No, Not That Atlanta, The Other Atlanta

We arrived at Atlanta State Park the Saturday before Easter Sunday. The park was alive with families enjoying the special weekend. The Easter Bunny had just presided over an Easter egg hunt and the excitement level was unparalleled. We saw the Easter Bunny zip by in the ranger’s golf cart. It was also quite warm, nay hot, and sunny.

The site we were assigned was very short. Short and uneven. In order to get the Airstream intothe site, we had to hang out in the campground road blocking traffic. This is precisely the kind of situation which Jim finds intolerable. He hates to be in the way or inconveniencing anyone. Of course, this meant we were trying to rush and that only prolonged the process. We needed to deploy the Andersons to level the trailer side to side. We got our signals crossed and had to rework the process. I thought Jim’s head might explode. He was quite literally a very unhappy camper. Finally, we were able to unhitch and get out of everyone’s way.

We were dead tired and hot and unhappy. To re-spark the magic, we got out all of Jim’s Airstream toys. We deployed the awnings and got out the palm tree. From the awnings we hung the strings of lights shaped like flamingos and flip flops. This was their maiden appearance as I had brought them back from my visit east. Of course, the flamingo from the Quilt Museum was on display. Smokey took a bow as did Jim’s replacement balloon from Ruidoso. We were the most festive and happening trailer in the park!

We sat in our chairs under the awning to enjoy the late afternoon and dusk. Jim sipped his beer. I drank my wine. A large red wasp began buzzing around us. Soon swarms of gnats were flying in our faces. We got out the citronella candles and remained steadfast. Just as darkness fell an enormous black beetle crashed into my head with his hard shell. My shriek rang out though the campground. I bounded inside the trailer. That was just one bug too many for me. I hate, hate, hate insects. I hate bugs. I really hate big red wasps and black, hard-shelled beetles that fly. I began to pine for west Texas and its bug-free environment in earnest.

Atlanta State Park has two campground loops. We were on the lake loop. The other loop was deeper into the woods. Rather than place the campsites right next to the lake as is most common, the sites were lined along both sides of the road leading through the campground to the picnic area. This picnic area was a peninsula which jutted out into the lake. The loop was ringed with tables. It was quite lovely. We pondered the democratic choice which had been made to leave the campsites in the woods and the public access picnic area on the prime spot.

 

The next morning we walked the picnic loop and admired Lake Wright Patman. It was a little rainy and the sky was cloudy, but all in all a pretty day. We spent some time cleaning the trailer. Living in a small space, there isn’t much to clean, but it does need fairly frequent attention. Cleaning is also a good way to exert control over one’s environment. It serves dual purposes.

Atlanta park was unusual in its lack of hiking trails. There was one trail which connected the two campgrounds, but it was uninspiring. We were still a little tick-shocked from Mission Tejas. Rather than explore the trail, we decided to see if the ranger had wood for a fire and head in to town.

The ranger actually gifted us with some firewood someone had left behind. We headed to WalMart for some firestarter sticks. When we got out of WalMart, Jim suggested we go to Sonic for burgers. It was already 3 pm and it seemed a little late for a heavy fast food meal. As Jim likes to say, I crushed his soul once again. We returned to the park. All was not harmony and happiness. We hunkered down for another evening dodging bugs.

The next day was humid and somewhat cloudy. At this point we were both ready to leave Atlanta. We were trying hard to be happy and content, but it wasn’t happening. It was time for some serious intervention. In the pantheon of tools to engender happiness on the road, doing laundry ranks at the top—even ahead of trailer cleaning. It was time to do the laundry. We were seriously intent on getting happy.

5217 342Jim had researched and there seemed to be just one laundromat in Atlanta. If it didn’t really exist (not an unusual occurrence) or was awful, we would have to go to Texarkana which was quite a ways away. We drove the twenty minutes back to town. With 34 years of happy matrimony under my belt, I suggested we try Sonic before the laundromat. This girl didn’t survive this long without knowing when to uncrush a soul. We don’t eat fast food very often at all. But Jim had this bee in his bonnet and it seemed the best course of action. It was okay. I don’t think I ever need to eat at Sonic again.

After Sonic, we found the Washateria. It wasn’t the cleanest place, but it had the necessary appliances. Jim and Dakota stayed in the truck and I headed in to get the job done. Doing laundry, even in a less than spotless environment, is good for the soul.

The next morning we were ready to hitch up and get underway. Our next door neighbor wandered by on his way from the bathhouse to his trailer. He was friendly and very interested in our hitch. We have a Pro Pride hitch which has tremendous stabilizing strength. It resists the gusts from wind and passing semi trucks and makes hauling a trailer much safer and easier. Lots of people haul with a simple ball hitch as did our neighbor.

Over time Jim and I have worked out a good process for hitching and un-hitching. By now we had done it many times. We barely need to speak as we work through each step. We each have our own self-assigned tasks. Despite this familiarity, having an audience threw us each into silent performance anxiety. As our neighbor peppered Jim with hitch questions, we performed each task, but without our usual level of concentration.

Once early on in our journey, we had had a near disaster in hitching. We could have totally crashed the Airstream and, even all these months later, we remained battle scarred. After that near disaster, I developed the oft-recommended hitching up checklist. Ever since we were religious in running through the checklist each time we hooked up no matter how confident we felt. Like a pilot preparing to take off down the runway, the checklist was our salvation.

The hitching in front of our kindly observer went well. Jim nailed putting the stinger in the hitch. He hooked his over center, I took the tool and hooked mine. My favorite job is to cross and hook the tow chains, hook the emergency brake release cable and seat the seven pin plug which makes the brake lights work on the trailer. All of that took place. Our satisfied guest wandered off pondering the joys of our Pro-pride Trailer hitch. Jim and I both breathed sighs of deep relief. We went through the hitching up checklist with the fervor of were newly ordained priests performing our first Eucharist.

Transiting Texas to Fort Stockton

The second day’s big push across Texas took us from Crystal City to Eagle Pass and Del Rio on Highway 277. The scenery remained much the same with some brief interludes with less and then more vegetation. The area around Del Rio was dry and dusty, but the same could be said for much of the drive.

Our route followed the line of the border for a great distance. Border patrol cars were much in evidence. They seemed to be very active in insuring there were no incursions. Just past Del Rio, we encountered a surprise (for us) border patrol station. All traffic in both directions was being funneled into this mandatory stop even though we weren’t crossing the border. We pulled in and were confronted by an imposing and humorless border patrol agent. Where were we going? Where were we from? We showed him id which he scrutinized carefully. I felt guilty even though I knew we had no illegal aliens or substances on board. Dakota didn’t need to show id which is a good thing since he doesn’t have any. We were let through and breathed a sigh of relief. Not quite why we felt so anxious, but that is how we felt.

amistad reservoirWe motored on and our anxiety was slowly replaced by hunger. We began looking for a place to pull off and make a little lunch. Off to our left was the enormous Amistad Reservior. It continued for miles with signs directing traffic to different parts of the giant reservoir. It was an oasis totally at discord with the surrounding dry hills.

Just before we hit Langtry a sign appeared to our left which said “scenic picnic area.” We pulled off the highway onto a road which led upwards and around. Entering uncharted roads is always a little hair-raising. Would there be a turnaround? Would the road be passable for our Airstream?

At last to our right a magnificent vista appeared—far below us an impressive bridge spanned a wide river which had cut a deep ravine through the surrounding cliffs. It was breathtaking all the more so because it was so unexpected. IMG_1937

I felt a little dizzy taking it all in. We pulled to the curb in a large parking area with picnic tables and shelters. The wind was blowing and it seemed like we could topple on down the cliff.

Back when we were in Navarre on the Florida Panhandle navigating the main road we had seen a remarkable vehicle ahead of us. It was an extremely tall and ungainly looking camper van. It was like nothing we had seen before. It perched on enormous tires which looked like they could have supported a tank. The strange looking camper sported french license plates and two motor bikes were strapped to the back. Clearly these intrepid souls had shipped their beloved camper to the States for a big tour. It was an odd and unforgettable sight.

Hundreds and hundreds of miles later in this parking lot perched high above the Pecos River, here was what looked like the same strange contraption. French plates, motor bikes and giant tires. Could there be two of these vehicles or had we miraculously re-encountered each other?

We sat in our Airstream contemplating the view and enjoying lunch. Finally, I could take it no more. I had to ask. I walked over to the strange vehicle. It was so high the steps to gain access were actually a ladder. The door was open. The occupants were likely enjoying their own lunch.

“Pardon? Pardon?” A woman appeared in the doorway. “Bonjour! Parlez vous anglais?” “Non, mais mon marie parle anglais.” A nice looking man about my age appeared. “Bonjour!” I asked if they had been in Navarre near Pensacola a few weeks ago and they replied that they had. “C’est incroyable!” We saw you there and now we have run into each other again! The man agreed it was remarkable that in such a big country we would encounter each other again. He translated for his wife. There was much smiling and nodding and further expressions of amazement. We wished each other a good trip and I returned to Jim, curiosity satisfied. Shortly after, the big camper van pulled away as our frenchmen continued their journey. We followed moments later. In all the parking lots in all the world…

The landscape was arid. The air was warm. The highway wound through hills and valleys dotted with dusty scrub, mesquite and rock formations. We passed signs directing us to Big Bend State Park. Another place we would love to see, but must save for another trip.

We reached the Fort Stockton RV Resort in the late afternoon. The sun was beginning to set and, while it was still very warm, it would cool quickly once the sun was gone. The rv resort was large with a few brave trees dotting the camp sites. Half the park was devoted to transients and half the park was clearly comprised of full time residents.

It had been a long drive, but one full of new sights and adventures. We were tired from so many miles, but we unhitched knowing the next day was not a travel day. We would explore Fort Stockton. The ever present wind was blowing and we opened all our windows to catch the breeze. After Fort Stockton we would have one last leg in our hop scotch across Texas.