Yesterday we made the move from Pueblo, CO to Junction City, KS. It was a long drive, but not more than we could handle. At lunchtime, we stopped at the Kansas welcome center for sandwiches. We found some advertising booklets with lists of RV parks in them. We narrowed our choices down to two parks, three hours apart. The first was a city park with water and electric, the other a fully equipped campground with the usual amenities. After the Admiral called to check the parks' rates, we decided on the latter. It would make for a long day, but it was advertised as having attractions in the area, and seemed and interesting place.
When we arrived, dusk had faded into dark, and all we could make out of the entrance was a sign.
Covered Wagon RV Park, and underneath the unmistakable and highly unappreciated word:
So the Admiral called the number he had dialed before, hoping that there had been some mistake, that there was another Covered Wagon RV park in , Abilene, KS, and that we had not just driven three hours longer than we wanted to for nothing. The owner assured us that the park was closed.
"I wish you had told me that before we drove three extra hours to get here," said the Admiral. "Well, goodbye," said the owner, and hung up.
We began a rather depressed search for the next closest campground. For some minutes, we believed it to be 47 miles on down the road, not a cheering prospect after dark in strange territory. Then we found one only twenty-one miles down the road, the Owls Nest Campground. We stopped our hastily begun dinner preparations and headed towards our new destination.Upon arriving, we were...well, not happy. Perhaps even more depressing than the original sign was one that read "overnight sites available now" followed by the words:
Sorry, We're FULL
Here follows another desperate search conducted in the entrance to this park. About twenty minutes later, a little car drive by us. The park was very crowded, and several cars had already gone by, so we did not pay this one much attention. Until there was a knock on the door.
I hope that considering the events of the night, the thoughts of most persons in the bus upon hearing that knock can be forgiven. Fortunately, the Admiral opened the door quite calmly. It was the owner. He very politely explained that he had been gone for a week, and he knew that the sign said full, but if we were still looking for a site, he had some spaces that had been reserved but were still empty, and he would see what he could do. He then removed the picnic table from the middle of a nice pull through.
Friendly campground owners are always nice, but they never seem so nice as at 10:00 at night when there is nowhere else to go.