Monday, April 14, 2014

Turning Back from Merritt, British Columbia

In Merritt, British Columbia, I listened to Canice's voice message (see post 4/3 for backstory) about how it'd snowed four inches and because she had to work she wouldn't be able to hang out and it'd be better if I came some other time. Her timing couldn't have been better. Merritt had all the signs of being the southern terminus of Spring and, cold-wuss that I am, it was an easy decision... I made a u-ee & went south.

In Oroville, Washington, I stopped in at the grocery/Department Store for a new ice chest (I'd left mine at Steptoe State Park) and a few food items. Upon emergence I noticed storm clouds o'er the mountains, but my main thought was for water. 

Thinking the gas station across the street might have some, I angled across the highway aiming for their drive. Suddenly I realized I *had* to follow the curve to the right. And there, spread out below me, was the abomination that is, redeemed by its emptiness, the Osoyoos Veteran's Memorial Park...with full hookups as far as the eye could see.

My aversion to RV parks prompted me to check the dump station by the entrance. Sure enough, it had two. The sign said not for drinking, but I figured it *had* to be the same system as the hookups and filled up.

It was getting late and I was tired from all the driving. I checked the rates and noticed they had some cheap primitive sites. The only resident was a lone fifth-wheel ensconced in the center under the one tree of any size. As I began scanning for the primitives, I was confronted with a "One-way" sign. Contrary-r-us, it reminded me of looking down from my 7th floor room in downtown Chicago. It was 1:00 a.m. with absolutely no traffic on the streets. I laughed as a biker gang roared up to the light and waited, so law-abidingly, for it to change. I figured if they could do it, so could I. 

The primitives weren't among the spaces along the river where ducks and geese frolicked. But aside from the regimentation of the manicured lawn, the proximity of the spaces to each other, the total lack of privacy, the loud mufflers on the visitors to the adjacent day-use area, the blatting of the jake brakes from the trucks on the highway and the barking dogs at the nearby homes, it wasn't too bad. I reasoned that a mere hour of driving away there'd be quiet and headed for the exit. 

As luck would have it, I turned the wrong way. Less than a mile up the road at a point overlooking the mountains to the east where I was going I could see it was raining heavily, those dark clouds (prev mentioned) letting loose.

I returned to the park, exchanged the "dump water" for new (Justin Case) from spigot #42 and settled into my allotment (primitives being defined by sans spigot). With a New York strip sizzling on the stove and the hoo-rah of the birds; I reminded myself that if it came to it, I DID have earplugs.

In the morning the 5th-wheel was gone and I had the park to myself. THIS is the way an RV park should be!! And to top if off there was wifi!

Unbeknownst to me, it was happening (see next post).

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