Grapes of Wrath

I stuff the Highlander like my mother stuffed the turkey at Thanksgiving. A few minutes later, driving down the highway, the SUV’s passing me start looking like the trucks that Steinbeck described in Grapes of Wrath. Of course I am also driving one of those trucks, except that I have more matrices and bed springs tied onto wooden sideboards and bumpers and more hungry eyed children hanging out windows. That is the reason the other Okies are passing me.

Last night we camped at Trinidad Lake state Park. What a wonderful accident. If you were going to plan the first campsite of a six month car camping trip, you would pick that park. They even had simi-hot showers. Our campsite overlooked a lake that was formed in part by a meteor that hit southern Colorado millions of years ago (of course they didn’t know it was southern Colorado at the time) and in part by the Army Corps of Engineers.

I don’t think we are going to have to fight crowds this time of year. We shared the campground with just a few Greyhound bus and truck trailer RV’s. They didn’t bother us much since they all have satellite TV.

Elmo liked the view but hated the leash. Isn’t that true of most men.