Fasten you seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen! Today’s post, written on August 5, will take you back in time to . . . .
Saturday, July 30
Bridget, Reggie, and I are camped at Clear Creek Reservoir dispersed camping area. The place is packed with people and their various forms of RVs, tents and vehicles. Even the trail along the river is populated with tenters.
Everyone seems to be having a great time doing whatever it is that they consider fun.
Yay! Look at me! I can drive up a rock!
“We’d better go someplace this morning, crew, or I’m sure to go nuts.”
Bridget gives me a look that says, “And this would be different how?”
“Never mind, Bridget. Get in the PTV. C’mon, Reg. We’re outta’ here!”
Twin Lakes, south of Leadville, Colorado
We motor northward and pull into a day use area at Twin Lakes.
“This is a great spot for our morning walk. It’s beautiful and it’s quiet.”
The crew is excited!
“Hang on a minute, guys. Let me pay the fee.”
I slip three bucks into a day use fee envelope and put it into the iron ranger.
Reggie leads the way down the steps to the picnic area.
We walk the shoreline. Reggie runs around, thrilled with a new place to explore.
After a while Bridget decides she’s had enough and returns to the PTV.
I’ve noticed that Bridget doesn’t like to be away from the PTV for very long when we are in a strange place. I suppose to her it means security. She patiently watches us and waits for our return.
The PTV takes us to a few other places along the lake. We see people fishing and enjoying the lake. Lazily we pass the morning . . . .
“Time to go home, sweeties. I need lunch. Did you have fun?”
On the way we pass Clear Creek Reservoir.
I take another picture of the scene I posted previously. The water is bluer today.
We return to find the area around our campsite swarming with people.
There are folks walking past the Best Little Trailer, yakkety-yakking, six or seven kids throwing big rocks at the boulders in the creek, squealing, yelling, pre-teen boys running around with huge water guns fashioned like automatic weapons.
That’s the BLT over there on the right underneath the antenna.
The crew and I hole up in the BLT. A few hours later Reggie insists on another walk.
As we pass by, John busts out of his motorhome.
“Hi, Sue! I’ve been wanting to talk to you!”
We enjoy an animated and totally delightful conversation. John, remember, is the man who welcomed us when we first arrived at the dispersed camping area. He’s leaving in the morning for Amarillo. I promise to see him off.
Later, there’s a lull in activity around our campsite.
“Aha! It’s quiet at the creek. Now’s our chance . . . . “
Bridget, Reggie, and I steal our way down the bank to the little beach and find two twenty-something girls across the creek, sitting in camp chairs in front of a campfire.
“Excuse me. Do you know there’s a fire ban right now?” I ask.
“So?” the one wearing glasses shoots back with a smirk.
“So that means no fires. Please put out that fire.”
In what she obviously considers a stroke of genius, she says, “This isn’t our fire. We found it and we’re taking care of it.” She giggles and adds, jutting out her chin, “Mind your own business.”
The other girl sits motionless, grinning at the fire.
“It IS my business. This is public land. In case you aren’t aware, there’s a wildfire burning right now, south of here. Last I heard over 14,000 acres burned and it will be weeks before it’s put out. I was down at Salida and met a man forced out of his home because of that wildfire. That’s why there’s a fire ban. You make a fire and firefighters risk their lives to put it out. Wildlife are killed, property destroyed.”
I wait.
Another smirk.
Okay, if that’s the way you want to play it.
I take the crew up to the BLT and return with my camera.
While pointing my camera at them, the girl wearing glasses sits up straight and exclaims indignantly, “You aren’t supposed to be taking photos! It’s illegal!”
“Look who’s worried about what’s illegal!” I laugh. “It’s a public place. I’m taking pictures of you and your fire.”
Just then the guy who is tenting next to us appears.
He tells me that earlier he asked them to put out the fire. He holds up his cell phone.
“You have five minutes,” he announces in a firm tone. “If you don’t have that fire put out in five minutes, I’m calling the authorities.”
Five minutes later the fire is out.
The two of them run through the trees on the other side of the riverbank, carrying their camp chairs.
Hmm . . . Why didn’t I think of that? I really need to use my phone more.
rvsue
NOTE: I’d love to join you in comments but staying online is difficult with a connection at camp that keeps dropping. (This post is coming to you from a parking lot in town.) Those days without a post were when we were camped out of signal range in the mountains.
Thank you for contributing comments under the previous post and for your kind words to me, the crew, and to each other. I hope to be able to join you later. — Sue
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Clear Creek
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