gesturing to the area he had been trying to drive the wrong way to. I said he could, but he’d have to go  around the one-way loop. He did not want to go around. I warned he might have a head-on collision if he went the wrong way and met a car coming from the other direction. He was adamant that he was going to go the wrong way, which made me adamant that he was not going to go the wrong way. The woman on the back of the bike was trying to convince him to go the right way, and finally he zoomed off in the direction of traffic.

I don’t know where he parked, but it wasn’t right over there, which I would have been able to see from my post in the front. I don’t know if they even walked the trail. I didn’t notice them walk past me to get to the trail, just saw them zoom off on the bike some time later. Maybe they just used the restroom and had a picnic (or an argument).

I’m not big on rules just for the sake of rules, and I don’t see myself as some kind of enforcer. However, it seems like a good idea to follow traffic conventions in a parking lot. If 99% of drivers are going one way, it seems stupid to me to try to go in the opposite direction just to save a few minutes.

However, the second whackadoodle of the day also decided to ignore the “one-way” sign.

I was collecting money from folks in another car when I saw him pull in. Instead of pulling in behind the stopped car, he sped his shiny grey car in the wrong direction, right past the “one-way” sign, and pulled into one of the front parking spaces. I turned around and watched the whole thing, all the while muttering no, No, NO!

After  I finished with the people I was helping, I walked over to the shiny grey car and stood right outside the driver’s door with a smile on my face and my pile of parking passes in my hand. The driver futzed around in the car for several long minutes. When he finally turned his head, he was visibly startled (he actually jumped) when he saw me. I just kept smiling.

The driver got out of the car, saying I had scared him. I kept smiling.

The man’s short grey hair was stylishly tousled. His white shirt was unbuttoned too far down. He was handsome, but I could tell he knew he was handsome and used it to get his way, which made him significantly less handsome in my eyes.

He had a couple of big-eyed, sad looking children in the backseat.

I gently told him he had just gone the wrong way on a one-way loop. I continued to smile at him. I also told him there was a $5 parking fee.

He pulled out a wad of cash and started fumbling for a $5 bill. He said he’d been driving a long time and was very tired. He said he hadn’t understood the sign. He said–repeatedly–that he was sorry.

I was tempted to tell him he shouldn’t be driving if he was so tired. I was tempted to tell him he certainly shouldn’t be driving if he couldn’t understand a sign reading “one way” with an arrow pointing in the direction he needed to go!

I did tell him he needed to be careful in the parking lot because there were many children and dogs darting about. That’s usually enough to make a normal person drive carefully, but this guy actually looked around and said, Where? Where are they? I realized he thought he was some kind of big shot, and he was accustomed to doing whatever he wanted.

At that point, he’d extracted a five from his wad of cash, and I took it from him. He was (insincerely) apologizing, and I said breezily, All is forgiven, as I walked away.

I think he knew exactly what he was doing when he pulled into that spot. He thought he was going to bypass the parking fee and get a space near the front of the lot. I thwarted at least half of his spoiled-brat-man plan.

The last whackadoodle of the day was in the passenger’s seat.

The car pulled in, and I walked over to speak to the driver. When I asked him if they were here for the trail, he was like, Huh? What? Is that where we are? I couldn’t tell if he was kidding or if he really didn’t know where he was.

The man in the passenger seat started yelling at me. Are you really going to charge me to take a picture of a tree?!?

I stayed very calm. I said, Oh, no, there’s no charge to take pictures.

I turned my attention to the driver, and told him, You can drop him off here, circle around the loop, and pick him up after he takes his photo.

This idea did not go over well. The passenger started yelling at me again. He couldn’t believe he had to pay to take a picture of a tree!

I calmly explained that it was free to walk the trail and see the trees, that the charge was for parking. I also said again that he was welcome to get out of the car and take a photo while the driver made the loop.

Then I realized the asshole thought he was going to bully me into letting them park in the lot without paying.

I told them if they wanted to park for free, they could exit the parking lot and look for one of the dirt turnouts on the side of the road. I told them it was free and legal to park in those areas. Those guys suddenly got very nice and friendly and thankful–total attitude change.

I don’t understand why they didn’t simply ask me if there were any free parking in the area. It would have saved us all some time and grief, but I think the jerk was hoping for a fight.

To read more stories of the parking lot, go here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/07/07/bill-clinton-rude-lesbians-and-a-hypocrite/ and here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/06/09/parking/.

Jun12

Another Story of No Money

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Early Saturday morning (before eight o’clock) a car pulled into the campground. I was cleaning a fire ring, so I walked over to talk to the people in the car, two young men, just out of their teens (maybe). I asked if they were looking for a spot to camp, and they said they were.

I only had one campsite rented, two brothers on a bucket list trip who’d rolled in the previous evening. The first brother was driving a newer, red Corvette. He balked when I told him the fee for camping was $22. He thought that was too much to pay for a campsite. He asked if there were an AARP discount, and made a face when I said no. I asked if he had a Golden Age pass. He did and was happy when I said it would get him a campsite for half price. He was less happy soon aftter when I had to break it to him that there would be a $7 extra car fee for the 1936 International his brother (who wanted to share the campsite) was driving.

Hey! I understand wanting to save a buck. I live to save a buck. But it’s a little difficult for me to feel sorry for an old white guy driving a red Corvette on a bucket list trip. If he wants people to have sympathy for his financial situation, he should probably leave his Corvette at home. And if he doesn’t want to pay a $7 extra car fee, maybe he and his brother should ride in the same car!

But I digress.

I told the young men I had plenty of room for them, the cost of a site was $22, and the campground had no water, no showers. The guy who’d been driving asked if we took cards. I said no, only cash and checks. Then he asked if there were any stores nearby. I told him about the one fifteen miles away, but said I thought it didn’t open until nine o’clock, and I didn’t think it had an ATM. I also said I didn’t know if they could get cash back with a purchase.

The guy who’d been driving said he had a card, but only $4 in cash. The other guy said he had no cash. I told them they could have a site for $4, and they got really excited. The driver hadn’t been camping in years, he said, and the othe rguy had never been camping. The driver wanted to know if they could have a fire (yes, in a fire ring with no sticks sticking out, no flames higher than their knees), and the other guy wanted to know about bears (none sited since I’d been there, no food in the tent, keep food in the car, don’t a fight a bear for food).

I went back a little later with the paperwork, and the guy gave me his $4 in cash. The other guy said softly, I wish I had something to give you, what could I give you… I had a strong feeling he was contemplating giving me weed.

Did I think he wanted to give me weed because we were in California and he was a young man? Maybe. But I felt a vibe, and sometimes I just know these things.

I’m glad he didn’t actually offer me weed. It would have been awkward when I turned him down. I haven’t touched the stuff in almost two years, and I wouldn’t want to have it in the van while I’m doing this job. There wouldn’t be a point in having it. I’m not going to smoke it. (I hate feeling paranoid. I hate coughing. I hate feeling stupid.) In other circles, I’d know who to give it to, but here? No idea.

Perhaps my uniform protected me from an awkward gift. When one wears long hippie skirts and sells hemp jewelry by the side of the road, people make certain assumptions about one’s habits. When one wears brown, polyester-blend pants and a polo shirt bearing the company logo, the assumptions people make are totally different.

Jun10

No Money

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A lot of people come to the mountain with no money.

I don’t mean traveling kids with literally no money. I mean city people who travel with only plastic, credit or debit cards, no cash. These people don’t realize that at the campground and the trail head, there’s no phone service, no internet access, no way to use a credit card save those old-school imprint devices that captured the card holder’s name and account number on flimsy slips of paper. (Do those devices still exist? Are they actually used anywhere, or do they fester in museums of late 20th century commerce?)

 

Early on the Saturday morning of Memorial Day Weekend, a vehicle pulled into my campground. I walked over to talk to them.

I asked if they had a reservation. They didn’t.

I told them I had a site available for that night only for $24. They asked if I took cards. I said no, cash only. They asked if there was an ATM nearby, a place where they could get cash. I said I didn’t think so.

They were really disappointed. They’d decided to go camping on a whim, drove out to the mountains figuring they’d find some place to stay, thinking their card would pay for whatever they needed.

I had to make a quick decision.

If a camper without a reservation says they don’t have the camping fee, I am allowed to take a lesser amount. If campers without reservations say they have no money, I am allowed to let them camp at no charge. I was not going to get in trouble for letting this family camp even though they couldn’t pay. But I could also turn this family away, save the site and hope someone with cash would come along.

But I decided to be a good person and let them stay.

They were so excited. They couldn’t believe I was letting them stay even thought they couldn’t pay.  They kept telling me how I’d made their weekend, and they wanted to know how they could make reservations in the future. I think they will be back, with money next time.

I’m glad to have a job that lets me help out people with no cash in their pockets.

Jun9

Parking

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In addition to my job as a camp host, I also work in the parking lot at a very popular trail head. It’s free to walk the trail, but there’s a $5 parking fee for folks who want to leave cars in our lot directly across from the entrance to the trail. Unfortunately, there’s not enough space for all the cars people want to park. A few more parking spaces have been added at the campground just down the road, but still, the parking area is inadequate.

I only got trained to do this job on the (cold, wet) Friday of Memorial Day Weekend. Fortunately, it’s not a difficult job.

A car pulls in. I signal the driver to come all the way down the driveway so other cars can pull in and get off the road. I tell the driver about the $5 parking fee. I collect $5 (making change if necessary) and hand the driver a trail guide and a day pass to hang from the rear view mirror. Then I send the car off to park.

The problem occurs when the lot is full, but the tourists keep coming.

On the Sunday of Memorial Day Weekend, people started packing in around eleven in the morning. The lot was already nearly full when a group of people in 15 to 20 cars started pulling in. The road in the parking area is a loop, and this group created a logjam while they sat parked in the driving area, waiting (and hoping) for other cars to leave.

About then, my (older, more experienced) coworker said there was no point in even letting more cars into the parking area. I stationed myself at the entrance to the lot and told folks who wanted to park their cars that we could not accommodate them.

Most people wanted to know where they could park. I told them they could try the campground, but I expected its parking areas were full too.

People began parking on the side of the narrow highway, despite danger and “no parking” signs. I told people it was illegal to park there and if a ranger came along, they’d probably get a ticket. Many people decided to take their chances.

I saw an older (fit and seemingly wealthy) couple I’d turned away from the parking lot get out of their car, which they were leaving on the side of the highway. I walked over to the man and explained: illegal–ranger–ticket. He said there was a “no parking” sign over there (pointing), but not where he was parked. I told him I was simply giving him information, he could make his own decisions.

He pulled out his wallet and asked how much he owed me.

I said, Oh, no sir. There’s no charge to park illegally. If I took your money, I’d be sanctioning your decision to park there.

Then I walked off, imagining how–if I took his money and he got a ticket–he’d tell a ranger or a judge he thought it was ok to park there because he’d paid a fee to an employee.

No way. Not this employee.

To read more stories of the parking lot, go here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/06/13/wackadoodles-in-the-parking-lot/ and here: http://www.rubbertrampartist.com/2015/07/07/bill-clinton-rude-lesbians-and-a-hypocrite/.

Jun1

Shack Up

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On the Friday of Memorial Day Weekend, one of the parties with reservations never showed up. When I went to bed on Friday night, no one had arrived to claim the site. When I woke up on Saturday morning, no one was camped on the site.

The reservation was only for one night, so I just thought Oh well. That was one less site I’d have to clean in preparation for new campers. I went about my business, not giving the people with the unclaimed reservations any more thought.

After a couple of hours working at the day use area, I went back to my campground. Campers were arriving, and I got busy checking them in. In addition to people with reservations, I was getting walk-up (actually drive-up) folks I had to turn away because I had no sites to rent. I was also seeing folks who just drove down the road to see what was at the end of it. Whenever anyone pulled up, my first question was “Do you have a reservation?” so I could either direct the driver to the proper campsite or break the news that there was no room at the inn campground.

A guy pulled up in a BMW and jumped out of his car. I smiled and asked him if he had a reservation.

He gave me a puppy dog eye look and said he had a reservations for the night before. I told him I was sorry, but I didn’t have any spaces available to rent on this night.

Then he said, Can I shack up with somebody?

He wanted to pitch his tent on somebody else’s campsite. (I hope he was planning to pitch in some dollars too!)

I told him I didn’t mind if that happened, but there would be a $7 fee if his car were the second on the site. He looked at me expectantly, and I told him I wasn’t playing matchmaker, he was on his own to find someone to let him share a site.

I went back to my work, as he drove to the back part of the campground. When I looked around for him, he was gone. I guess he didn’t find anyone who wanted to shack up.

May28

Bearanoia

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I wrote the following words in the middle of the night of May 22, 2015.

I shouldn’t have had that coffee. And I certainly shouldn’t have had the Dr. Pepper on top of it.

Sure, I had the coffee before 9am, and I drank the last of the Dr. Pepper by 5pm, but yes, I am so sensitive that I’m awake at 1am.

I read until 10pm, and then I did sleep some–fitfully–but now I’m wide awake. I finally turn on the Luci light and grab my notebook. I can’t lie in the dark another moment.

Why are noises so much louder in the dark?

Not that there’s much noise out here in the forest at 1am. Mostly I hear the popping and thumping of the van as it cools in the night air, but there are also sporadic metallic pings as water (actual raindrops or just the moisture of the fog dripping from the trees, I don’t know), hits the roof of the van. Farther off, there’s a steady dripping sound; I don’t know what or where it is, but it reverberates in the silence.

Black Bear, Eating, Wildlife, Nature, Big, Fur, HabitatDo I hear a bear, or is that the grumble and groan of my own belly? I honestly can’t tell in the quiet dark.

Yesterday when I got home from Little Babylon, night was falling, fog was settling in, and chill was wrapping around, so I cooked in the van. I left the doors open while I did it. Has the odor of food dissipated? Can the bear(s) smell the airborne molecules of my dinner? Will a bear try to rip a van door off in the night to get food that’s now in me?

Bear or belly?

Are those bear footsteps I hear? (What do bear footsteps sound like?)

I’m wearing the shirt I wore to cook in, which I just found out is a no-no in bear country. But if I took it of, it would still be in the van with me, still smelling of tofu and brown rice and peas. (What kind of hippie bear wants to eat tofu and brown rice and peas?) It’s not like I can lock my cooking clothes in the trunk. (No trunk in this van.) But if I’m wearing the cooking clothes, will the bear(s) attack me when it/they rip off my door, lured by the lingering scent of dinner caught in the fabric?

Shit! The paper cup I was drinking Dr. Pepper out of? It’s up front, on the floor next to the driver’s seat. I forgot to throw it away in town. I meant to throw it away as soon as I got to the campground, but I forgot about it again. Bears may not want tofu and brown rice and peas, but they sure as shootin’ want some Dr. Pepper and can probably smell the sticky sweet remnants clinging to the sides of the cup.

Should I get out of the van and walk through the foggy, drippy dark to deposit the cup in the trash can? That seems riskier than staying put.

Trash cans. The trash cans out here are not bear-proof, so it seems easier for a hungry bear to go for a trash can smorgasbord instead of attacking my van which harbors nothing but the faint smell of food. Attacking the trash cans would be so much easier. A trash can in the (bear) hand is worth two girls in a van…

My friend who communicates with angels would say that all this attention on bears is going to make the angels think I want a lesson, and they’ll send a bear my way. I actually address the angels aloud, ask for protection against bears, say I don’t need a lesson, no thank you.

Should I turn on the radio? A classic rock station comes through clear way out here in the trees. Music would mask and distract me from every little noise, but if a bear is indeed snuffling around out there, maybe I do want to hear it.

Don’t think about bears.

Don’t think about bears.

Don’t think about bears.

I locate my whistle. Bears don’t like loud noises. Right? I’d wear the whistle around my neck, but because it’s plastic, the circle used to attach it to things broke when I had it on my key ring in the city. Why didn’t I get a metal whistle before I came out here? Where can I put this whistle so I can find it immediately in the dark?

2:20am

I heard that bears are most active at 4am. Are bears just now waking up, yawning and stretching, thinking about where to get breakfast? I think of the Berenstain Bears and the super annoying cartoon bears on the Charmin commercials. (Who thought it would work to have cartoon bears sell toilet paper? I guess we’re supposed to get the reference to bears shitting in the woods, but as far as I know, bears don’t wipe their asses. Why would I trust a bear to tell me what toilet paper I should buy?) However, if I do see a bear tonight (or any other night in the woods), it’s not likely to be cartoon cute or friendly.

I just want to see a bear from a safe distance. I just want to see one way over there. I do not want to see a bear ripping a door off my van so it can lick the dried Dr. Pepper from the sides of a Burger King cup. I do not want to see a bear eating my shirt.

I just want to sleep. Sleep. Sleep. I just want to close my eyes and sleep.

Folks camping in bear country where there are no bear boxes could use a bear canister for added piece of mind and a better night’s sleep.

Image courtesy of https://pixabay.com/en/black-bear-eating-wildlife-nature-1972228/.

 

 

May27

Update: Made It Through Memorial Day

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I’m settled in and feeling happier.

We had fog and cold on the Thursday afternoon/evening/night before Memorial Day, and Friday was miserable with fog and rain and cold and mud. The weather improved on Saturday (sunshine!) and Sunday and Monday were gorgeous. I even took off my long underwear and jacket by 10am on Monday and wasn’t cold again until after six that evening.

I started working at the parking lot at the trail head, which makes my work day fly by. I get to talk to people there, so I’m not as lonely, and I feel less isolated.

My co-worker at the trail head is a snarky older guy, but we get along fine. I laugh at his negativity, and I think he’s impressed that I’m not lazy. When the parking business is slow, I perch my butt on the old school metal garbage can, but when it’s busy, I hustle from car to car.

On days when we expect many tourists, the camp host down the road picks me up at my campground and drops me at the trail head (then transports me home later), so my giant van doesn’t take up precious parking space. She and I are getting along well. She likes to talk, and I try to be a good listener, which I think she appreciates. She actually has some good stories. She’s worked for the company at campgrounds on the river for nine previous summers. She’s mostly been on patrol, cleaning restrooms at, picking up money from, and checking on campgrounds with no host. She’s told me about the three dead bodies she’s encountered and the woman who almost died due to some combination of overheating and drug use. She’s also full of handy tips, such as: spraying cheap nonstick cooking spray on the insides of the toilets will keep the shit from sticking.

I consider her a work friend, and I’m glad to have one.

My campground was booked solid for Memorial Day Weekend, but some people never showed up. No-shows make my life easier. We hold those sites in the event the party arrives later, so I don’t have to try to rent them, and I don’t have to do paperwork for them. Once the reservation expires, I don’t have to clean the campsite, because no one’s been on it.

The campers who did make it to the campground all behaved themselves. There were no disgusting messes left in the restroom for me to clean. No one complained about noisy neighbors. No one tried to stay past checkout time or left trash on their site.

The natural beauty here is amazing. I’ve seen trees in many different places, but the trees here are the tallest, the biggest, the most majestic. So gorgeous! Even in the cold fog, it’s lovely here, but when the sun comes out, it’s a special kind of spectacular.

Of course, I don’t know what the summer holds, but right now, my life is good.