I can’t take it any more.
I’m all for people having fun on the weekend. I just don’t want to hear them. A Minnie Winnie parks in between our shelter and the lake, and runs a generator ALL day. A teenager on a motor bike revs the engine while riding around the campground loop several times. People take short-cuts so close to our shelter causing Spike and Bridget to bark hysterically. Loose dogs get them going, too. The loud talking, the motor boats, the road noise, all of it . . . It’s too much.
Sometimes I need quiet.
When Spike and Bridget see me grab the keys to the PTV, they’re on their paws, ready to go! I can tell how Spike’s muscles and joints are working by his success or lack of it while trying to jump into the PTV. Today he’s a spry little guy, jumping high and clear, no problem.
We’re off to explore the other side of the dam!
Once we drive over the dam, a right turn puts us onto a dirt, deeply rutted, one-lane road, very steep and winding. It takes us up and over the hill to another campground near the dam’s spillway and Beaverhead River. It’s a brushy, worn-out campground, the sites consisting of warped picnic tables and fire rings. If the road weren’t so difficult, I would’ve camped over here for the weekend. At least it’s quiet. I see one truck camper and two tents. Some fishermen’s vehicles are parked next to the spillway.
A chipped and faded sign reads “Wildlife Viewing Area.”
The three of us follow what used to be a paved lane and is now a burgeoning wildflower and weed garden. We walk about a mile and on the return, Spike starts to droop.
He spies a pool of water fed by a stream gushing out of the rocky face, and yanks me down the embankment. I slip and slide in my sandals, pulling Bridget along with me, and land on my behind. Spike goes in the water, lapping it up, unconcerned.
Warning: Quick topic change ahead with no transition
Tomorrow (Monday, the 20th) I’ll drive up to the Dillon post office. If the vehicle registrations are in, the crew and I will break camp on Tuesday. If they haven’t arrived, we have to break camp on Tuesday anyway (14-day limit).
In the latter case, I’ll move us up to Barrett’s Park, a fishing access place where people can tent or squeeze into one of two, very short, rv spots. Barrett’s is about 10 miles north of here on I-15, and about 9 miles south of Dillon. I hope I don’t have to do that because it means parking with boat trailers all around us . . . plus I’m anxious to get going!
I’ve decided the crew and I will go to Oregon!
Two considerations led me to this decision. One: It’s smoky all around here, in Idaho, and in Utah, too, so wandering around southeastern Montana and to the south is not appealing. Two: I don’t know what the future holds — none of us does — and I want to take the opportunity now, while I have my health, the money, and the gumption to go!
Then I can die happy. Ooh, that’s a bit dramatic, don’tcha’ think, rvsue?
I like Tioga George’s creed.
In 2003 he hand-wrote it on a scrap of paper and taped it to his bathroom door. It’s still taped there. Years ago George’s simple and powerful creed inspired and encouraged me. I hope he doesn’t mind me printing it here:
“I don’t run away from my dreams because of my fear of what might happen. I have faith that, no matter what fate brings me, I shall overcome.” — Tioga George
You may prefer “life” or “God” instead of the word “fate.” However you change that word, the secret for a full life remains.
Canine Corner: “My Creed” by Bridget and Spike
“No matter how many times Big Mouth Bridget squeals on me or gets on MY nerves with her holier-than-thou attitude, I will be true to myself for all of my days. Oh yeah, and I’ll love rvsue, too.” — Spike