Whisper Words of Wisdom

 

Good morning!  A rare posting from outside of Beagle.  Let’s see, I think I left you after bleeding all over the Eastern Sierra’s.  (By the way, if you attempted that link but found it “missing”, it is back; Blogspot had removed the posting for review—apparently my references to bleeding caught the attention of a certain algorithm.  But it is back now for your reading pleasure.)

On what turned out to be my last day in the Eastern Sierra’s, I received a message from Wurzig that said, “Chassis System Failure, Please Park Car Carefully.”  Oddly polite for a German vehicle, but stressful none the less.  Alas, as had happened at home a month or so ago, once I stopped and restarted the car, the message went away.  (This has all the markings of another post in which I do not come off well in the car-intelligence department, particularly regarding Wurzig.)

But the next time I hitched up Beagle, as Wurzig was automatically adjusting the height of its rear end, I heard a low growl come from underneath the left rear tire area.  Time for a Porsche dealer.  Luckily, there was one in Reno, less than three hours’ drive away.  I contacted a friend who lives there for a recommendation of where to park Beagle.  He recommended the Grand Sierra Casino RV Park, located, you guessed it, just behind the Grand Sierra Casino.  They had a full hook up spot available so I jumped on it.

This actually turned out to be a nice break; the full hook-up spot allowed me to run the A/C for the dogs while I took advantage of the $30 “resort fee” and hung out at the resort pool, trying my best to swim laps around all the drunk people in the infinity pool.

Bright and early Monday morning I showed up at the Porsche dealer and explained my issue. 

              “Is the light still on?” the sub-par Porsche service agent asked.

              “No.”

              “Well, there is nothing we can do unless the light is on.”

              “Are you kidding me?”

              “No.  I checked with my lead technician and he suggested you come back in when the light comes back on—don’t turn off the car, just come directly here.”

              “What happens if it comes on at 10 PM?”, snarky.  I was not used to such poor service and clear lack of concern about my well-being from a Porsche dealer.  But sometimes in life you just know there is no point in going forward; I decided to cut my losses and call my favorite dealer in Santa Barbara.

Sure enough, Todd said, “Kit, if you can hitch up one more time without an error, just drive down here and we will figure it out.  It sounds like there might be a leak in your hydraulics and if so, you don’t want to be towing a trailer any more than you have to.”  That’s why they are my favorite.

Despite it being 11 by the time I cleaned out Beagle’s tank and hitched her up (without error), I decided to leave for home, assuming I would stop along the way.  But the quick way, down Interstate 5 for the most part, did not offer any viable stopping places so we just kept on going.  Thankfully, the last hour, when you get on Highway 46 out of Paso Robles and head west, the scenery is breathtaking.  While I was gone the vast open spaces had sprouted bright yellow flowers to highlight the rise of the green hills and I looked over all of that beauty as I caught my first glimpse of Morro Rock.

I prepared myself to be disappointed in having to come home early but, in truth, I was relieved.  Life on the road is more difficult for me right now as the blood thinners tire me so quickly and it is very difficult on River.  She has come to the point of waiting for me to lift her into and out of the car (and Beagle) but neither of us enjoy it very much.

We pulled in, the Noses hopped out and River did her circles in the grass while Opus flew from bush to bush, ears back, tail tucked, thrilled to be off leash.

-K

Excuse me, do you know you are bleeding?

 

Really dear Readers, how often do you want to hear that question in 24 hours?

Turns out life above 7,000’ (and attempting to hike in the 8-10,000’ range) does not work so well when you are taking blood thinners; it is a double-down on a lack of oxygen to your brain.  As Dr. Z told me, “Take it easy, you are trying to run a Ferrari on low-octane fuel.” 

Last summer, when I was unaware of my condition and trying to enjoy my No Expectations Tour, I had a difficult time wanting to hike, and that is not like me.  But every cell in my body just didn’t want to move, whether at altitude or not.  Now I know it was because my brain was trying to function on 30% of its blood flow and my body was trying to protect itself.  When I returned home, odd things were happening to me; experiences I was afraid were the onset of early dementia.  Like leaving the stove burners on, being unable to analyze financial data, play the piano, or tripping over a small rise in the concrete.

So now I know what to look for; you see, until my artery has attached itself to the pipeline stents, blood is still able to move around the stents and into the aneurysms.   A little is ok, too much causes me not to think straight and to witness the odd things happening again.  (In time, the artery will form a seal with the stents and no more blood will flow into the aneurysm causing the aneurysm to shrivel up and die.  At which point I can move off the blood thinners causing me to drink gin until I shrivel up and die.)  So, three nights ago, when I went to bed without washing my face or applying my delightful Yon-Ka cremes, and woke the next morning with a slight headache, I knew it was time to spend the day at lower elevations.  Kit without Yon-Ka is a very odd occurrence; I clearly needed more oxygen.

That morning I packed up the Noses and, leaving Beagle behind for the day, drove down to the Owen’s River Valley and just spent the day moseying from here to there checking things out.  As is usual in life, letting experiences come to me paid off immensely.

The Noses and I enjoyed lunch by Owen’s River (pictured above) watching the fly-fishermen.  There was not a sound in the air, the river, often without exposed rocks, soundlessly flowed through the valley; the fishermen intent on their peaceful task.  I knelt down to take the picture above, dropping Opus’ leash for a second when Splash!  Opus jumped into the water, chasing a bird.  He waded over to an island, climbed up and continued hunting.  I mouthed, “I’m so sorry” to the fisherman nearby who returned a good-natured shrug.  I whispered “Opus!”, “Come Bug!”  But, of course, nothing was getting him off the island until he was darn ready.

I sat on the grassy edge as the quiet fell around us again until Opus splashed his way back across. 

On the drive out from the valley I came across a community pool, closed at the moment, but open at odd hours for lap swimming.  The water looked clean and inviting, I made note of the hours.

Within a few miles of the lunch spot is Convict Lake and since I didn’t have to worry about parking Beagle, I decided to drive up and check it out.  It is a gorgeous lake with a lovely three-mile path around the shore.  Unfortunately, it was too hot to leave River in the car so we couldn’t walk it but I did notice the Trailer/RV Day Use Parking Area and decided, when I bring Beagle south, to stop in for a few hours and enjoy the lake hike.

I felt better down a few thousand feet but I had two nights left in Lee Vining so we drove back up to Beagle.

This being unable to spend my entire day hiking has actually been good for me; good for my healing brain and good for me to slow down, to focus on the moment, recognizing experiences that have surrounded me in this area for many years but that I have not noticed because I was so intent on hiking to That Lake.

Like the beautiful flowering sage brush.  A scraggly bush, scratchy and fierce, but blooms with the sweetest light pink flowers; the valleys are filled with it, the blossoms slowly blowing off in the wind.

And the deli at the Mobil station on Highway 120.  A famous spot that Alan and I stopped at a decade ago but were unimpressed.  I decided, since I had time yesterday, to give it another try.  The counter-person suggested the buffalo meatloaf.  Oh my, yes, that is totally worth it!  They served it with mashed potatoes, grilled broccoli and some au jus; I saved most of the meatloaf for a sandwich, carefully storing it in the back of Wurzig underneath my backpack, hopefully away from prying Noses.

Back at Beagle, it was laundry time so I set about getting that going as I headed to the campground shower.  It was shave day (have you been wondering when I was going to talk about shaving my legs again?) and this is much easier accomplished in a regular size shower.  While in there, it dawned on me that I left the Noses, together with the meatloaf, in Wurzig.  I began imagining them fighting to the death over something for which I would kill them both.  I rushed through my shower, cutting my legs multiple times.

And back to the blood thinners:  I bleed like no one’s business.  The tiniest scrape takes days and days to heal.  I hopped out of the shower with three bleeding cuts and no time to stop and apply paper to them—I had to save my meatloaf!  I dressed quickly, smearing blood as I pulled up my shorts, and hurried across the campground.

“Excuse me, do you know you are bleeding?”, asked a fellow camper, noticing the trails of blood running down my legs; two on one side, one on the other.

“Yes, yes I do.”

The Noses were sound asleep, my meatloaf safe.

This morning, my last morning at Mono Vista, I took the Noses on our normal morning walk through the sage brush, across the road and over to the Mono Lake Visitor’s Center.  I enjoy sitting on their benches overlooking the lake in the early morning, alone.  But I was not alone this morning:  I was greeted by a fellow walker.

              “Good morning”, he said.

              “And good morning to you”, I replied.

              “Excuse me, but do you know your nose is bleeding?”

Sure enough!  I thought it was just runny as I seem to be allergic to the aforementioned gorgeous pink blossoms, but wiping it with a Kleenex I realized he was right.  A slow, constant trickle as I walked back to Beagle and prepared her for drive day.  Between my nose and my legs, I looked like a human sieve.

As planned, I stopped off at Convict Lake on my way south, this time with Beagle, parking in the Trailer Day Use Area.  It was cool enough to leave River in the car as Opus and I walked the lake loop trail and marveled at the snow-speckled mountains and crystal-clear blue water.  (None of my pictures do justice to this lake.)  What a beautiful (and easy) hike.   As I walked, I thought how lovely it would be to have this be my morning walk so, back at Beagle, I drove through the campground and found a spot. 

I walked over to pay for the night and filling out the registration form for the camp host I heard,

              “Excuse me, do you know your finger is bleeding?”

Sure enough, I must have cut my hand while unhitching Beagle, blood was dripping down my finger.  Again, as Dr. Z has said, “You have one hell of a high pain threshold.”  I never felt a thing.

It is almost 7:00 PM, I have just returned from swimming laps at the community pool, the Noses and I are tucked into Beagle, the wind is fierce and likely blowing in a rain storm.  There is absolutely no cell service here, I started to play some downloaded music but realized I would rather stare at the mountains and listen to the wind.

-K

Fried Eggs with Mustard

 

This morning I pulled my house keys out of my pack to lock away into my suitcase; I would not need them for a while.  As I held them, a feeling of disbelief washed over me:  I can’t possibly own a house, can I?  It seemed so foreign!  Living in Beagle seems so right.  I had to take a minute and remind myself of all I left behind.  But I don’t miss a thing.  Well, I briefly missed Stella yesterday.

I left Bass Lake and traveled Highways 41 and 49 to Tuttletown Recreation Area, planning to spend two nights there.  The drive along Highway 49 was gorgeous:  It winds through the high mountains on the western edge of Yosemite; a well-built road with delightfully engineered curves and I thought about how much fun it would be in Stella.  I never had anyone in front of me and rarely anyone behind, perfect for a leisurely, scenic drive.  My side of the highway was quiet but there were plenty of cars coming towards me; I seemed to be heading in a different direction than most people.  I take this as a compliment.

It was 85 degrees when I arrived at the Tuttletown Recreation Area, I could not wait to jump into the water!  A giant reservoir with fingers and islands much like Lake Powell up in Utah and, like Lake Powell, a destination much more suited for boating than camping and swimming.  Sadly, as is true of most bodies of water in California, it is drying rapidly and it was a long, long, long walk down to the rocky shoreline.  But swim I did!  And a good long float on my back too before hurrying back to the Noses who were sacked out inside the shade of Beagle.  (With her windows open and the fan on, she stays very cool—thankfully nothing like a car.)

The Noses and I do not handle hot weather well; poor River especially could hardly move, so I knew I would rather not stay both nights.  If I had been unsure of my next location, I would have persevered but since I knew I was headed to one of my favorite places, I wrote ahead to see if I could arrive a day early.  The Kitness prevailed; they had a spot for me.

Following my disorientating experience with my keys this morning, I took advantage of the relatively cool morning and took Opus on the poorly marked but otherwise well-maintained hiking trails that weave and crisscross through the pines around the reservoir.  I was hoping to do at least three miles but managed to get lost so ended up doing four and a half.  It sure felt good!

Arriving back at Beagle, hungry for breakfast, I began to fry an egg.  Having just finished Hemingway’s The Garden of Eden, (for the fourth time, I believe), his character David popped into my mind; he was always putting mustard on his eggs.  I had and love Dijon, I love Hemingway in general and that book in particular, so I gave it a try.

And where has this taste been all my life?!?  This is going to be how I eat eggs from now on.  It was so delicious I wished I had cooked two.

We packed up and hit the road by 10:30, as the thermometer was climbing past 75.  This time of year, you cannot pass through Yosemite from west to east as Tioga Pass is closed so I headed up Highway 108 over Sonora Pass (picture above.)

Such a gorgeous drive!  I have done it before but not sure I have ever done it this early in the year; the snow etched into the mountain sides and fast flowing rivers dazzled me.  And, of course, my beloved pine trees with almost no underbrush so you can easily make out the giant granite boulders patiently waiting for attention.  Ahh, lovely, lovely drive.  I highly recommend it even if Tioga Pass is open; there are far fewer people and plenty of places to pull over and enjoy nature.  I pulled into an empty campground and the Noses and I enjoyed a picnic lunch.  River, being the only Nose off leash, raced around the shore of the river like she was six months old.  Opus glanced over with disdain.

And so here you find me for four nights, at the Mono VistaRV Park, a rare RV park experience for me but I have been coming here for years.  I have raved about it before so will just leave you with me sitting inside Beagle as the sun shines through the trees and into her windows, a strong, sharp wind is blowing, it is due to drop below freezing tonight (yes!) and I can hardly wait to fry another egg.

-K

PS:  Blogspot has alerted me to the fact that the email notification is not going to be supported after July.  Assuming I am still on the road you will have to add “check the Beagle blog” to your to-do list if you want more updates.  Or follow me on Twitter, I will tweet out a link.  @kitrinabryant

Let's Try This Again, Shall We?

 

My dear readers, I am so happy to be writing to you from Bass Lake, CA, sitting in the dappled sunshine of pitch #10, Forks Campground, having just finished my earliest in the season ever mountain lake swim.  Which makes it sound like I have been keeping track but really, I haven’t.  I just know that since I have owned Beagle, I have not swum in a mountain lake before May 7.  (Yes, it was cold but completely do-able if you swam parallel to the shore in the shallower water.  I even floated on my back for a while before the goosebumps took over.)

I have started out again for a long Beagle trip, the previous attempt last fall named the “No Expectations Tour”, lived up to its name as I never would have expected to end up in an ER and then spend the next six months in and out of brain surgery; that kind of accuracy is going to be hard to beat. 

So what shall we call this one?  I thought about the “Whenever Whatever Tour” as I don’t have a real plan other than to get out of the gloomy Morro Bay spring and into the fabulous Pacific Northwest, but Covid has made it difficult to just cruise into a campground and find an open pitch. 

It seems half the country has discovered what the other half already knew:  Camping is heaven.  And cheap.  So I left home with many more reservations than I normal hold; which actually aids me in keeping my blood pressure low; I don’t have to worry about finding a place to stop.  Life always knows best.

*

It’s fun to be out with people again.  Today, while filling up Wurzig, one of the three young men opposite me said, “That’s one hell of a car.”

              “Thank you”, I replied.

              “And that’s one hell of a trailer.”

              “Thank you again”, I said, then added, “And I am one hell of a girl.” 

Laughter abounded!  Laughter where you can see teeth!  All masks were down.  It was delightful.

              “I bet you are!”, he responded, and then more slowly with a slight hint of regret, “I bet you are.”

*

Ahh, it is six o’clock and the sun just moved between two branches to warm my face.  I smell the warm dirt and pine needles and taste the freedom.  This is my life!  Give me a second, I have to pinch myself.

I have not been cleared for full activity yet so my days will be speckled with walks and swimming which suits River just fine; she loves nothing more than a short walk and a long nap whereas Opus and I prefer long walks and short naps.  It will be a couple of months full of changing expectations and making adjustments to be sure.

*

Once the sun went down the temperature dropped quickly and I happily snuggled under my down comforter, thinking as I have often thought when going to sleep in an Airstream, I could be anywhere in the world, I have all I need, I couldn’t be happier.

I woke around 4 AM to the near freezing temperature, covered my head with the comforter, making a small tunnel for the cold air to reach my nose, and thought of a good trip title:  The Simply Let It Be Tour.  Part of it actually came to me last week in Maui, floating on my back over the gentle swells, I thought, “Maybe this is all I was saved for; this relishing the experience of living life on Earth.  Just let this be enough."

So I will endeavor to let it be.  Sam Harris might win after all; two and a half years ago I set out in Beagle determined to study the difference between free will and fate.  Let It Be seems to fall more on the fate side.

-K

PS:  After a lovely morning hike up Goat Mountain (yes, brother, a short lovely hike), a leisurely breakfast of left-over potatoes from Luciano’s fried up with an egg, we are headed to a new spot.  (Some things are the same, I do have an order of Luciano’s Duck a l’Orange in the fridge.   How I wish I had some lemon tart. :-))

At the Half

 

 

To the Rock Candy Girl who had a year much like mine.

Today is day two of three at the Morro Bay Campground, my first home in Morro Bay two and a half years ago.  Kismet, and all her elegance, rests a few miles away; I was there yesterday for Music Therapy, returning to Beagle after some soul enriching piano and a meditative walk along the beach.  I find myself wanting to live in Beagle awhile; take off (again!), enjoy the freedom, be curious about the unknown rather than fearing it as I have learned to do.  But I cannot leave; in one week I will enter the hospital for my third brain surgery in five months. 

Many of my dear readers have been with me for years so I will provide the barest of personal details; I know you will have questions.  I have been dealing with two brain aneurysms, the story is long and arduous and at times dark and hopeless; during this time everything I relied on to define my life has been disallowed and I found myself understanding how people become agoraphobic.  Fear, not of dying (you know me better than that), but of my artery bursting and leaving me paralyzed or it bursting while I was driving and perhaps then causing harm to someone else.  Insidious fear which took up residence just to the left of my heart and grew with every hesitation of movement.

And gone are my stress-relievers:  No tennis, no sprinting, no travel, no skiing, no hiking, no swimming, no laughing; I cannot even cry without worrying that my blood pressure is getting dangerously high (two of those I do despite the risks.) 

My surgeon wondered, during the initial diagnostic angiogram back in October, how it was that I am still alive, stating that normally a person would have died three times over; my internal carotid artery, as he put it, “decimated.”

So in between the surgeries and the long, slow recoveries as my artery adapts to life with metal, I found myself wondering Why indeed?  Most of you know my life; if I had died, even at the age of 55, people would have said, “Yes, she died young, but look at that life!  She lived.”  And yet here I am.  Hence the picture above; it is from my white board at home.  The Why.  The best I can come up with is that I simply haven’t seen what I need to see of this wonderful planet (some things I [greedily] want to see again) and I have yet to come home to my cozy cabin on a serene lake, nestled against protective mountains.

In the recovery room following my last angiogram, the nurse said to me, “Someone sure wants you to stay alive.”  And now, after five months, I can say that someone is Me.  She added, “Go home and be lazy, we will see you in two weeks for surgery.”

And so it is half-time of this sporting event; I am learning to be lazy and nothing slows me down like time in Beagle.  Rest, prepare, the third quarter will be starting soon.  Buckle up.

-K

The Ant Hill

 

East Table Campground, somewhere along the Snake River, WY

Have you ever seen an ant hill?  Not just a dedicated line of ants heading in one direction but a hill where there are multiple lines coming and going?  If you gazed down at Jackson Hole from above you would think you were looking at an ant hill:  It was positively teeming with people.  From all directions—out of Yellowstone, into Yellowstone, from the west (like me) and the south (like I was about to be.) 

And the energy was frenetic.  In town, everyone was masked and waiting in a line for something; coffee, dinner, shopping, or they were festering along the sidewalks like the Manhattan of old.  Sadly, this frantic energy flowed all the way out to the campground.

So, sitting in the check-in line the morning following my night in the parking lot, I looked around and thought, “This is not me.  These gorgeous mountains will be here when all these people are gone and I will return.”  I exited the line, waved to the nice gentleman who helped me last night, packed up Beagle and hit the road for places unknown.  (Two fellow campers both related that in over ten years of going there in October, this was the first time there was ever a line to get in.)

South, that’s all I knew.  I certainly wasn’t going to fight the throngs up around Yellowstone, Grand Teton was bad enough.   Using Campendium, I noted a few campgrounds along the Hoback River toward Bonderant and headed that way.

On the drive I realized that I had been on the road for only a week (it feels like a deliciously long time) but had already broken the No Expectations Rule:  I had a ton of expectations around Jackson:  I couldn’t wait to put on some none-hiking clothes and go shopping, eat a fine meal prepared by someone else and enjoy a cocktail.  All kinds of expectations. Sheesh.

I drove all the way to Bonderant, a beautiful drive along the Hoback River, noting that the campgrounds had been closed—and really closed, gates were across the road.  (Sometimes the National Forests “close” the campgrounds but leave the gates open so if you are self-contained you can still park.)  Closer to Bonderant I saw a number of dispersed sites along the river and, while enjoying lunch at the local café/gas station, tried to gauge my level of courage—was I brave enough to camp alone with no cell service in the middle of Wyoming?  During hunting season?  By the way, at the café, without any expectation of anything being edible, I found delicious coffee, a mouth-watering hamburger on a Brioche bun, and homemade kettle chips all served by a delightful lady who made me feel like I had just sat down in her kitchen.

During lunch I had one bar of cell service and in popped an email from a fellow Basecamper who reminded me to “stay adventurous”.  That made two votes for adventure so courage won out; I returned to one of the dispersed sites along the river (pictured above.)

It was a long, delightful afternoon in the sun.  I painted, read, walked and just enjoyed the babbling of the water over the rocks, the warmth of the sunshine, the smell of hot dirt, the comfort of the mountains surrounding me, and the ever-present taste of freedom.  Another lesson learned:  I chose to honor who I am by leaving that long check-in line and choose adventure.  I was glad I did.

Unfortunately this morning (Saturday) Beagle’s power jack refused to retract (it would still extend) which meant that I could not lift Beagle from her footing (for those non-trailering readers, this is a requirement to be able to drive away.) My first thought was to disconnect Wurzig and drive to a working cell location and call for help, but I could not get the ball to release from the hitch--I had extended the hitch too far up with the ball locked in place.     

So I sat with my immovable Beagle and her prisoner, Wurzig.  It was, literally, freezing out but Beagle was nice and warm and I was thankful that it wasn’t raining (or snowing!)  I knew there had to be another answer to this puzzle; I wasn’t about to go hitchhiking on the two-lane highway with two dogs.

Eventually I remembered that, during my buyer's walk-through for Beagle, the mechanic said something about some way to use some tool to manually raise and lower the jack.  (In typical Kit fashion, I don’t pay a lot of attention to the “just in case” stuff; I have roadside assistance “just in case”, yet another lesson learned.) 

So I dug out my owner’s manual, found the paper regarding the power jack and sure enough, in three short sentences I learned how to raise and lower the jack manually.  As a benefit, I didn’t need a special tool, the same one that raises and lowers the stabilizers also fits the jack.  (Just when I was wondering how I was going to keep my arms in shape during this trip!)  It was a bit difficult but I persevered.  What else was there to do? 

Thankfully I only had to lower it, I’ll let you know how it goes when I have to raise it—with any luck (and we all know I have that), the power jack will still work to raise Beagle so all I’ll ever have to do is lower it.  This is not a “must fix to keep going” kind of thing.  I can use my muscles.  Hopefully.

Tonight I didn’t have to raise or lower Beagle, she is almost completely level while still being connected to Wurzig.  I am camped next to the Snake River at the East Table campground, one of those aforementioned campgrounds that is technically “closed” but still allowing people to stay.  A bonus picture—the view out of Beagle’s front door to the Snake River.

Sometimes our government makes decisions that actually are for the greater good.

-K

Life Has My Back...And Sometimes My Front

 

Gros Ventre Campground, Grand Teton National Park, WY

I am currently sitting in the amphitheater parking lot of the Gros Ventre Campground in Grand Teton National Park.  It is a delightful 65 degrees outside so despite the parking lot atmosphere, I am enjoying an evening outside.  Why the parking lot?  Turns out there are about ten million people in Jackson, Wyoming right now.  Really, doesn’t anyone have to work anymore? 

All the campgrounds and RV parks are full—or claim to be, remind me to get back to that.  But first this:

Yesterday, I stopped for the night at the Massacre Rock State Park near Pocatello, Idaho.  A nice campground along the Snake River (pictured above) but good only for a quick stop; the traffic from the interstate is a constant buzz in the background. 

Beagle needed her tanks emptied so I pulled into the dump site on my way to my pitch.  It was about eighty degrees outside and I was dressed in my khakis and a long-sleeved t-shirt.  Now, my fellow campers know that cleaning out the tanks is never a pleasant task; it doesn’t get any better when you are hot and tired.  So, as I was laying out my hoses, wipes and gloves, I decided to strip down to my tank top while I did the deed.

Being hot and tired, I wrenched my t-shirt off, noticed that it caught slightly on my ear, and tossed it into Beagle.

This was one of those dump sites that (thankfully) have a hose for rinse water but the hose hangs about fifteen feet in the air on some kind of spring so that you have to pull it down and keep downward pressure on it while you run the water.  As I am doing this, I note the sign indicating it is not potable water (not unusual) and that, when I pull down on the hose, it leaks from that fifteen-foot peak.  

Yep, right down on my head.  

That’s when I glanced down at my chest to see how wet I was getting and realized that, due to it being my birthday, I had put on a sexy black-lace tank rather than my usual opaque cotton.

OMG.

Thank god there was no one behind me in line.

Later that evening, preparing for my shower, I noticed that I was missing one of my earrings and surmised that it must have come off when my t-shirt caught on my ear.  It was too dark to search for it at that point so this morning I walked the dogs back over to the dump station.  We searched but did not find it.  I was saddened as they are a favorite pair.

Back at Beagle I was doing a quick vacuum (yes, don’t laugh, you try camping with Opus) but decided not to vacuum my door mat as I had about five more trips in and out before we hit the road.  As I bent down to pick it up and shake it out, guess what I found?  Yep!  My earring.

See how lucky I am?

And my luck carried forward today; I pulled into Jackson with the other five million people and tried to get a spot at the RV park in town.  I wanted to have someone make me a cocktail, do some shopping and enjoy a small town for a bit so figured I could deal with an RV park for a few nights. 

Turns out they could not deal with me.  Despite the fact that they clearly had openings, the check in lady refused to give me one of them.  The park was filled with Class A’s and, I think, she didn’t think Beagle worthy.  At one point she said, “The one place I would stick you [I kid you not] is already taken, and it would just be a waste to park you in one of the large spots.”  A waste of what I had to wonder?  A waste of their perfect line of Class A’s?

(All of this was reminiscent of my time at the Tubac RV Park in Arizona two years ago…remember that?  After a day of doing laundry in my bikini top and shorts [come on, it was over 100 degrees!] the lady in the office asked me, as politely as she could manage, “You are leaving tomorrow, right?”)

Like the Tubac lady, this lady clearly did not enjoy me, the Beagle or the Noses so we headed here, the recommendation from my neighbors back in Lee Vining.  The “Campground is Full” sign was on full display as I pulled in so I just rolled down my passenger window and said, “I see you are full, I’ll just head up the road.”

The nice gentleman replied, “If you are heading up to the dispersed sites, you will find the road closed just ahead, they are sending cars back down.”

Of course that is where I was headed; I am not sure if it was my look of disappointment or the fact that River and Opus had their heads out the window getting a good rub from him, but he suggested I park here, in the amphitheater, and that he would find me a spot in the morning.  Then he wished me “a pleasant evening young lady.” 

He clearly enjoyed all of us.

It’s not bad here in the lot:  There are other campers, although few parked like I am (Mr. Nice Guy told me the secret of the second entrance so that Beagle’s windows and front door would look across the valley to the Tetons); my neighbors behind me have three young boys and they adore River and Opus so it has been a banner day for the Noses.

To top it off, I quickly found my Lee Vining neighbors, camped in a real site about two hundred yards away.  It was nice to meet up with them again and share my discovery of the Ruby Lake Wilderness.

A few nights here with (hopefully) lots of hiking then I am treating myself, not to the Four Seasons (too expensive and not worth it with the Noses), but to a cabin down in Alpine for a few nights.  Just in time for Sunday and Monday Night Football. 

You didn’t really think I was giving it all up, did you?  

I might even do some yoga.

I'll definitely do some laundry.

-K

PS:  As I am sitting inside Beagle doing my edits, the sun is setting in front of Beagle’s windows and behind the Tetons; the campground's deciduous trees are aflame with color and I couldn’t be happier.  Or perhaps more drunk...seems I feel the need to open some Sancerre whenever I am camped in a parking lot.