Due to predicted high winds, we left Las Vegas a day early because nobody wants to be driving their house over the Cajon pass in 60 mph winds.
The early departure meant we would have to accept whatever site was available at the Newport Dunes Resort until we could move to our reserved site today.
We knew we might get the short straw.
Arriving at 3 pm, the coordinated team effort of Driving Dave and the Highstrung Redhead managed to get Bella-BOW backed into the too small space.
By coordinated effort, I mean him driving and me standing behind the coach waving my arms and swearing. Forty-four-feet of Bella-BoxOnWheels barely fit leaving no room in front of the coach to park the Jeep.
As I was standing back there directing, I looked to my left and saw that the clown car-sized travel trailer parked beside us had vomited up 20 chairs, several tables, a firepit, a grill, Halloween pumpkins, many coolers, bikes, a speaker playing loud music and a couple of already drunk guys who were offering their opinion on my waving and swearing skills.
And there it was….the short straw.
I smiled and nodded at their comments while noticing their collection of stuff had spilled over onto our site.
My initial thought of “uh oh, shit!” later proved to be prophetic because as the hours wore on the group and their music got louder, actually shaking the walls of poor Bella-BOW.
Added to the two drunk guys was a gaggle of drunk “woooo-hooing” girls and several more can crushing shirtless he-men who felt the need to belch each time they finished a beer and crushed a can. Each impressive burp brought a cheering “whoo-hooo!” from the intoxicated peanut gallery.
In the first few hours, my thought was“they are just having fun, isn’t that nice?”.
After 4 hours I thought “it’s very loud, but I’m sure they will quiet down soon.”
In the sixth hour, we were considering turning on our big diesel engine and blowing the dirt we’re sitting on all over those F’ers.
We could not hear our TV, and the coach was shaking to the thumping sound waves.
At 11:15, an hour and a quarter after what should have been the start of “quiet hours,” we finally made a call to park security and were told we were the third call and someone would be there right away to ask them to wrap it up.
By 11:30 they had wooo’d their last hooo, belched their last belch and crushed their last can.
Newport Dunes is the only RV park in town. They have very few sites that will fit a large motorhome, and those are very close together. Weekends can be a bit on the wild side and because this was a holiday weekend we knew it might be interesting. We knew there was a chance of being parked beside a clown car filled with asshole clowns and we were.
I don’t mind people having fun. Hell, I’m all for fun. Sometimes I even -*gasp* -talk to people.
But after a somber, heartbreaking but also a heartswelling week in Las Vegas where I saw and felt the goodness of people coming together, caring for and about each other, I just hated being reminded that the “it’s all about me, me, me” people are still out there.
It’s quiet this morning as the clown posse sleeps off their multiple 12 packs. I think the circus will be checking out today, and we’ll be moving down a few spaces to a beachfront pull in site.
It should be quieter.
But, this RV park is a lot like Forrest Gump’s box of chocolates…. you just never know what you’re going to get.
Still and all, we’re here and will be seeing the grandkids later on today. I’m going to focus on that.
I’m also going to practice crushing cans and belching. You know, just in case.
In a similar situation except in a domestic neighborhood a friend experienced something like this. Except her neighbors were, you know, permanent. Her sister suggested throwing open the windows, cranking up the Bach, and tossing bricks of brie at them. I have always wanted to try that but damn, brie is expensive. Food for thought, anyway. 🙃