Well I did.
Actually when I left to drive here, I wasn't feeling well at all. The last campground which was called a "resort" wasn't exactly my cup of tea. I needed to be in bed getting well, but I didn't like the vibes nor the "resort". So I forced myself to drive away after 2 nights.
Spots were crammed in tight. The resort was in need of some serious TLC. When I arrived, the locked gates wouldn't open, so I had to block them then hike in, but it wasn't far. Then they made me go move the rig again before checking in.
They sent me to a pull-thru that is reserved for 30 feet and up only. My gosh, I could barely squeeze into it. Finding not one but two boards on the lot with big long rusty nails sticking out of them was a fright. My semi-new tires deserve better than this lot.
At least the sign gave me a giggle!
It was so crummy, even the dog didn't like the lot.
He did however get in a four mile hike to the garbage dumpster. It was uphill going but downhill coming back. I guess this resort was designed for people to drive their garbage rather than hike with it. I was so sick, poor doggy had to wait while I took numerous breaks. A few times I hugged a tree while he sniffed and piddled waiting for me to get my boost of energy to wobble to the next tree.
When I drove out in the morning, I had to use this cantankerous card to make the gate open and it took about 5 minutes for the gate to finally decide to read and accept the card. Then I had to get out again to deposit the card in a box since I wasn't coming back and the office was closed up tight.
The "resort" had an indoor pool but I didn't get to use it. I don't have a bathing suit, not sure they would appreciate me swimming au naturale.
A few months ago, I found my bathing suit in a ziplock baggy in the cabinet. I was thinking that suit was from circa 2008. I was going to try it on to see how ridiculous I looked, but when I stretched open the bottoms of the tankini, they stayed open! The elastic was shot. Bang. Dead. I didn't bother to replace the swim suit because my trips to the beach are typically in the spring or fall when it's too cold for this wimp to swim. I do wade around in the ocean because I feel the salt water is very healing on my feet and legs. Harley dog will skip and play with the tides and seafoam. It's a fun walk for us both but I use his 20 foot flexi leash so he can have more freedom around the tides.
Back to driving and aiming for the next campground... I picked one I had visited a few weeks ago because I met this most delightful nonagenarian who was living in the park with his RV, his dog and a bird. When I called for a spot I asked for the one next to his again. The manager on the phone sounded a bit amused or bemused that I was coming to visit their oldest transient.
If it weren't for him, there isn't much to draw me back to this particular park. But there he was, glad to see me and we chatted for awhile before I climbed back in bed to continue recuperating.
Today is Monday, I was planning to travel, but I've decided to wait another day. I need to continue healing. Plus it wouldn't hurt if I managed to organize this mess a bit better. Plus for some fool reason I cooked up a mountain of assorted dried beans yesterday yet I haven't finished with the final recipes.
I think I will divide the beans in half, then make two different recipes. Then I will divide them again and share with the nonagenarian so he has something to heat in his microwave when he feels like it.
non•a•ge•na•ri•an (nŏnˌə-jə-nârˈē-ən, nōˌnə-)►
n. A person 90 years old or between 90 and 100 years old.
US 33 crossing the Ohio River on the Ravenswood Bridge from Ohio to West Virginia