“I’m Selfish”

Unbeknownst to me, our campsite was an hour and half away from his starting point, Washington Park, Anacortes, Washington State.

“Sorry Babe,” he said, when he realized the night before.  “I wasn’t paying attention when I booked the campsite.  I liked Oostema Farmstead.”  (It was where we stayed last fall when we picked up Charlie, the camper on the Canadian border).  “I don’t know my geography here.”  He continued to dig the hole deeper.

I frowned.

Day One:  Larry rode 97 miles in 6 hours and 13 minutes (averaged 15.6 mph).  Anacortes along Hwy 20 to our campsite in Newhalem.

I drove that distance in two. Two hours of winding, beautiful country back roads.  Lynden to Sedro-Woolley, then to Newhalem.  

“Did you notice they spelled my name wrong?” He asked.

“It’s the attention to detail, Larry, that we’ve lost.” I replied in our never ending conversation about how things are changing.

Even with chalk markings, I could not back her in.

After three unsuccessful attempts to back-up into our site, including a three circles around the campgrounds, I gave up and drove up the hill to RV parking at the Welcome Center. I decided to wait for Larry to put Charlie into her spot.

As I pulled into the only shady site between two RVs, a man to my right appeared between his truck and rig and waved his arms at me.  I rolled down my passenger window and he yelled, “You’re filling my rig full of exhaust fumes!”

“Huh?” I was caught off guard.

He repeated himself, more empathetically.

“I just drove up.”  I replied.

Just then, an older clunker of an RV to my left drove off.

“Oh, maybe it was the other guy,” he said barely loud enough for me hear, as he trudged back to his camper.

Nasty neighbor in the shade while I wait for Larry.

Frazzled from the uncomfortable drive, being unable to park at my site, and now yelled at, I started to tear up.

‘Don’t let them see you cry,’ my interior voice reminded me.

After a short potty walk for the dogs, I hid inside the camper, dogs slept on the floor while I vacillated between meditating and napping.  

‘Please Larry, ride to the Visitor Center.’

After 97 miles.

He arrived a few hours later, after sitting at the camping site wondering where I was.

“I realized, I’m Selfish, to put you through this.”  He announced, as if this was new news.

All zen and at peace I replied, “Yes, you’re selfish.”

It was when he suggested we just stop and go home, I said, “Nope.  I’ll divorce you.”

“I thought you would divorce me at the end.”

“That too.  But if you quit now, after dragging me this far, I’ll never forgive you.”

Stretching & rolling

After dinner we took an evening stroll along a trail, to reconnect and exercise the dogs.  Giant redwoods, maples, and pines standing in fields of six foot ferns, all dripping in lime green moss, a visual delight in the setting sun.  So was my husband, all happy with himself.

With that ladies and gentlemen, he’s off on Day Two.

After he departed, I went for a short hike with the dogs and it started to rain, gently.  Still raining.  I wonder if Larry’s wet and cold?

I hate a lot of things, snaky mountain driving along shear drop-offs is one of them.  Add towing a house on wheels and I’m not a Happy Camper.  I white-knuckled till my hands ached and my head throbbed.

I passed Larry climbing Washington Pass, the fifth and tallest at 5,477 feet, he had today.  He waved ‘I love you,’ at the triple toot of my horn.  Good thing, cuz I thought about running over him.

(He has a few more very tall mountains to cross in these here Northern Cascade Range over the next day or so.)

Coming into the town of Winthrop, a doe with a spotted fawn decided to meander across the road.  I stopped.  Two feet short of killing them.  And she strutted.  As I drove off, I saw a second spotted fawn running along the opposite side of the road.  I was sure it was going to dart in front of the car about a quarter of a mile behind me.  But it too lived to see another day.

He found me in a parking lot, using WiFi!