Day #10 of #RRBC’s #ADayInMyLife 30-Day #Blogging Challenge! @maurabeth2014 @RRBC_RWISA @RRBC_Org @Tweets4RWISA #RWISA

January 11, 2023 THE CAMPER CAPER

Today, Class, we are going to talk about Campers.

You know, Recreational Vehicles (known as RV’s), sometimes called “motorhomes” at the high end of the group, also “campervans,” fifth wheels,” “trailers,” or or at the lower end of the array “Pop-up’s.” George and I have had one from each end, so to speak, so let’s see how we fared, shall we? We will start at the lower end.

When Beth was still in grade school, we got a small Pop-up. I don’t remember where we got it, probably from someone George knew. It was used but pretty nifty. It had a little stove and sink arrangement, and a big bed at each end. There was a little fold up table that we could arrange across from the stove, and pop-up benches. We thought we were in heaven. For our first trip we went to a campground in Pennsylvania (this was George and I, our daughter Beth, and two enormous dogs we had at the time – one of whom was certifiably nuts – Czar, a German Shorthaired Pointer – and sweet Shannon, a pretty Irish Setter who usually looked like she was thinking “how did I get myself into this?”) Czar was an escape artist and well-known in our neighborhood and Shannon, rescued from a shelter, was just happy to sleep on our couch and go for car rides.

So, we set off to Pennsylvania, somewhere up near the Pocono mountains, as I recall, in lovely, sunny, autumn weather. The Pop-up was trailing behind us and we were all cozily ensconced in the car admiring the scenery, even Czar. Soon, however, the weather changed, and as we approached our destination, storm clouds gathered overhead. I chewed my lip as I shot a glance over toward George. Were we making a mistake? As an aside note, Shannon was a dog who loved going for rides in the car. But she drooled, big time. When I took her anywhere, which I often did, I would have to wipe down the inside of the car afterwards. I had forgotten about that but was reminded as she rested her head on the back of my seat and my sweatshirt got damper and damper. Oh, well. No matter, I’d change when we got to the campground. Little did I know how wet I could be.

As we drove, the clouds drew darker and darker. By the time we reached the site, a full-blown storm was in progress, complete with howling winds and driving rain. The campground, which we had envisioned as a leafy, mossy, green hideaway (this was before the internet – that’s how it looked in the brochures) revealed itself to be a muddy, brown, bare-branched expanse that looked like the movie set for a slasher movie. Not many other campers were there. George had to maneuver the camper and car, in this rain, into a spot and get us all set up, open up the pop-up, get everything settled. Of course, I felt I should help him, so there we were, getting drenched and slipping in the mud, while Beth stared out of the car at us, flanked by the two dogs, an expression of dread on her face.

We stayed the weekend, and a messier, muddier campground and camper you will never see. The weather never did clear, and of course, we had to frequently walk the dogs, who tracked more mud into the camper. Thank goodness there was a store, lighted and heated (it had grown cold) where we could go and poor Beth could at least get comic books and candy and spend some time. That was one of those times that, when we arrived home, everyone thought it was the best place in the world to be.

Ah – memories . . .

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