In the Club

The itinerary for this Southwest Adventure was done at a distance. The other-side-of-the-world kind of distance. I plotted out the route while in Basra then used Google to find RV parks. All I really had to go on was the ad on the internet. Which explains why I spent one uncomfortable night in Walsenburg, Colorado, guarding my little Casita from an invasion by body-parts wholesalers – or, at least, they appeared to be in that line of work. That night I left the Airstream hooked to the truck. At dawn, I made a hasty exit.

Picking out a park requires experimenting. The place in Monument Valley had a sewer hook-up that required water to run up hill – not likely. I was without internet for three days. Not exactly a tragedy but damned inconvenient.

Then, I arrived here in Show Low to discover that I had booked an over-55 park. And, they are serious about meeting the age criteria. The lady at the registration desk asked me for proof of my age. I showed her my Alabama driver’s license – the one that says I have brown eyes and gray hair. Well, the gray hair might have validity but the brown eyes? The registration lady looked at me, then the driver’s license, then at me, again. You could tell that her mind was spinning all sorts of stories to explain the contradiction she was examining. My thought was that I should explain that most of the public employees who issue licenses in Alabama can’t read but I thought better of it. I hate to malign family members in front of strangers. She finally let me park here, figuring that I was probably running from the law and needed a good night’s rest.

The park itself is plush. Affluent, white, over-55s are a demanding bunch. They expect clean streets and orderly yards. No children – grandkids are for visiting. The facilities are remarkable and the services superb. Tonight, I could have attended the Mardi Gras dance at the rec center if I had only remembered my feathers and beads. Everybody here is retired and spending their kids’ inheritance like drunken Democrats. The guy parked next to me is from Arkansas, on the other side a couple from Phoenix. Some of the residents here come for several months at a time. Can’t say I blame them. The weather is nice and the costs are reasonable.

What surprised me was that there is an entire underground sub-culture of folks who travel around in RVs and stay at places like this. And, now, I have a key to that world. I am in possession of the directory of 55+ RV parks. Before I leave, assuming I behave myself, I will learn the secret handshake and the password.