|
Wayside_Wisdom Heard Along the Way
|
WHITE-KNUCKLE CAMPGROUND Years ago, when we first started out on this "mobile lifestyle," our motto was: "Both of us will know how to do everything necessary in and around our rig." So, in case of an emergency that would lay one of us up, the other could carry on all essential functions. Over the years, that has worked out well. Bruce knows how to cook, wash dishes and do laundry. I know how to spot the 5th wheel into a campsite, put out the slides and hook up to electricity and water. Periodically, Bruce has to give me a refresher course on how to hitch and unhitch the trailer to the truck, and how to empty the waste water tank. (For some reason, on those particular tasks, I’m a real slow learner!) But then, sometimes I have to remind him where something important is stored in the inside cupboards. We share the driving responsibilities. It’s not exactly 50/50, but it’s shared. I drive some multi-lane interstate miles and an occasional two-lane road out in the countryside. He drives some of the four-lane highways, most two-lane roads, maneuvers the rig into campsites and thru big cities, and on all mountain roads. Except for last week, east of Beckley, West Virginia. I was taking my turn driving on Interstate #64. The mountain scenery was beautiful, but the terrain was making it a real challenge for me to drive. Unfortunately, when we reached the exit for our campground for the night, there was no place to stop and trade drivers! Following the signs to the campground, the wide, hard-surfaced road suddenly quit and we started up a rather steep, very narrow gravel road (which must have started life as an Indian trail thru the woods!). Up, up, around rough curves and down blind hills we went, very slowly and cautiously. Not only was the road narrow, but, at places the shoulder was badly washed out. A long section of the road ran along a narrow ridge between a steep up-hill on one side and a very deep gully on the other! If Bruce had been driving I would have shut my eyes, but that wasn’t a good option since I was behind the wheel! Suddenly, the gravel path opened out into a smooth hard-surfaced road of normal width, across a bridge spanning the highway we had just left. I breathed a big sigh of relief and relaxed enough to get the circulation back into my aching hands. But, 100 yards on down the road, the smooth highway disappeared into the gravel path again! Up, around, and down again until we came to the biggest hill – and sharpest turn – of all. (Our 5th wheel, you’ll remember, is 32 feet long and 8 feet wide, hanging out behind the length of our truck!) I took a deep breath, gripped the steering wheel even tighter and, with Bruce’s expert guidance, we made it to the top and found ourselves entering a rustic little RV park nestled high up on the side of a West Virginia mountain! We had arrived at White Knuckle Campground! It had another name, but I can’t remember it. In fact, I can’t remember anything except white knuckles, aching hands and a sense of relief! It took awhile to get my fingers straightened out again. I confess, though, that I was pleased with myself and my mountain driving accomplishment! I felt even prouder when our neighbor at the park asked if we knew a better way out than that "awful cowpath" they’d had to take to get into the park! Of course we didn’t know a better way out because that "awful cowpath" was the way we had come in, too! Need I add that it was Bruce – not I – who drove down the mountain the next morning when we left White Knuckle Campground behind? But maybe you had guessed that already! 7/16/2008 - mshr |