The Fayetteville KOA campground (I refuse to spell it kampground with a k like they do because they are ruining English for our kids) was an excellent choice by the navigator and logistician.
Each morning, once underway, Bernie makes the choice of our destination campground for that night.
Clean and well-kept do not adequately describe the place.
We stayed there only a few hours, so we didn't even unhitch from the truck and set up. We dallied too long in the morning, and got on the road about noon. Somewhere along the way I heard a deep thump. I could see nowhere in sight to pull over so I used the berm of I-95. After a quick check, and finding nothing untoward, no blowouts, I got back in the truck. Total time outside: maybe 20 seconds, 30 at the most. That's far too long to be parked alongside the interstate and out of the truck. Two tractor-trailers abreast, roaring by at what seems like 150 miles an hour convinced me to get back in the truck and move on. Quickly. At least out among them I felt less vulnerable.
Safety demanded that I slow for the rain, hard rain.
A couple stops along the way, and a 45 minute nap (ain't RVs wonderful?) and we were among them at three miles an hour. Three, count 'em, three.
That was near our nation's capital. Good ole Washington, DC. I had forgotten about the traffic here. Year's back we were leaving after a visit here, and I told Bernie I was going to dust off the resume once I got home. This place was wonderful, and with all its free things to do it was a place I must live. As we headed north on the interstate, commuters were going into the city and almost bumper to bumper for 60 miles. I decided that I would stay put.
We saw a five-mile long traffic block on the other side of the highway. Our side going into the area was pretty open . . . Until we merged onto the Beltway. The despised Beltway. Six and seven lanes of traffic going mostly the same direction is bewildering, but it has normally at least been moving when I have been on it.
This day, however, some knucklehead thought it would be good to start a chain reaction accident during rush hour or should it be hours. It wasn't very spectacular from what Bernie saw of it. (She did comment sadly on the demise of the BMW sports car.) The traffic jam it caused was quite spectacular, though. It took us a half hour. Not bad by big-city standards; very bad by the standards where I live out in the hinterlands.
I have read someplace that there is no such thing as an accident. These collisions are caused by knuckleheads not paying attention or doing something reckless. Notice I did not say aggressive, and notice I did not say male. I have seen a few reckless female drivers on this trip. There is no such thing as aggressive driving. It is simply reckless. there are not enough police to stop it, and even when some of the police we have noticed see it, they still don't enforce it. They must get much mor strict strict with this belligerent recklessness. We know they won't, though. They will have intermittent “crack downs,” then brush aside the enforcement unti the next “crack down.” Sad.
So who knows what this particular knucklehead on the Beltway was doing this day. We were stuck, and Bernie's sister Marie and my favorite brother-in-law were awaiting our arrival. (Well . . . Ronnie is my favorite brother-in-law in the Washington area. Wait, make that Reston. Another of her brothers lives in Washington proper.)
We resigned from the rush, and got into the heavy traffic of two-lane roads near Reston. We found out way to Reston's Lake Fairfax Park. It is a local park and it is splendid. We have only electrical connection. No fulltime water or sewer. Even though we always watch water usage closely, we will watch much more closely this week in the semi-wild . . . near Washington, DC.
Bernie was out behind the trailer, guiding me into the camp spot with voice instructions on her ham radio. After three or four attempts, a nice man, Glen Holbrook from Kansas, help guide me. He has been camping a hundred years. It was very nice of him. He took pity, I think, when I was on my third try. I really was close to making it in, but since he was so calming. I appreciated his directions.
I explained to Glen that I was new to this. He said he knew.
So we will settle here for five days, more or less, and it will be nice to be in one spot for a few days. Not driving. I want to camp, not spend full time driving, but it goes with the territory. I can't complain, though, because the driving has not been that awful overall.
We finally got to Bernie's sisters's place, sat a while, me with a Manhattan then the four of us went for a late diner at the Silver Diner, a great 50's style diner with chrome, aluminum and juke boxes. And Brian was our server. He did his job well, and I asked him about the art on his neck. He pulled his collar down lower and showed me an intricate tatoo with “Dad” featured in the center. It was a memorial to his dad who had died quickly of cancer. Brian told us the story, how he heard of the death from a relative. It was a touching story. Brian was a good server. I like to talk to servers.
We got back to camp late, through intermittent light and thick fog. The crispness of the night made it necessary for me to stay outside for a few minutes. The stars were soft glows through the fog.
After the long day, I went inside, crawled under the warm comforter and slept soundly.
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