Not Every Day Smells of Roses

I often tell people it takes three times as long to do something when living in Beagle; first you have to take out whatever you are going to do, then do it, then put it away.  But today was a record.  Today my six minutes of shower time took me almost an hour.

If I do not have a sewer connection at my pitch, I will use the campground showers.  The showers vary greatly from the lovely stone and tile one found in an RV park in Amado, Arizona, to the rather, let’s just say, rustic version found in most state campgrounds.  Morro Bay was no exception in the rustic category and, because of the cold nights, you had to use one token (which equals 2 minutes of water) just to get it warm enough not to lose your breath.

This morning, with my next few nights completely unknown to me, I knew I had to take a long, hot shower before hitting the road; long enough to shave my legs despite having just done so the day before.  This, I knew, would take three tokens.

After our morning walk, I packed the dogs into the car, gathered my fresh, clean outfit, my towel and my shower supplies and headed over to the campground shower.

I began to get undressed, remembered that I might as well put in the first token while changing so the hot water might be ready when I was, dug into my shower bag, only found one token—this despite having purchased quite a few just two days ago from the camp host.  Big sigh.  I put my clothes back on, gathered my towel, clean clothes and shower bag and walked to Beagle for some quarters to buy some tokens from the machine.  (This is a good time to tell you that I had only four hours of sleep last night and, those of you who know me, know this is an issue.)

I return to the shower block with my quarters.  The machine does not take quarters, it only takes dollars.

I return to Beagle, drop all my shower things, take my four quarters and walk 200 yards to the ranger station.  Buy two tokens, walk back to Beagle, pick up my towel, clean clothes and shower gear, return to the shower block.

Begin to get undressed.  I hear Wurzig’s alarm go off.  Get dressed, abandon my gear to fate in the shower room while I return to Beagle, get Wurzig’s keys, turn off the alarm and return to the shower block.

I put in one token to warm the water.  Get undressed.  Shiver until the water warms, duck under the spray, lose my breath, wash my hair. 

Time runs out.  Water shuts off as expected, but it still frustrates me, I put in token #2.  Begin shaving legs.

Get to second leg, water shuts off again and I say, “Mother fucker!”

And then this in my head:

Really Kit?  Mother Fucker?  Over something that you knew was going to happen and for which you are prepared?  Mother fucker?  What are you going to do on the road today when something unexpected happens?  Something for which you are not prepared?  And really, is this how you want to spend your day?

Then, oddly, I laughed.  No, I didn’t want to spend my day that way. 

Why don’t you stop focusing so much on the minor issues and try to look at something outside of yourself? 

I immediately thought of a surprise I have planned for a friend.  It was fun to think of getting that in motion and of their reaction when they see it.  And just like that my day turned around.

It turned around so well that I wasn’t even upset at the guy who tried to talk to me while I was dumping my tanks.  (Please people, I know Beagle is adorable but no one No One wants to shoot the shit while they are literally shooting the shit.  Please.)

And my mood stayed appreciative of my precious day in my one precious life right through the Bagel Scramble that was missing the scramble.  The sandwich made up for it by having avocado, tomato and sprouts; something uniquely Californian.

So now you find me camped at El Capitan State Beach, wondering why on earth I ever left Morro Bay.  But the campground is almost empty and, since I have to remain out of the Morro Bay Campground for 48 hours before being allowed back in, will likely spend two nights here despite the lack of cute town, dog friendly beaches and almond milk lattes.  After all, I had a great welcome:  I was standing at Wurzig’s open passenger door, taking a drink from my canteen when a gust of wind slammed the door back into me, thrusting me forward and spilling water all down my front.

I am very appreciative of that piece of chocolate cake in my refrigerator.   And, later, my gin.

It will be nice to spend two days in this unplanned environment.  There might be no dog park or almond milk lattes, but there is also no pressure to take advantage of those experiences; a good time to further contemplate the area between fate and free will.

-K

PS:  As bad as this morning’s shower experience was, it was not the worst:  That happened six weeks ago when I came out of a shower and realized I had forgotten my towel.  So my choice was to dry myself with my dirty clothes or my clean clothes.  Do me a favor, if you have access to a hot shower, take a long one for me.