Friday, September 25
“Ya’ know, Bridge? I could go for another cheese-lettuce-and-tomato sandwich. That would taste so good. Only I don’t have a tomato. We need to go to town.”
Lately I’ve craved CLT sandwiches.
I have one for lunch every day. The little grocery store in Circleville, a few miles from Junction, sells tasty tomatoes.
“C’mon, Reggie Man. In you go.” I toss him into the Perfect Tow Vehicle. “You, too, Bridgie Baby.” I place the crew’s water dish behind the passenger seat and lock the Best Little Trailer. “Everybody set?”
I climb behind the wheel and turn the key.
Click-click-click-click… Dead. I try again. Yep, that’s dead.
Well, this was bound to happen, sooner or later. Here we are in the forest and the PTV won’t start. Probably the battery. Or maybe the starter. Or what the heck do I know? I know it won’t start.
“Out you go, Reggie. Out you go, Bridgie Baby.” Darn!
I evaluate the situation.
I could call Good Sam Emergency Road Service. Lord knows how long that would take, way out in the boonies like this. There’s no phone signal here and it’s a good four miles before I might possibly be able to get the phone to work.
It’s a funny thing.
I could camp in this lovely place for several more days and be happy as can be, lazing about with the crew, taking walks, reading, puttering around the BLT, and whatever. We have everything we need — water, propane, food (no tomato, wahh!) . . . the tanks don’t need emptying . . . Yet knowing that we CAN’T go to town makes me HAVE to go to town… today!
“Okay, crew. We’re on a mission. Let’s go!”
We walk up to the campground. I knock on the door of the Class C and no one responds.
They’ve gone somewhere in the car that followed the Class C here. They could be gone all day. Why didn’t I bring a note for the door?
Back at camp, I try the PTV again.
Nothing. I sit in my lounger to contemplate and sip water while the crew laps at the water dish.
Okay. We’ve walked up the hill. Next we will walk down the hill. It’s the weekend. Someone will be in our old campsite by the spillway. And this time I’ll bring a note!
Bridget refuses to go.
“Okay, be that way. C’mon, Reggie.”
There are two rigs in the campsite by the spillway and no one around. We leave a note and trudge back up the hill to wait.
Gee, I could go for a cheese-lettuce-and-tomato sandwich right now. *sigh*
A very nice couple, Kirk and Chris, and their friend Craig, another nice person, arrive at our campsite about an hour later. They read the note I left at their campsite. Soon a jump start has the PTV purring again!
I leave the engine running, pack up, and hitch up.
“Goodbye, Camp Charming! It’s been swell!”
I figure we’re better off if we return to civilization. When I mentioned to Kirk that I’m going to move us to the RV park in Circleville, he said, “Oh yeah, go there. It’s very reasonable. You know the grocery store in front of it? The woman’s father-in-law is a mechanic. You can tell her and she’ll have him come over and check your battery. He sells batteries.”
Small towns. Gotta’ love ’em.
To this day I haven’t a clue what the name of it is. It might not have a name yet. It’s brand new. For $18 a night you get electric and water and lots of gravel.
That’s okay. I like horses and, well, they have to poop. The crew and I settle in. I hook up the 30 amp plug and turn on the air conditioner, which works great. Circleville is lower elevation than our charming boondock and thus it’s hotter.
I leave the crew basking in the cool air and walk up to the grocery store.
I make arrangements for the father-in-law to check the battery. I’m told he’ll come over tomorrow, even though it’s a Saturday.
“He just lives up the street a few blocks.”
Next to the grocery is the Circleville Cafe.
I order a pepperoni pizza and return a half-hour later to pick it up.
It’s been years since I’ve had pizza and this is a good one. All is well in my world.
Around sunset another horse is put in a pen nearby. Several times during the night the horse outside our window whinnies to the other horse, the sound of which, each time, lifts me and Reggie up a few inches from the bed. Bridget doesn’t stir.
The poor horse is probably lonesome.
Saturday, September 26
“Ahhh . . . Nothing like the smell of horse poop in the morning.”
The guy never comes to check the battery. I don’t care. I have internet connection, I have air conditioning, and I have denial. Denial works very well for me. I eat leftover pizza, I walk the crew around town taking photos and enjoying the day, and I don’t give the dead battery another thought. I’ll deal with it another day.
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