Means to an End

In all of the planning that Becky and I put into the trip, I some how failed to schedule our arrival in Phoenix to coincide with the time when the Indians would begin spring training. I'm not proud of it. It was a ground out to third with the bases loaded in the ninth, trailing by two. This is something I've done, just ask my softball team. And yet, out of this cloud of disappointment comes my wife with a brilliant idea. This is something she's done before.
Rather than miss spring training, let's stay for the whole thing. Not only stay for the whole thing, but be a part of it as well. So we will. We will work at one of the spring training facilities, Camelback Ranch, and camp not far away. And then on the days when I'm not working...I'm watching baseball. It's what I would like to do anyway.
I've never been to spring training before, and I have always wanted to go, I have never worked in a baseball stadium before and now I will have that chance. Even though the Cruiser will be parked for most of March, our trip will continue. It won't be a glamorous job, but it will allow us to do another unique thing. I just hope that I don't spend all my earnings at the Indians team shop.

I've Got 20 Feet of Hose

At our most recent stop, Big Bend National Park, I was forced to pull myself away from some of the views. The mountains, desert and canyons were beautiful. Beautiful enough to help me get past the unpleasantness of the campers around us.
From the moment we drove into the camping area, I could feel a sense of uneasiness. As usual, each resident stopped what they were doing to see who was pulling in or driving past. It's just human nature I suppose, but in this particular camp ground, Rio Grande Village, there was a real feel of unwelcome. The kind of feeling you get when you show up 30 minutes late for mass, or ask the teacher if she forgot to tell the class about the homework assignment.
One particular gentleman stared at us with squinted eyes, and a wrinkled face that said, "Get on outta here! Get!"
We took our usual cruise around the grounds to find the best of the remaining sites, and after we had our site picked out, I made another lap so that I could wave to him again. He had decided on his face, and he stuck to it.
It was the next day when I met my favorite of the these crusty campers. Since he was too busy talking about all the things he knew to introduce himself, I will call him, Buck. I encountered Buck at the dump station. I was already in the process of emptying the tank when he and his wife pulled in.
Trying to be helpful I motioned for him to pull forward so that he could line up his valve with the station. I find a straight shot on these kinds of things to be important. He stopped short, maybe to prove a point, maybe because he was tired of me motioning.
His first words to me, as he hiked up his pants were "I've got 20 feet of hose." My instinct was to say something like "Everybody likes to brag about the length of their hose.", but I refrained. It was clear to me that this was going to be a less enjoyable dump visit than most, and they are never fun.
Buck continued in a condescending voice, "I think I saw you drive in yesterday pulling a trailer!" I replied that he was right, but he already knew that. He began to tell me how many miles he had covered pulling a similar trailer. He commented on the weight of the trailer and made it very clear that I was crazy for having it. I just smiled and laughed, he didn't seem to care if I was interested or not.
Before, I was able to get away he told me how long the trailer was, he told me the length of my trailer.
"That thing's 24 feet.", he told me.
"17" I said.
"No! That's 24 feet. I don't know what ruler your using, the one for selling or the one for buying."
Right about now, I had a list of things I wanted to say in response..."I guess you would know better than me.", "Maybe you could bring your 20 foot sewer hose over and we can measure it!" and "How about I see how much of that hose you can swallow?" Wisely, I maintained the smile and walked away.
As we took a walk around the camp later, I watched as Buck drove slowly by our campsite. I don't know if he was checking his measurement, or just wanted to stop by and give me more knowledge.
I'm just thankful that Big Bend is 800,000 acres, it cut down the chances of talking to him again.

Dan