Move to Comanches 56.
I travel in a van, without a tent, but it is no different than anyone with a tent. I’m not pulling anything. I just sleep in my vehicle. Perhaps that is why Debra put me in the campsite that she gave me when I arrived, next to the RV’s. I told her I wanted to be near the water, but my soul also longs for trees, and in the Texas heat, shade is a necessity. Tooling around mid Sunday I explored camanchee trail, “tent only” with electricity and water. Campsite 56 has its own beach with a short distance down to the water. Large boulders line the coast, and just 10 feet out a row of flooded bushes, line the shore. Their grey and brown fans, acting as a barrier between me and the lake. They pop up. A stub of bush here and there until the middle of the lake. Duck and loons find this a prime spot for chasing each other. I pull up a chair and a footstool and watch the antics of the lake. Their little toots call back and forth. I watch them dive in, disappear and come back up. They look like teenagers at the local swimming hole showing off. I have found my next home for a few days.
I wonder if I should stay or go the next day. It is Halloween, and if I get up and book it I could make the 5-hour drive back to Houston to …..
I’m writing this passage by the side of my van so that I can sit in complete shade; the sun is a bit too hot. There is a shadow on the brim of my hat, and when I take it off, I see the biggest black spider. Which then falls on my belly and onto my computer. He is dead now. But there are a few things around me overturned.
Where was I? Sorry spider. You freaked me out. I killed you. I’m so sorry.
… I could make it back to Houston to share in the special time of Halloween that my daughter and her family and I create. I have a projector, and we play a movie on their garage door, inviting kids and other households to come. Sometimes we all sit their together; Kids make one stop and several families toll out candy. It has been fun, and I hate to miss it, I hate to miss my little Jedi in her experience. That kid makes me happy. I’m torn, do I leave and try to make it or do I stay and relax for two more days.
On a Sunday most everyone is pulling out of the camp, there are just three left in Comanche. The group across the way looks to be in their 20’s they have not said hello or made any effort to meet. That is fine. While showering in the evening, I met the woman in the campsite across the way and two down. The one with the purple lights. The few times I have seen her she was reading. We greet each other, and I mention that she is across the way, and we can walk back together. She said she is waiting for her boyfriend who comes out at that moment. “I saw you earlier, Yes, you were on the way to pee, we have become very intimate in this short time, I know your pee schedule.” We all laugh.
“You looked lost.” They say.
“No, it was dusk, and I knew that would be the best time to see wildlife, so I thought I would walk the campground to see what I could see. There were huge deer and lots of foxes.” He is excited because he has been waiting to see some wildlife. “Dusk or dawn is the time, and with so many people leaving, I bet we see more.” He flashes his light as we are walking and he sees green eyes. “There is a deer,” He tries to point it out, but my eyes can barely see that far away. Better to see it at dusk, I think, then at 10:00 at night.
“You are alone,” he puzzles, “May I ask why?”
That is a very deep question I think, but I quickly answer. “I love to camp, and I love camping alone.” It is true. I do love to camp, and I’m testing this alone thing. But I don’t tell him, and I silently wonder why he asked why?
I always shower in the evening after sitting at the fire. I want the smell of smoke off of me before I retire. The showers at Texas state parks are warm. You are fine if you member some shower shoes or flip-flops. I noticed the lock on the inside of the bathroom. I wonder if I should use that this evening. I think. Remember I am from a big city, we lock everything. “But if someone is here, they can get you in the shower, or at the camp. You see I am more worried about the two-legged critters than the wild ones. I do love the camping alone, but I quickly realize that no one will be in this campground the next two days. There will be no one for the couple miles between me, the rangers and the other campsite with my retired friends. I will make this walk past seven campsites to the bathroom at night to shower. There will be no one to hear my screams if something happens, I am alone. With those thoughts, I do wish I had a dog.
That will be tomorrow, for now, the group of 20 somethings across the way are a bit loud, but not annoying. It is hard to sit and hear the “nothing” at the campfire that I long for. That evening with them posing questions to each other, it is hard not to overhear. Somehow the water, and outdoor air makes the sound travel. I will listen to the quiet tomorrow evening, “ You don’t have to have a fire, you could go right to bed at night and write.” I hear a voice in my head. No, it is not like you are “in the wild” this is a state park.
While I’m preparing for my nighttime ritual in my van, the curtains blocking out the view. I start the van. I’m still a bit worried about the battery, and I remembered my promise to run the van at night just a moment. Then I hear BOOM , BOOM, BOOM. On the side of my van. I jump but the person knocking can’t see me as the curtains do block everything. I don’t open the door but shout, “Yes, can I help you?” In my most secure voice. “SHUT OFF YOUR FUCKING LIGHTS! ” Comes a female voice. I stick my head out of the van and say, “Can I help you?” but the woman from across the way doesn’t want communication she wants confrontation.
I turn the car off, there is no way to run it without running lights on, and I stew. Between wondering to stay or go, the confrontation with these people and another confrontation on the phone with a girlfriend earlier my stomach starts to ache. At 2:45 I’m awake with what appears to be another bought of CVS. It just can’t be. I never have them this close. I’m supposed to be relaxing. I try to down an Imitrex and hope it will take hold. I open my van door quietly and take a long walk to the bathroom, zig-zagging, in hopes to walk off the pain. I do the same coming back. If the loud young lady is watching at this wee hour, she probably thinks I’m drunk. I grab the kitchen basin, bring it into the van, and throw up for the rest of the evening.
I decide to stay and pay for a few more days. But, I don’t want to leave my campground with the loud young lady lurking. They are packing up to leave the campground. If I drove up to the station now, I would be leaving all of my stuff. I’m just not sure what to think of them. So I hang at camp until they depart, then make the treck up and book two more nights. I’m going to do this alone, “night time thing.” No RV’s or tents, no couples, no families. If I rest and write all day which I will need after the CVS, then the next day, the last day, I can plan my bike hikes and trail hikes. I check how much clean underwear is left. Yep, I can stay.
Pusche