Day 9: Where the Hell Are We?, GA

We headed pretty much due north from Reidsville, with fair weather, and with fair winds most of the way.  Together we amassed about 54 miles, pretty much split between the two of us.  For the most part it was an uneventful day.  Our stopping point was Oliver, GA, which was about 10 miles from a private campground that we had picked out for our night's stay.

Days' end at Oliver, GA.

We rolled in to Griffin Lakes Campground around two in the afternoon.  The place had all kinds of signs about stopping at the office, but the office was deserted.  Bookending the office door were a couple of large printed signs (a novel's worth), plus there was a night drop and various hand written signs related to that.

As private campgrounds go, it was a bit rustic, but better than many that we have stayed at.  And at $20 per night for power, electric and showers, we were very happy to be here.  It seemed fairly priced and quite pleasant.

Once we got situated, we noticed that the fork mount that holds Alea's bike to the floor of the van had once again come loose, so it was finally time to find a more permanent solution.  I had hoped we had sufficient hardware to take care of the issue, but the bolts that we had on hand were too short.  So I headed off to Springfield for the right stuff.

I got back to the campground just as the owner's mother-in-law had pulled in.  I passed her and went about working on the fork mount.  The next thing you know, she comes up and asks us a bunch of questions about our camper (Lana seems to like her - she doesn't growl or bark).  It took her a while to admit that she and her late husband had once owned the park, and we told her we had already paid.  She was very pleasant with us.  So when she left I went back to work and Alea went for a shower.

The next thing you know, this tiny 5 foot tall woman rolls up in a big pick up truck while I'm talking to a campground neighbor.  Lana starts growling at her, so I go over to get Lana to mellow out.  

"Is that a pit bull?" she snarls.  "Is that dog over 18 inches tall?" (they don't allow dogs over 18" tall here, though there is at least one dog here now that has to be well over two feet tall).

"No, she's not a pit pull, she's part Boston Terrier," I reply.  "She only growls when strangers first come up to the site, but once everyone is talking she calms down."

"Is that dog gonna bite anyone?  Is she gonna bite a kid if it walks across your site?," she says, scowling behind her sunglasses.

"No, she loves kids.  Anyone that can look her straight in the eye is no threat to her.  Especially kids that are messy eaters," I offer.  "She'll lick 'em to death.  We've paid for the night and dropped the payment in the mail slot at the office."

"The signs says you need to call before setting up.  Did you call?," she bellows.

"I didn't see anything about calling..."

"The sign says you need to call.  Why didn't you call?," she blasts.

I wave my hands in the air in submission, hoping she won't pull a gun on me.  "I... I... My wife took care of that, but I don't recall seeing anything about call.."

"That's what the sign says!  Can't you read?"

About this time Alea returns from her shower, so I ask her "Did you see anything about calling before setting up?"

"No, but we paid and put it in the slot..." she starts.

The rant continues.  But finally the owner is willing to let us stay.  She barks out "You guys need to give me your information.  You need to fill out these forms."  And she starts rummaging around in her pickup.  But she's got the wrong forms....

I say "That information is on our check."

That seems to help the situation, at least a bit.  Alea keeps dealing with her while I go back to fixing the fork mount.

She blows up one more time about us breaking the rules.  At which point I'm ready to tell her to give us our check and tell us how much we owe for Alea's shower, because I couldn't really give a rat's ass where we stay tonight as long as it is not here.

But about then she starts to apologize for going ballistic on us and things calm down.  I'm still a bit peeved, and half willing to hitch up and go, but Alea has already used the "newly remodel showers," so she wants to stay put.  End of story.

Our contentious campsite.

Speaking of the "newly remodel showers," we can only imagine what the old showers had looked like.  Let's just say that there was barely 6 feet of ceiling clearance in the men's shower, and above that was some 1x4's and a tin roof.  The shower was cobbled together with various odds and ends, with a warped door made from a piece of plywood.  But it seemed clean enough, which is all we care about.

Not the best way to end a day, but a glass of wine later, and we're sitting here wondering what all the fuss was about?  We're happy enough for one night...

Retirement Rule No. 1: When someone casts their little ray of sunshine upon you, let it go.

Cheers!  Guess what is in our mugs?

Retirement Rule No. 2:  Don't get mad, get even.  But do it in a fun, harmless way!

We were recently paid a very nice compliment on Harold Palmquist's Facebook page.  I would normally provide a link to the page, but access is by invitation only, so I've copied his statement here, because I'm very impressed with the way he turns a phrase.  One of the things that Harold and I talked about was writing about our experiences.  I offered that I'd recently decided that I plan to write a collection of cycling-related anecdotes, mainly about my touring experiences.  That seemed to help Harold conceive how to write about his own experiences.  If this tidbit is a typical sample of his abilities, his book is likely to do very well:

I've been thinking long and hard about what I want to say about these two extraordinary folks and their lifestyle. In a nutshell, it is this. For the first time on this trip, I've met someone with more cross-country miles (bicycling miles!) than us, thus more experience; experiences I wanted to hear about.

Our meeting was one of mutual shared interest. No longer was I the sole target of interrogatories. With them, it was awesome to have and ask the questions.

I had a blast with Steve Malone and Alea Sando and their dog, Lana with three good ears. Yes, I said 3 (three) good ears. She's got one for hearin' with, and two for lovin' on. That makes three.

You see, Lana is deaf in one ear.  If you were to throw your voice, chances are, she might not find it.  Lana is an excellent dishwasher by the way.

Thanks, Harold!  We appreciate the sentiment very much.  The feeling is mutual!