Singing in the rain

I slept late this morning, but I really needed it—I knew I had a long drive ahead of me, and I didn't want to be tired when doing it. The rain continued until about noon, then tapered off to a fine, misty drizzle. There were no leaks from the vent which I'd covered last night, but I did find some water accumulating near the curb side of the rear window—the area that was damaged in a collision by Gertie's first owners. I still need to find a way to reseal that window properly.

After a breakfast of granola and fresh blueberries, I spent several hours bringing my journals up to date and answering email; in fact by 1:30 p.m. I was still sitting in my pajamas typing! Again, I knew it would make me late, but I felt it was very important to set down my impressions of the past couple of days while they were fresh in my mind. I carefully vacuumed the carpet, which had accumulated some dirt during yesterday's "open house"...and then proceeded to track in even more dirt as I prepared to leave.

Finally I got showered and prepared to leave. The batteries were showing well over 13V after being plugged into "shore power" all night. In this case it literally was shore power—the outlet I was using was at dockside, intended for boaters. I'm so unused to plugging in—normally my solar panels provide all the juice I need—that although I remembered to unplug Gertie's cord from the outlet, I very nearly drove off with that cord still dangling! I only remembered at the last minute, and had to get out and stuff it back into its storage compartment before driving off.

I stopped near the park entrance and dumped both tanks—the gray water was about 90% full, so I would not have been able to shower another day without dumping—and then filled up the fresh water tank. The Ohio state park campgrounds use a dangling overhead rinse hose at their dump stations instead of the more common waist-level faucet. I imagine they do this to avoid the possibility of waste-contaminated water being siphoned back into their water system, but it prevents me from using either my toilet wand or my HydroFlush external attachment to wash out the black tank thoroughly after dumping, and I worry about bits of toilet paper and stuff clogging the tank sensors. I should note that I do use anti-backwash valves, so there's no chance I will contaminate the water supply—Ohio's dangling hoses are not the only way to ensure that.

No sooner had I pulled out onto the highway than I spotted a service station, and I figured even though I had 3/4 of a tank of gas, I might as well start the day on a full tank. And while I was pumping gas, I noticed a self-service "Dr. Suds" car wash behind the gas station. I'd been wanting for months to wash the crud off Gertie, and this place had one really tall bay that I figured might fit. So I pulled around the back and stopped just outside the entrance of the tall bay, then got out and visually checked to make sure there'd be enough clearance. There was, so I pulled inside. Then I changed into my brown "dirty work" jumpsuit—I knew I didn't want to try this while wearing khaki pants and a beige shirt!

I fed five quarters into the slot and was startled by a recorded voice bidding me "Welcome to Dr. Suds!" I had visions of high-pressure water effortlessly blasting off all the grunge the trees have dropped on Gertie while she's been parked near my house...but it turned out that I was naive. That stuff is really on there! By setting the machine to its highest pressure rinse cycle and holding the end of the wand about an inch (!) away from the surface, I was able to get off maybe 75% of the accumulated crud. After going through $2.50 worth of quarters and cleaning only a few square feet, I concluded that this was a job that would take considerably more time, elbow grease and money than I had to spare this morning. So I gave up and headed east, bound for Barkcamp State Park at the eastern end of Ohio.

It was a long, drizzly afternoon of driving, mostly on I-70—I had planned it that way, as there isn't much to look at besides cornfields and the occasional grain elevator, and I needed to make good mileage to make up for my ridiculously late start. I switched on the iPod and sang along with old Beatles tunes from the "Hard Day's Night" album...then some of those same tunes as performed by the a cappella group "The Bobs"...then settled down to listen to some stories by Garrison Keillor, including his hilarious retelling of "Casey at the Bat" from the point of view of the other team. You can get the pungent flavor of the piece from the conclusion:

...and now the Dustburg pitcher stood majestic on the hill
He leaned in towards the plate, and then the crowd was still.
He went into his windup—he kicked and let it go
And then the air was shattered with the force of Casey's blow.
He swung so hard his hair fell off, and he fell down in disgrace
And the Dustburg catcher held the ball, and the crowd tore up the place.
With Casey lying in the dirt amid the boos and jeers
We threw wieners down at him, and other souvenirs.
We pounded on the dugout roof as they helped him to the bench,
And we ran out to the parking lot and got a monkey wrench
And found the Mudville bus and took the lug nuts off the tires,
And attached some firecrackers to the alternator wires.
We rubbed the doors and windows with a special kind of cheese
That smells like something died from an intestinal disease.
Casey took his sweet time, but we were glad to wait
And we showered him with garbage when he came out through the gate.
So happy were the Dustburg fans that grand and glorious day
It took a dozen cops to help poor Casey get away.
We grabbed hold of the bumpers and we rocked him to and fro
And he cursed us from inside the bus, and gosh! we loved it so.
Oh, sometimes in America, the sun is shining bright
Life is joyful sometimes, and everything seems right
But there is no joy in Dustburg—no joy so pure and sweet—
As when the mighty Casey fell demolished at our feet!

Late in the afternoon I passed a Gertie-sized motorhome pulled off on the shoulder with flares set out behind it, and caught a glimpse of an Escapees sticker on the back as I whizzed by. Eager to help out a fellow SKP, I pulled over and then backed up as best I could on a very narrow shoulder to see whether I could assist. Turned out the fellow had blown an inside rear tire, and was just waiting for AAA to show up, so he thanked me and I headed off, feeling mildly virtuous even though I hadn't actually done anything.

The route to Barkcamp State Park that Street Atlas had laid out for me looked easy—no small towns or county roads, just straight east on I-70 and then a couple of miles off the interstate to the park. But as soon as I got off 70, things turned screwy. The route took me a mile or so up route 40 and then told me to turn south on a road that was so small I drove right past it. It was about one and a half lanes wide, and I headed up it with considerable misgivings. Then Street Atlas told me to turn left onto what was obviously a cowpath. Uh, I don't think so!

At this point, still having seen no road signs for the state park, I decided that it was time to turn back. I managed a K turn in somebody's driveway entrance (glad that I'm driving a 22' rig rather than a 26.5-footer, and doubly glad that I'm not towing a car!) and headed back to a steakhouse I'd seen on Rt. 40. I pulled into their parking lot and called the state park on my cell phone. A very pleasant young woman gave me excellent directions, and following them I was able to find the park in the darkness—which was good, because there were very few signs for the park, and they were almost impossible to read in the gathering gloom.

I signed in and she told me where the campsites were. Expecting the usual routine, I asked her whether she wanted me to go pick one out and then come back and tell her what number it was, but she said "No—I just want you to go up there, find yourself a nice site and get some rest. You don't have to be out of here until 4:00 tomorrow—you're all paid up through then." I was surprised and very grateful, as this back-and forth routine can be quite cumbersome when I'm tired and it's dark. I found my way to a campsite with some difficulty due to the darkness (the area is heavily wooded) and parked on a nice level asphalt apron. I would have hooked up to the electric power, but I had driven in nose first—I didn't trust myself to back in, tired as I was—and the power box was on the wrong side. I do have an extra-heavy-duty extension cord, but it just didn't seem worth the trouble to haul it out.

After I'd gotten parked and settled in, I felt suddenly exhausted. I fixed myself a dish of rotini with pesto sauce and fresh broccoli, put on a Mozart horn concerto and checked my email...then spent an hour writing up the day's events. And now I'm more than ready to drop into bed...just as soon as I send my cousin Hugh an email to confirm that I will arrive in Pittsburgh tomorrow afternoon.