Now we leap back to Arkansas, September 2012...
From Tom Sawyer's RV Park in West Memphis with its tugs on the Mississippi and trailing Spanish moss, we soldiered on across Arkansas. Right outside Ozark, AR we found (online) what sounded like a cute park and close enough to town to allow for some browsing. Exiting I-40, we drove into Ozark. What a cute little town! I was anxious to get parked so we could come into town for a bite and bit of nosing in the little shops. Siri led us just south of town and took us to...nowhere. The address listed online? Well, we were there and there was absolutely nothing that looked remotely like an RV park. We drove around looking for it; finally I called the first phone number on the website. No answer. Called again in case I dialed wrong the first time. No answer. Called the second number on the website. Disconnected. The place did not exist! Phooey! Now what to do? Went back online, found a place nearby called Mulberry Mountain that looked decent and called there. 'Sure, we have plenty of available sites! Sure, you're just down the road. Yep, just cross back across I-40 and take 23 up the road a bit and there we are, can't miss us!' Off we went.
And went. And went. Up, up and over two small but steep little mountains on a narrow road with an abundance of sharp switchbacks. After half an hour we spotted it up ahead. "Thank God," said Patrick. "I didn't think it was going to be this far off the highway. I'm almost out of gas. Wasn't sure we'd make it! Hope we've got enough to get back down in the morning!"
Whaat?! Mind you, this is totally unlike Mr. Always Prepared!
Got checked in, found our site. There were only a handful of other campers in that whole park. No sewer; water and electric only. That was ok, it was just for the one night. Too far to run back down the mountain to get supper and we were exhausted, so we made do with what we had on board. We couldn't get a wireless or a TV signal, so we just read and went to bed early. The next morning, we pulled back onto the road and I looked at the gas gauge. It pointed right to the red Empty mark and I prayed that we would get to a gas station before running out of fuel. RVs suck up a lot of gasoline, especially when you're meandering up mountains! Fortunately, it was almost all downhill and there was a gas station at the bottom at the intersection of 23 and I-40. Whew!
Leaving Arkansas, we crossed Oklahoma, stopping somewhere west of Oklahoma City for a night, then on to the Texas Panhandle, with a stop outside of Amarillo.
On to New Mexico! We stopped in Tucumcari, one of those old Route 66 towns that boomed back in the day---until I-40 came along and devastated its livelihood. We stayed at the Cactus RV Park, which was originally the old Cactus Motor Lodge built in the 1930's. The old motel buildings still exist but are 98% uninhabitable...boarded up and crumbling. In fact, it looked haunted! I crept around the old buildings taking pictures and looking for ghosts! The park's website was sort of amusing; there must have been some RV park wars going on in town, judging by the passive-aggressive comments. Del's Restaurant was within walking distance and has some of the best food I've ever tasted. If you're ever in Tucumcari, you must stop at Del's to eat.
From there, we crossed New Mexico for a 2 night stop in Gallup, at the USA RV Park, which turned out to be a sister park to the one we stayed at in Amarillo, the Oasis RV Resort. (Don't let the Oasis website fool you. While very nice, it's mainly a giant concrete parking lot. No shade whatsoever, and a steady, gritty wind blows across the panhandle of Texas.) The park in Gallup, while older, had a bit more charm and a great little store they on the premises. One of the biggest and best I'd ever seen at any RV park! The usual RV supplies were cloistered in a little nook in the back, but the rest of the store was full of genuine Native American artifacts and jewelry (the expensive stuff, not the faux stuff), artworks, clothes, the requisite touristy souvenirs and a virtual shrine to Tony Hillerman of his books.
Leaving Gallup, we thought it might be a good time to get the RV washed so we wouldn't look too dusty when we pulled into our final destination, which by now was only 2 days ahead of us. So we did and then stopped to re-fuel, which is always painful because gas is so expensive. At the gas station, I got out to stretch my legs because it usually takes a while to fill the rig. An old beater of a car pulled up on the opposite side of the pumps from where we were. A big, heavyset fellow unfolded himself from the passenger side of the car and walked right over to me. Think Gary Farmer in Powwow Highway, only maybe taller... "Howdy, folks," he said, "you wouldn't be interested in a puppy, would you?" I stared rather dumbfounded at him. 'What kind of an opening gambit was that?' I wondered suspiciously...and nervously. He was big. "Uh, no thanks, don't think so," I stammered. I was pretty skittish so I didn't even notice when he was reaching into his shirt pocket. Next thing I knew he was holding out a tiny pup in the palm of his big, beefy hand. It was a teacup chihuahua. "You can hold her if you want." he offered. (His psychology skills were right on point.) "We're on our way to the flea market to see if we can sell her. But I'll let you have her for $200." By this time I'm holding the sweet little thing to my chest, petting her and cooing like a fool. "Oh, nooo, I'm sorry, we can't have any pets," I told him. "How 'bout $150? Perfect size to take traveling!" said he, with a nod at our RV. I kept cuddling the miniature creature, who was now licking my hand and looking up at me with her soulful puppy eyes. I was melting into a worthless puddle. Patrick, the strong, determined one who, when our last cat had died, had proclaimed firmly "NO MORE PETS!" now leaned over and whispered "If he gets down to $100, you can have it." I stared at him in disbelief. "NO! We can't do pets anymore and you know it better than I!" I whispered back.
"I'm sorry, we just can't have a pet." I said and reluctantly handed the minuscule pup back to the big brawny man. I climbed back in the RV and stared bleakly out the windshield as the ramshackle car trundled off in the direction of the flea market.
We pulled out of Gallup and headed west. We crossed the NM/AZ state line and headed toward Flagstaff, stopping for an hour or so at the Petrified Forest, where I purchased polished and unpolished petrified wood, ostensibly to make jewelry with. (It hasn't happened yet.)
Then we stopped for a night at Meteor Crater RV Park, which is west of Winslow. It was a really nice park right on the highway. We didn't have time to see the crater itself as we were due in Camp Verde the next day, but liked the park so much, we decided to come back after our winter in the valley. We made reservations for the following spring and the clerk said, "Umm, it's really windy here in May...are you sure you want to come back then?" We didn't think that sounded like a big deal, so we shrugged and proceeded with our plans to return and headed to Flagstaff.
When we got to Flagstaff, we headed to Olive Garden. Patrick loves Olive Garden. (I have a weakness for their Zuppa Toscana.) As we pulled into the Olive Garden parking lot and circled around to the back to find a big enough place to park, we noticed a little car behind us. We circled twice, the little car following us round and round. As we parked, the lady driving the car pulled up beside us, rolled down her window and hollered at us, "I just LOVE your little red trailer! I just had to tell you! What is it?" Ahh, someone who gets the vintage trailer thing! We smiled, told her its provenance and waving, she drove off.
After our meal, we headed south towards Camp Verde, which is not quite halfway between Flagstaff and Phoenix. South of Munds Park, we hit the steep grade that runs for several miles on I-17 leading us out of the mountains into the Verde Valley. Patrick underestimated how soon and how low he needed to drop the speed before hitting that 6% downgrade. Oops. It's a drop from about 6000+ feet down to 3500 feet. It didn't take long for that 5.5-ton RV, pulling that 1-ton little red trailer to get up to 80+ mph. Patrick was clutching the steering wheel tightly with both hands, jaw set, eyes wide and riveted on the road. I was holding on for dear life, white-knuckled hand gripping the assist handle above the passenger window. Wheeeeeeee! After we leveled out and slowed down, we definitely had to take a break at the next rest stop.
After than, it wasn't much farther to reach our park southeast of Camp Verde. Around 3 p.m., pulling Ruby-Deaux, we rolled into our destination, went to the office and checked in. We made it!
Till next time,
"Sometimes it's the journey that teaches you a lot about your destination." ~ Drake
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