Friday, June 13, 2014
Thank God for good neighbors
Finally, we reach Seattle, where all our kids and grandkids live.
And it's time to back into our campsite in a crowed campground as tight and manicured as any residential street in the big city just south of us.
We picked this place, Pleasant Lake RV Park in Bothell, WA, because it's so close to all the kids and grandkids who live scattered from Seattle (30 minutes away) to Woodinville (10 minutes).
It's our first back-in in our new-to-us 30-foot fifth wheel. And it's tight. Very tight.
So we give it a go. And stop. Then we go. And stop. Then we go. And stop.
We just can't do it. It's like threading a needle with twine. From the side. Without light. Wearing a blindfold.
Then, we meet the Harley guy (he's wearing a Harley Davidson T-shirt).
He's camped in lot that mirrors ours in a monster fifth wheel (40 feet?) he's got perfectly tucked into the pines. He steps out his door. And watches.
I yearn for his help.
"It's our first time" I say, which I think is gentler on our confidence than throwing myself at his feet and crying out for help.
"No problem," he responds, in a drawl so slow and so southern I think of molasses.
He lumbers over to Allen, who's behind the wheel and beginning to sweat, and issues soft, low and slow continuous directions and confirmations:
"Turn the wheels left. Pull forward. Turn the wheel right. Back up. Keep turning the wheels. Turn the wheels. Stop. Now you gotta swing 'er ass around. That's right. Now rock it back an' forth. Yup. Doing good. Doing good. You got 'er in."
And then he's gone.
And we're home for the next four nights.
We meet the nicest people while on the road.
I hope this one's around when it's time for us to leave.