Return to Second Wind

Lake City

22 July


No Verizon on the Horizon, so I guess these things will be coming in batches.

I'm at Lake City, Colorado. Or, more properly, at Lake San Cristobal, above the town. Last few days I've just been letting the abundant calm here soak into my bones. Taking long walks, and catching up on my reading.

The Wupperman campground on the bluff above the lake is a treasure. Dry camping only, but there's a dump station and water and toilets nearby. Only 10 bucks a night. What a deal. The setting is so magnificent - mountains rising abruptly from the lake, and falling equally to clouds in perfect reflection - that any impulse to leave has to survive this question: " What could be better than this?"

There is no easy answer.

You do have to be careful drinking your coffee of a morning. Midges like to drown themselves in your cup. There's even the occasional floating fly, working on a backstroke.

Excuse me a moment. I'm being swooped by hummingbirds.

They seem to have an inordinate interest in this cherry pie I'm having for breakfast. They are fierce little creatures, maybe 3 inches long, with wings of iridescent green and a slash of scarlet, sometimes violet, at the throat. They have an unnerving way of checking you out, floating -brrrrrrrrrrrt- a foot in front of your face. Makes you want to shield your eyes, which no doubt they could peck out in a nanosecond if they wanted.

Well. I have been Swooped, Examined, and Found Wanting.

Perhaps they are impatient for me to put out a feeder, like everyone else. Sorry, kids. Haven't bought one yet. I was told some camps were banning them, as they attract bears. It ain't honey, but it's close. Take them in at night, unless "in" is a tent.

My nose is bleeding, and it's less than 10,000 feet here. That's never happened before. But then I've never before been taking 75 mg of Plavix every evening, either. It seems strange to think so, but after two heart attacks I suppose there may come a day when I won't be able to travel this high. Dang.

Better bag some more fourteeners while I can, and store them up for later. Handies Peak is handy.

Yesterday I was sitting down in town, in the patio of EB's, a burger bar, when a thirtyish couple rolled up to the curb in front of me on their new Electra-glide. Very nice bike, and no more noise than a sewing machine. Less. It just hums.

They took the table next to me. Four seats: two for them, and two for their elaborate helmets. After a while, he said: "Man, these big RVs are everywhere. Everywhere. They're like giant Roaches. You can't get around'em, and you can't get away."

She laughed, and held up one leg. "We're gonna need bigger boots."

I think they're metaphorically abusing the wrong insect. I used to be a caterpillar like them, running along from one green leaf to the next, fast as my hundreds of little feet would take me. Munch, munch, munch. But now I'm in chrysalis. And a comfortable stick-and-fiberglass cocoon it is.

If they're lucky, maybe they'll still be around when I emerge.

I can see it now. RVers everywhere, up and down the roads, abandoning their diesel pushers by the scenic wayside. Trailers split wide open, left behind like empty husks. Look. They rise, slowly, on the morning air, flapping and drying their great golden wings. Monarchs, for the moment, of all they survey.

Okay, okay. But it sure beats the Roach scenario.

I didn't say any of this. I was too busy thinking it. I probably did glare at'em a bit, though. That'll show'em.

You know, I used to be these guys. Same hotshot attitude, same need for speed, same ignorance, same arrogance, same everything. Still would be, I guess, if I could manage it. Dang.

Ain't life a funny thing?


Return to Around the Campfire
Comments are welcome in the rec.outdoors.rv-travel newsgroup,
or to
© Copyright 2003-2008 Bob Giddings, All Rights Reserved
Webspace provided by Arcata Pet Supplies