Let’s jump back in time a bit . . .
When the crew and I first drive up Highway 89 last Thursday, we continue past the BLM land that is now our home. I want to stop at the Escapees’ North Ranch in order to empty tanks before setting up camp.
I park in the huge parking area and leave the crew in the PTV.
I’m about to walk to the office to pay the fee when a car pulls up.
“Hi, I’m the Dutchman!” the driver calls across the passenger seat. I stoop to look in the window and say hi in return. “That’s my Casita parked over there.” He points to one of the hook-up sites. “I’ve boondocked for a while and now I want hook-ups.”
“Well, I’ve heard of you before,” I reply. “You comment a lot on the Casita forum, right?”
“Yeah, my name is Ed. You wanting to dump?”
I introduce myself and say, yes, I do.
In a few minutes we’re inside the office but the counter is closed for lunch. I look at the clock. It won’t reopen for another 15 minutes and it’s a very hot day. The dump station is locked so I can’t start the dump until the office reopens.
Ed graciously shows me the recreation room next to the office.
Musicians are setting up. “You could stay for the jamboree, they’ll be starting soon.”
“I can’t stay,” I remark. “It’s hot and I’ve got dogs in my van. I’ll have to come back another time. Thanks anyway.”
Ed walks me out while I continue. “You know how it is when you’ve been driving and haven’t set up in a campsite yet. I’m on a mission.” Ed smiles and tells me it was nice meeting me.
“Nice meeting you, too, Ed. Maybe I’ll see you when I come back.”
Monday, March 18 (four days later)
Jupiter must be aligned with Mars or something because I make it all the way to this morning and haven’t emptied the tanks and there hasn’t been a disaster.
This day is much cooler than last Thursday for which I am thankful. I pack up and secure everything in order to tow the BLT to North Ranch.
On the way out of the BLM acres, my head swivels back and forth looking for the horses, but I don’t see them.
I open up the gate over the cattle guard, drive through, and close the gate behind us. Then I take our lives in my hands pulling out onto the 65 mph Hell’s Highway to make the short drive.
The office is open!
The pretty manager, Linda, greets me with a smile and a cheerful “Hello! How are you?”
I respond in kind, and pay $10 for the dump station fee and to fill the fresh water tank. I look around for the Dutchman (Ed). I see the door to his Casita is open, but I don’t want to drop in. It might not be a good time.
Okay, so we’re back on Hell’s Highway heading home . . .
Before I attempt to drive across the oncoming lane to park at the cattle guard and gate, I turn on my left turn signal and apply the brakes. The PTV/BLT begins to slow. Just as I turn the steering wheel — I still can’t believe this happened — the guy behind me chooses to IGNORE the left turn signal and the brake lights. He jerks his car into the left lane and races past me! I almost turned left right into him!
I was all set to turn!
This guy assumed I would see him in my mirror as he quickly swung out into the left lane, and I would stop turning to let him pass by. Fortunately for both of us and my crew, I did see him.
I’m astounded by his recklessness.
What did he save? A minute? Thirty seconds? He risked his life, limb, and vehicle, not to mention what he could’ve taken from me, in order to arrive somewhere not even a minute sooner. Boy, am I glad I’m out of the rat race. Now if I could figure out a way to stay away from the racing rats . . .
Remember the illegal immigrant post a few weeks ago?
I wrote about an RVing couple boondocking in the Darby Well Road area near Ajo, which is 40 miles from our border with Mexico. An illegal immigrant knocked on their door. (The post is “So An Illegal Immigrant Knocks on Your Door”.)
I asked readers: What would you do in such a situation? Several of you responded and the discussion was thought-provoking and fun to read.
I promised I would let you know what the couple did.
Well, they gave the man a drink of water and sent him on his way.
Then they called Border Patrol.
rvsue
rvsue and her canine crew 