God Bless the Broken Road That Led Us Back to You

So…. things took a bit of a turn today. But everyone will be relieved to know that there is a happy ending.

We woke up in Knotty Pine to the sound of the ratmunks being again hunted by the children next door, in the same pajamas but this time armed with a variety of breakfast cereals, sticks, and a piece of toast. The ratmunks taunted the children by scurrying just out of reach behind the pool to eat their stolen Golden Grahams. I am firmly on Team Ratmunk.

While Knotty Pine is not the safe haven of Preston, I have managed to integrate myself with the dog community, including Pepper the four month old Pointer with the broken leg, the lab pack that lives on a horse farm and is real angry to find themselves on leashes for the first time, and the tiny Min Pin up the way that I almost punted on my walk last night when it shot out at my ankles looking suspiciously like a ratmunk.

This morning was off to a slow start. We had to check out by eleven but could not check into the new place until three. Problem being that the new place, Deer Creek State Park, is only about 45 minutes away. I tackled this problem head on by drinking no less than ten cups of coffee combined with a caffeinated protein shake.  While I had no idea how to solve the problem at hand, I could taste color and hear my teeth vibrate for a good thirty minutes.

Packed up we took off for Deer Creek, enjoying the incredibly scenic drive around the lake. The mountains, snowcapped and green at the same time, appear to be painted in the background. Boats dot the blue water of the lake and jet skis occasionally sailed by. We joined the line to enter the state park, aware that we were about three hours too early. The masked girls at the gate allowed us entry but told us we had to head to the day lot to kill three hours while our campsites were “cleaned”.

“Cleaned” lends an air of something other than what lay in store for us.

We parked the RVs amid boat trailers, to the general dismay of the boating community. The girls counted thong swimsuits while we loaded up to trek down to the water. We killed a delightful few hours swimming, fishing, and paddle boarding among all of the locals who had set up camp along the rocky shore. The lake felt promising. We’ve rented a pontoon tomorrow, although we are a little concerned about the fact that the boat pick up is six miles away from our campsite and does not offer RV parking.

Pulling into our rented spots, things began to spiral. We are on a dirty cliff, high above the water. It is unclear what they were cleaning, because it is just a parking spot. There is no water pressure, something the entry station later admitted that they are supposed to tell us at the time we rent the sites.

It is eighty billion degrees. Even being from Vegas we are not able to deal with the heat.

Hot, dusty, and eighty billion degrees seemed like a perfect time to go for a hike on the one hiking trail nearby. I desperately wanted to hike and figured that our options were incredibly hot and light or very hot and very dark. I was all in. So were Zack and Evan. Petey, less so. Audrey and Amber decided to come along, but were clearly wary. A half mile out, we spotted it. What appeared to be a Lake Havasu Girls Gone Wild party just came out of nowhere when we turned a corner. Four boats tied together, music blaring, cuss words flowing, and at the center of it all……. a very giant very red man wearing nothing but a pink thong and a cowboy hat.

Both girls immediately took a turn. Petey turned beet red and announced that she was going to pass out. Audrey started hyperventilating. We turned them around and dragged them back to camp. It is still unclear if their near death was a result of heat stroke or that pink thong that was being punished by those giant man buttcheeks.

We were stuck. It was hard to believe that the sweet lands of Preston and Heber City were just six short miles away while we languished on a dirty cliff while a herpes party raged in the water below.

Back at the RV I covered Petey in ice, while Zack somehow managed to get one TV channel to come in. I had just resigned myself to two days of hiding in an increasingly warm RV making sandwiches while Zack cackled at old Westerns and the kids fought over the last of the potato chips when Mark appeared at the RV door equal parts ragey and hopeful.

He had called Preston. He did it. He called the motherland. And while Preston did not answer, an older man did. For the sake of a good story, let’s assume he is Preston’s dad.  This sweet baby angel assured us that they could provide us a safe haven for the next two nights, provided we were willing to switch sites for the second night. Such a small price to pay.

In under thirty minutes we were pulling back in to where we belonged. Mark and I tumbled into the office, sweaty and traumatized, to meet Preston’s dad. Preston, lurking somewhere in the back, popped out to welcome us and hear our woes.

“Oh geez. Oh wow. Yeah, the state parks can be rough. It’s just good to have you back, we didn’t have you for long enough. Are you good? Do you need to run to the store? I can go get my truck if you need anything.”

Covid or not, I want to hug this guy.

We settled in for dinner. All of the goodest boys and girls are out for their walkies and available for petting. It is so satisfying. Preston has driven by in his golf cart twice to make sure we are ok. I just took a shower so hot it peeled my sunburn off.

Even my ganky toe has healed itself in this magic place.

Raoul, our Swedish driver of earlier this week, will be turning up promptly at nine in the morning to haul all of us and our gear to the pontoon rental place. All is well.

We never should have left you, Preston. But God bless the broken road that led us back to you.