Couldn’t possibly be better

Friday, Naples.
A glorious day for travelling.   Although the dogs had us up at dawn we managed to take our time getting ready to travel as it looked pretty clear that the folks across the way — and the rest of the park , for that matter — were bailing out and would give me lots of room to maneuver the trailer out of the narrow spot.  Friday was clearly travel day for most of us.

We pulled up stakes and got out by 10:00 — minutes after everyone else — a caravan headed for a million places; mostly north.  Certainly, we had a slightly heavy heart as we pulled out. A lovely visit and the longest we’ve ever spent anywhere in our trailer but still so much left undone.  But Trailers are for travelling and it was time to be moving north and west.  

The Interstate between Naples and Tampa is profoundly boring. And I think the joy of our visit to Naples made it even more boring by comparison.  There were just as many awful drivers as their had been the week before.  Folks cutting us off, people doing less than 60 miles an hour in a 70 mile an hour highway forcing us to pass them in the middle lane and then traffic streaming past us on the right keeping us from pulling back into the slow lane.  The 3 hours to Tampa passed slowly despite the cloudless day. 

At Tampa, the Big Cypress Swamp terrain gradually gives way to rolling pine hills and the malls and condos give way to sandy cattle farms and rural towns. We swung west on 98 toward to the coast and soon we were at Homosassas and backing the trailer into a very tight spot along the river.  This is a crazy campground and we’re fortunate to have one of the spots along the river again — here it is beautiful, elsewhere in the camp it could be an overcrowded field.  Naples was upscale and crowded with shiny new big busses and the amenities that go along with the $70, and up, per day price tag.  Even the premium spot here along the river is only about $50 a day - but the advertised wifi is unusable ( you can’t even connect) and the spots are a little rough, the cable TV is fuzzy and the clientele generally a more working class.  This is Trump country again — confederate flags, Maga Flags, Trump 2020 flags and a lot of live-free or die attitude. The campers aren’t new for the most part and many are plainly run-down.  Old men with oxygen tanks sit outside faded trailers sit next to no trespassing signs — I imagine a shotgun is at hand.  Old women with more dogs than teeth grin somewhat eerily as you walk by.  The washroom stalls are scratched with the juvenalia that you might see in a high school stall or maybe a downmarket shopping mall bathroom.  

Still the place also has a rural charm and when you meet the people they are salt of the earth. There are a lot of Vietnam Vets — this is the first place I’ve seen a Wounded Vet Purple Heart License plate on this trip.  They are friendly and the place overall carries a real party atmosphere ( after all it has it’s own bar!). 

I was pleased that Lorraine and I managed to back the trailer into our site without backing it into the river, or hitting a telephone pole, or the neighbours truck.  The road is narrow, the spot is small and slopes down to a a boardwalk over the river’s edge.  The back-up assist couldn’t keep track of the checkerboard sticker on the trailer frame because of the alternating bright sunlight and shade on the road. I had to do this manually and it only took a little bit of back-and-forth — we were in within ten minutes and setup within 20.  I then helped a neighbour figure out how to get into his site — I’m starting to get good at this, at least better than some. 

Lorraine relaxed on the couch with the dogs and I went grocery shopping at the Publix around the corner.  As we have a fridge now I actually bought more than one meal’s worth of food and beer and ice tea to stock the fridge — and no ice. 

Dinner set, I sat down in a lawn chair on the boardwalk.  A fish jumped in the water 6 feet away, a family kayaked past, pelicans and a heron flew overhead, a turtle poked his head out of the water and said hello, another larger fish jumped, and the sun sank progressively lower over the river turning the western horizon above the marshland a pale salmon, wisps of cloud hung there. 

A man walked past hard to tell if he was a Hippie or a Cracker his dress indicated both and said to me,  “Hey, How’s it going?” 

“Couldn’t possibly be better”, was my reply.

After a delicious dinner of juicy cheeseburgers — they dripped out all over the paper plates —  on fresh bakery buns with a bottle of inexpensive Australian Cab  the place was hopping.  The traffic of people walking and driving golf carts on the road in front and walkers on the dock behind us was continuous.  I finished the Thursday blog and the penultimate draft of my homework and started on this draft looking out the window over the river while finishing the wine.  Lorraine went to bed while I walked the dogs; Several times we were accosted by drunk people meandering through the campground. Dogs do seem to be somewhat solicitous of drunks — Swiffer just looked curiously, Baby was indifferent but Kitty rolled over on her back for belly rubs; none of them barked or was aggressive. 

Back at the trailer I crawled in to bed to read the New York Times and fall asleep.  My last thoughts listening to the party continuing out well past midnight was that things “Couldn’t possibly be better”.