Today's drive was rough. Driving rain and heavy winds, horrible roads with no shoulders. Cars crossed double-yellow lines to cross me. One of my solar panels came loose. But the biggest challenge of the day came when I tried to end it.
I found a Wal-Mart in Southeast Washington and decided to stay there. As I arrived, I noticed two other RVs, which didn't seem that promising given that it was already about 8pm. I noticed an absurd number of signs forbidding overnight parking. But I saw a glimmer of hope in the fact that the signs also claimed that unattended vehicles would be towed. (My vehicle, of course, would be attended!)
I went into the store to announce my intention to spend the night. Two employees heard my announcement and told me that ain't happening. Apparently whatever city I was in passed an ordinance prohibiting sleeping in RVs within city limits because all the meth users in town -- apparently a high number -- used to live in RVs near the city center and get hopped up on meth, creating a public nuisance. Us law-abiding RVers with intact teeth were collateral damage.
I was in luck, the Wal-Mart employees told me, because the city up the road didn't have that ordinance. I drove 15 miles back from whence I came, repeated the process, and was informed that this city too had just passed a similar RV-meth ordinance. Strike two.
This came as a heavy blow. I was exhausted and a little demoralized from having to backtrack. But Lady Luck was on my side once again, because the scruffy, mustachioed Wal-Mart employee that broke the bad news told me he knew just the place for me to spend the night: Coffin Road.
Coffin Road was an exit off the freeway (just past the first Wal-Mart I visited) that had absolutely nothing on it. There were a few abandoned farms along the road, but their owners were long gone, my scruffy adviser assured me. It was just the place for me to pull over and get some shuteye. "Nothing but you and the coyotes," he promised. (He pronounced it "KI-otes," just as all the folks up here say "crick" when the mean "creek.")
So I decided to drive to Coffin Road. On my way, I stopped for my unpteenth burger of the trip. I ask my waiter what he thinks about my plan to sleep just off Coffin Road. "Do you have a gun?" he asked. I said that I did, in fact, but I asked whether it was to defend myself against humans or animals. He smiled and walked away. I have no idea why he did that, or what it was supposed to mean. Ominous.
I stick to the plan. I go pass Wal-Mart 1, get off at the Coffin Road exit, and turn left. As I'm turning, I notice a beater pickup truck with two occupants idling under the overpass. Double ominous. I drive 20mph down the road though the speed limit is 50. Coffin Road is indeed abandoned. It also has no shoulder -- at any point. Just past the road, the slope is severe, totally inhospitable to my gigantic RV.
I continue down Coffin Road for five miles, until it dead-ends at a similarly abandoned-seeming road. But there's good news. A little bit up the way there's a dirt road that seems reasonably flat. There's a big sign stating that it's a private road, but I back the RV up it anyways, hoping that I can get some shuteye without causing any trouble.
It takes a long time to orient my giant bus on the edge of the dirt road. Each time, I have to get out, survey my surroundings, and plan further adjustments in my parking spot. Each time I exit my vehicle, I'm slightly more spooked. It's very quiet, but the spot is exposed to traffic from both Coffin Road and the road it dead-ends into.
As I'm surveying my next set of parking adjustments -- I shit you not -- lightning strikes in the distance and thunder rumbles. Hooch starts barking furiously inside the bus. A car appears in the distance and cruises right past the bus.
I'm spooked. I immediately drive 35 miles further to yet another Wal-Mart, this one in Oregon. It too exists in a city that has prohibited RV sleeping. But I've nestled up pretty close to a semi who's breaking the rules, too. And two cops have already passed me without bothering to stop.
My takeaway from all of this is that RV parks really aren't so bad. But meth sure is.
I found a Wal-Mart in Southeast Washington and decided to stay there. As I arrived, I noticed two other RVs, which didn't seem that promising given that it was already about 8pm. I noticed an absurd number of signs forbidding overnight parking. But I saw a glimmer of hope in the fact that the signs also claimed that unattended vehicles would be towed. (My vehicle, of course, would be attended!)
I went into the store to announce my intention to spend the night. Two employees heard my announcement and told me that ain't happening. Apparently whatever city I was in passed an ordinance prohibiting sleeping in RVs within city limits because all the meth users in town -- apparently a high number -- used to live in RVs near the city center and get hopped up on meth, creating a public nuisance. Us law-abiding RVers with intact teeth were collateral damage.
I was in luck, the Wal-Mart employees told me, because the city up the road didn't have that ordinance. I drove 15 miles back from whence I came, repeated the process, and was informed that this city too had just passed a similar RV-meth ordinance. Strike two.
This came as a heavy blow. I was exhausted and a little demoralized from having to backtrack. But Lady Luck was on my side once again, because the scruffy, mustachioed Wal-Mart employee that broke the bad news told me he knew just the place for me to spend the night: Coffin Road.
Coffin Road was an exit off the freeway (just past the first Wal-Mart I visited) that had absolutely nothing on it. There were a few abandoned farms along the road, but their owners were long gone, my scruffy adviser assured me. It was just the place for me to pull over and get some shuteye. "Nothing but you and the coyotes," he promised. (He pronounced it "KI-otes," just as all the folks up here say "crick" when the mean "creek.")
So I decided to drive to Coffin Road. On my way, I stopped for my unpteenth burger of the trip. I ask my waiter what he thinks about my plan to sleep just off Coffin Road. "Do you have a gun?" he asked. I said that I did, in fact, but I asked whether it was to defend myself against humans or animals. He smiled and walked away. I have no idea why he did that, or what it was supposed to mean. Ominous.
I stick to the plan. I go pass Wal-Mart 1, get off at the Coffin Road exit, and turn left. As I'm turning, I notice a beater pickup truck with two occupants idling under the overpass. Double ominous. I drive 20mph down the road though the speed limit is 50. Coffin Road is indeed abandoned. It also has no shoulder -- at any point. Just past the road, the slope is severe, totally inhospitable to my gigantic RV.
I continue down Coffin Road for five miles, until it dead-ends at a similarly abandoned-seeming road. But there's good news. A little bit up the way there's a dirt road that seems reasonably flat. There's a big sign stating that it's a private road, but I back the RV up it anyways, hoping that I can get some shuteye without causing any trouble.
It takes a long time to orient my giant bus on the edge of the dirt road. Each time, I have to get out, survey my surroundings, and plan further adjustments in my parking spot. Each time I exit my vehicle, I'm slightly more spooked. It's very quiet, but the spot is exposed to traffic from both Coffin Road and the road it dead-ends into.
As I'm surveying my next set of parking adjustments -- I shit you not -- lightning strikes in the distance and thunder rumbles. Hooch starts barking furiously inside the bus. A car appears in the distance and cruises right past the bus.
I'm spooked. I immediately drive 35 miles further to yet another Wal-Mart, this one in Oregon. It too exists in a city that has prohibited RV sleeping. But I've nestled up pretty close to a semi who's breaking the rules, too. And two cops have already passed me without bothering to stop.
My takeaway from all of this is that RV parks really aren't so bad. But meth sure is.
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