Thursday, February 27
“Spikey. What happened here little boy?”
It’s early morning. Spike gets up and jumps off the bed. He leaves behind a circle of dampness on the quilt. Out the door he goes.
Oh the poor guy. He wet the bed. He slept so soundly he didn’t know he needed to go outside during the night.
I pull back the quilt and am relieved to find it didn’t seep down to the cushion.
This isn’t the first time Spike has had an accident.
A few nights ago he had a lesser incident. I was able to wash out the corner of the quilt and dry it outside. Not so easy this time. Well, it looks like we’re going to the laundromat today.
By mid-morning we’re in Quartzsite.
First I drive over to the naked bookseller’s store. I say hello to Paul, drop off a passel of paperbacks, and pick up one to take.
Next I pull into the large laundromat on Main Street.
After walking Bridget and Spike around the parking lot, I put them back into the Perfect Tow Vehicle and gather up my quilt, rugs, and basket of laundry.
The place is hopping! Thursday must be the day to do laundry among the people of Quartzsite. I find four empty washers and load them up.
I didn’t eat breakfast and now I’m hungry.
I go around to the front of the building which houses a restaurant. As I’m sitting by the window eating a chicken salad sandwich, a collision occurs out on the street between a pick-up truck and a car.
The lady in the car does not get out.
Apparently she took quite a hit because the front quarter-panel on her car, right up the steering column, is smashed in. Her front tire is flat; the rim is on the pavement.
Soon a police car and emergency vehicles arrive.
The paramedics extricate her from the car, load her onto a stretcher, and take her away in the rescue van.
Meanwhile, back at the laundromat, competition for dryers is heating up.
Luckily I score the last three dryers. I go outside to check on the crew. I come back and wait. The quilt and shams are done, so I take them out to the PTV. (There’s a reason I’m giving this detail.) Eyes are on my dryers.
I stand in front of my dryers, ready to empty them as soon as the rest of my laundry is dry.
A lady waits alongside me with a cart full of wet clothes. She has dibs on my dryers. Suddenly, an altercation breaks out between a white-haired woman in a pink shirt and a young woman wearing dreadlocks.
I had seen the younger woman come out of her hippie-decorated van earlier. She is absolutely livid.
She corrals the manager and points.
“I turn my back and that woman over there dumps my wet clothes out of the dryers and puts hers in!” she exclaims angrily. “She thinks she can do anything she wants!”
I don’t know who is at fault in the situation.
I tend to empathize with the young woman. Maybe because I went out twice — to check on the crew and to load the quilt — and I would’ve been fit to be tied if someone messed with my laundry in those few minutes I was gone.
Plus the young woman did have possession of the dryers.
The young woman pulls her wet laundry off the table and drops it on the floor at the feet of the woman in pink. “What? Do you think your time is more valuable than my time? I’ve been here for hours!”
I don’t hear the response of the retiree in pink, but whatever she says, it doesn’t placate the irate woman. If anything, the situation is escalated. The woman in pink must be mortified. The manager intervenes. I ignore them and fold my laundry.
I just want to get out of there.
What a morning! Spike wets the bed, a woman is injured and hauled off in an ambulance, and there’s a fight at the laundromat. What next?
Bridget and Spike — bless their hearts — are happy when I return to the PTV.
I drive across the street to the grocery store.
Again I leave the crew to wait. I buy them a bunch of spare ribs for $3.63. The butcher separates the bones for me. When I go outside, I see a Tab travel trailer parked next to the PTV.
A moment later, two women come out of the store.
“Is this your trailer?” I ask.
“Yes, it is,” one of them responds.
“Would you be interested in a Bal leveler? I notice you have 14-inch tires. I have a Casita with 15-inch and the leveler doesn’t work well with it.”
The women aren’t familiar with a Bal leveler, so I get it out and show them how it works. “I’m not trying to sell it. I want to get rid of it because I don’t use it and it adds weight.”
They tell me they’d like to have it.
We exchange names.
I tell them about this blog, and I ask if I can take a photo of their trailer. I find out their names are Iris and Laura from Indio, California. (I think they said they’re sisters.)
“We’re with “Sisters on the Fly.”
“Oh, yeah, I know that group,” I remark as I get the camera out of the PTV.
“You’re welcome to join us if you’d like.”
“No, no thanks. I like to camp by myself.”
Laura compliments me on my sandals and asks what kind they are. “They’re Keens. I love ’em. They give you good traction for hikes and your feet don’t get hot.”
To make a long story short . . . well, it’s too late for that.
I leave them the Bal leveler and they’re happy to receive it.
Iris thanks me and smiles. “I love when serendipity happens.”
“If you find you don’t like it, give it to someone else in your group.”
“I’ll pay it forward,” she promises.
On that happy note, I hop into the PTV, toss two bones back to the crew, and get us the heck out of Quartzsite before something bad happens.
I THINK IT’S PRETTY DARN NICE THE WAY PEOPLE REMEMBER TO SHOP AMAZON FROM MY BLOG. THANK YOU!