We must be in the West now. We crossed the mighty Mississippi at St. Louis and enjoyed a view of the Gateway Arch. It is a monument to the westward expansion of America. Traffic through the city was awful. Same as home, but I am not usually having to dodge expressway traffic in a 55 foot rig. Apparently they don’t teach how to use acceleration lanes in drivers ed anymore. Instead of checking oncoming traffic and adjusting their speed accordingly, everyone just comes on over into the traffic lane. I’m supposed to get my rig out of the way, but where, with cars (usually trucks) in the other lane?
We finally arrived at the beautiful Mark Twain State Park in Florida, Missouri. We had hoped for a shorter time on the road and some time at camp before dark, unlike the first two days, but it was not to be. Ten miles up the road after leaving Benton, we discovered that Jane’s set of keys was missing. We had to turn around. We diligently searched around the campsite but did not find them. After much more searching and praying, we found them. They had bounced off the counter in the RV and lodged behind the toilet.
The sun was setting when we pulled into our site. We saw the electric hookup, but could not find the water. We didn’t know that some state park campsites had electric hookups but no water. So we pulled the coach up to a water station and filled our 44 gallon fresh water tank. When we returned to the site, we could see the sky reddening over the lake through the trees. Jane suggested we go in the truck to the dock where we could see the sunset. Upon returning, we realized how unlevel the site was. The coach has auto leveling jacks, but they have to have something to work with. I pulled the coach forward and backed as close as I could to the more level side. The electric box was not on the side as in other sites I have seen in my limited RV experience; it was straight back. After Jane screamed I got out to see that I hit the electric box with the tow bar mounted on the back of the RV. Importantly, though, the power still worked, so we were good for the night. I worried about telling the camp host the next day.
In the morning, I saw one of the hosts coming down the road in a golf cart. I waved down the man, who had long hair and a long beard. It appears that the hosts here are all motorcycle folks who settle in at the park for the season. I told him that I had hit the electric box. He walked over, looked at it, and asked if it worked. I said, yes, it works just fine. He said, well, don’t worry about it. I said that I would leave a credit card number to pay for the repairs. He said, “Naw, don’t worry about it. When you leave, we’ll report it and they will fix it. As long as it’s working for you, it’s good.” I knew right then that I would give the camp hosts a good review on the comment card we received at check in.
