Our Prius "Camper"

Whenever we tell folks that when we camp, we sleep in our Prius, they say, "What? But you're so tall! How could you do it?" Well, for one thing, the clincher that helped my husband in deciding whether or not to even purchase a Prius is to make sure that we could sleep in it. He secretly took measurements before even letting me know he was interested, so as to not get my hopes up, only to be dashed. The newer version, in 2004 fit the bill, and we test drove it around Berkeley. The salesman wondered outloud, "Why is it that all of the Berkeley people want to make sure that the car is long enough to sleep in?" 

Well, we both liked the idea, since in our former lives we had enjoyed long trips across country. Mine was in an oxidized red '69 Dodge van made in to a camper, and his was in an Austin Estate Wagon. We both like saving money on motels, and we have fond memories of waking up in the morning to birdsong and cooking breakfast outdoors. Coffee tastes best that way.

This was the beginning of the hybrid craze. and we were right with the folks wanting to do everything they could to save the planet. The idea of saving money on gas made it even a sweeter deal. The Prius was so popular though, that Toyota couldn't seem to keep up with the demand. If we had wanted a certain color, the time for it to be delivered couldn't be promised, but if we took one of the next ones that were delivered to the dealership, we could get it sooner. When they came, they were all silver. Oh well, we weren't that picky.

Our first adventure was on a trip to Lake Tahoe, just a 3-1/2 hour drive from the Bay Area. We were one of the first in line at Emerald Bay campground, since it was on a  first come, first served basis . We scored a place right near one of the restrooms,  to make life easier for nighttime bathroom needs. We put our food in a bear locker, and then went out to shop for the rest of our supplies. Unsure of the level of propane we had for our camp stove, we bought a new canister, some tall Jesus candles to light our table at night, some pre-made shish kebobs to barbeque, and of course, Peet's coffee for in the morning. Doug found a deal on some Jameson's Irish Whiskey to warm us around the fire later.

Spotting a sign for Fallen Leaf Lake on the way back from our shopping excursion to South Lake Tahoe, Doug said, "Let's go check that out! I haven't been there for years. We've got time." So we turned off of Hwy. 89 and drove past the Fallen Leaf Campground, down the road pointing to the little lake. It became a very windy road and mostly one lane, forcing us to pull way over into the grass to let cars and trucks pass by. We finally made it to the end, saw the lake and turned around to go back, when it started to rain. Really hard. 

We turned on our lights and had the windshield wipers going at full speed, as we carefully navigated the curves in the other direction. Glad to be through that and back out to 89, it started hailing! Huge, golf ball chunks of ice rained down on us, and we pulled over to the side for protection under some pine trees, afraid that our poor new car may get dented. After about a half an hour, a drizzly rain resumed, and we ventured out to our reserved campsite, wondering if we should just get a motel room.

Our campsite hadn't fared very well. We sat in the car and took in the situation. The path to the restroom was flooded, and of course the picnic table was all wet. Doug looked at the radar app we had on our phone, and saw that it looked like the storm was headed north and should stop soon. He said, "Hold on. I'll be right back", as I saw him lift up the hood on his jacket, and run to the back of the car. He was back in a jiffy, a little damp, with our two camping wine glasses, the Jameson's, some crackers, two sticks of string cheese, and a newspaper. "Let's just sit here and wait it out. I don't think it'll be that long." 

I conceded that I'd give it a try, but started to dream of a hot bath in a hotel. We sat there, having a little early happy hour, at 4 pm, and did one of our favorite pastimes together.... the crossword puzzle in the newspaper. Doug specializes in the historical clues and I get the more modern answers. He kept glancing at the MyRadar app on our phone to keep an eye on the storm and bet that it would pass by in about a half hour. I looked at the pond that had formed between us and the restroom, still thinking about that hot bath.

 In about 45 minutes, sure enough, the sun came out. Doug opened the car door saying, "Let's go out and build a campfire! I put our firewood in the bear cabinet, so it will be dry." 

Wow, I thought. He really wants to do this. I put away our snacks, and stepped out, gingerly avoiding the puddle that had formed outside my door. I got out our camp chairs, and positioned them next to the fire pit, where he was busily balling up the green sports section of the newspaper to help start the fire. He got out his axe and chipped off some pieces from the pine logs for kindling. 

I ventured off to see how the restroom fared. There was still a pretty deep puddle between us and it, but there was a hill in the middle of it, providing me with a narrow path to navigate my way there. I decided to bring one of the tall Jesus candles with me, and my flashlight, since it was starting to get dark. Setting the candle at the center of the drier path seemed like a good idea to be able to find my way back without stepping into a pool on either side. When I got to the open door, I heard something inside, and a raccoon came running out. I guess he found a nice place to be in the storm! On the way back on the lighted path, I could see the glow of our campfire, and Doug sitting next to it, happily arranging our shish kebobs on a little rack that we carry with us. "See?", he said, "Everything is perfect!"

After a satisfying dinner, sitting in our nice, dry camp chairs near the fire, and a couple of more Jameson's with water, we thought we'd better get busy on our usual chores. Water was heating on our camp stove so I could do the dishes, which I don't mind doing at all when we're camping, since it warms up my chilly hands. 

Doug is the one who tends to our sleeping arrangement. He put as much as he could of our supplies in the bearproof cabinet, and then carried over the small hassocks he bought at Bed, Bath and Beyond that we store our camping supplies in. He made the front seats of the Prius go all the way forward, and placed the boxes on the floor behind them so they filled in the foot space. Then the backs of the seats are folded down, and our foam futon mattress goes on top. As I placed the washed dishes upside down on a dishtowel to dry on the picnic table, I could see him working with the dome light illuminating the inside of the car, and my heart melted. He was arranging our sleeping bags and pillows lovingly and folding back the corners to invite us to bed. All that would be missing was a little piece of chocolate on our pillow.

He had arranged our small suitcases and backpacks on the front seats, so we did what we needed to do to get ready for bed while standing outside the car. No one else seemed to be close by in the campground, I guess they chickened out because of the rain. One more trip over to the restroom with a flashlight, and I noticed that the pond was shrinking already and that the path was a little wider. I put on my jammy bottoms and a t-shirt and filled a bottle with water for us for the night, and walked back to our little nest.  I could see it, glowing ahead of me. Doug had added a colorful throw on top of the sleeping bags, and it looked so cozy. 

As I climbed in, I noticed that he had lowered the two back windows so we wouldn't suffocate, so that was good. We snuggled under the covers and looked up at the grey ceiling, feeling very satisfied and proud of ourselves, stretching our long bodies out comfortably. "And they said it couldn't be done", he said, and turned out the dome light.

I dozed off, but about a half hour later, I thought I heard something outside. "I think I might be hearing a bear!", I whispered, jostling him awake. 

"It's okay", he said drowsily, " They can't get to us in here. Don't worry. Go back to sleep"

I tried to relax, but heard more rustling, and remembered what the ranger at the little museum over at D.L.Bliss State Park told us about how many bears there were around Tahoe. She said that they can smell things like candy and even perfume, and want to break in to get them. "Remember what the ranger said about bears?", I said, poking him once more.

"Oh honey, go to sleep please. I put all of our food in the bear-proof cupboard. We'll be fine."

After thinking a moment, I remembered the candy I always had stashed in my backpack, and the bag of Werther's that we keep in the compartment between the seats for snacks on the road. "I'm remembering the candy we have in here."

"What? You want a piece now?"

"No! Just what if the bear wants to come and get some? What will we do? He could put his big claws inside the open window and pull it out! We have to have a plan!

"A bear can't do that." I could hear sleepiness and a little annoyance in his voice.

"I'm gonna rollup my window and open the one in the front a little so at least his claws won't be so close to my face," I whispered. But when I tried that, "Oh no! It won't go up without the power on!" 

I struggled loose of my warm sleeping bag, and moved my pillow out of the way, to reach between the front seats to the dashboard. Doug opened his eyes to see my pajamaed rear end wriggling past his face as I stretched to reach the power button. "Now what are you doing?", he asked sleepily.

"I have to figure out how to reach the brake pedal with one hand, and then press the power button, right?", I said with my head under the steering wheel.

"Sweetheart, I think if you just press the power button twice it'll work the windows. I read it in the manual."

"Ooh. That's easier!" It worked, and I readjusted the windows to my satisfaction. "I know! We could also honk the horn and turn on the red hazard lights! I think bears wouldn't like to see all that commotion."

"Yes dear." I hate it when he says that. "Are you ready for bed now?"

"Not really, after all that workout, but I feel safer anyway." I couldn't envision sleeping, but snuggled back under the covers, spooning Doug, my face totally buried in his shirt, trying to get my nose warm.

And then it was morning.

Zion National Park: More of the Travels With Our Prius, the 13th day of our 2 week trip

For those of you who have been following my stories about my husband and I camping around the U.S. and sleeping in our 2004 Prius, I have a few more to tell you.....

We drove to Zion National Park, in Utah in early May, and stayed for 2 nights, once again sleeping in our car as a camper. The only place that was left to stay was in the group camp, called Watchman, below the peak of the same name, so we shared our campfire with others.

We are surprised that there are so many Europeans camping everywhere. That night, we had a UCSB chemical engineering graduate from Israel, doing a road trip across the US before going to work in Germany, and also another little family from Israel who have been grad students at Stanford. The woman said "It is so Israel", that they would meet someone else from Israel.

The only problem with this campground is the caterpillars. They must drop down from the cottonwood trees, since there are a lot of nest-like things in the trees. As I was reading in a camp chair in the sunshine, a furry creature came into my peripheral vision as it crawled over the top of my book on to the page. I scared Doug when I jumped up, dropping my book in the sandy soil. Then I found one on my pants leg  and then a couple on his shirt! They're so sneaky!!... and quiet! We saw four little cocoons lined up along the wood frame of the restroom with another caterpillar making plans to spin his own little "sleeping bag".

After dinner one night, our cell phone rang, with it's characteristic "Quack quack quack", startling us from our idyllic reverie in the woods back into reality. Tenants from a house we were renting out with utilities included had their power turned off! They were sitting in the dark with their new baby and found out the bill hadn't been paid. We could barely hear them over the bad connection, but the frustration was heard loud and clear. I was ashamed to think that I had organized so many other things for this trip, but this had slipped through the cracks. What else had I missed?
We told them we'd call them back and called PG&E, and promptly got put on hold, all the while watching the battery on our phone dwindling away. We turned on the car, and plugged the phone cord into the charger, (formerly known as the cigarette lighter). Someone answered finally, and said it would be restored within an hour. We relayed the message to the tenants and apologized. Hanging up, we cracked up laughing that we were conducting business while camping in the woods! What a difference a cell phone makes!

Doug proceeded to make up our bed in the Prius while I finished washing the dishes by our solar lamplight. The water I heat on the camp stove is always so welcome to my chilly fingers after the sun goes down.
We walk together up to the restrooms to get cleaned up for bed. On the way back to camp, our sweet Prius is seen through the trees, waiting for us, with the light on inside. I commented on how cozy it looked, since Doug had arranged the pillows so nicely and the covers were turned back, beckoning us to get in. After that stressful call, I was ready to relax. I went to open my passenger side door, but it wouldn't! Doug tried his, and no go....and then another and then another. Frantic, we went over what could be wrong. Both sets of keys were locked inside, but that shouldn't happen. You're not supposed to be able to lock your keys in the car. It shouldn't let you....in fact it beeps at you till you figure out to remove your purse or whatever they are in. We circled the car as if it was prey, trying each door over and over, and of course praying. It was getting cold, and we were so close to our nice warm bed. A man walked by and asked us what was up. We told him and as soon as I went to show him, all of a sudden, the door opened! The only thing we can figure is that since both of our keys were in the car , it thought it was protecting us from robbers who were trying all the doors to get at us. Thank you Prius, I guess.
After all that, nice and cozy in our bed, no caterpillars, no more phone calls, no more civilization. We just rolled down the windows a crack, listened to the sounds of the forest and folks around a nearby campfire, someone softly strumming a guitar, and slept.

The next two days we took the free shuttle around the park. We walked along the River Walk. It was about 3 miles round trip, not so difficult......but even so,we were proud of ourselves for doing it.

 Other more athletic folks were all geared up with their paraphernalia to walk into ""the Narrows" at the end of the River Walk. They walk in to the 47 degree water through the canyon walls that are closing in overhead, with walking sticks to help them keep their balance. Doug went so far as to take off his shoes and walk into the water to cool his feet. I sat on a rock and talked to a nice lady from England.

Our very favorite area was at the Weeping Wall. You have to walk pretty much up hill, about a quarter mile in, so for us, we were puffing pretty hard. Just as you break into a sweat in the 91 degree temp, the big rock wall shows itself in a sort of cave/grotto shape, seeping water. A knowledgeable sounding person said that the water coming from the stones was thousands of years old. It drips cool water on your head and shoulders welcoming you. Tiny purple Columbine flowers grow out of the damp rock. When you finally turn around, you see the valley from which you've climbed, but only the tops of the tall deciduous trees framed by the reddish mountains on either side.

We broke up camp that day, sorting through all our old camping supplies and replenishing expired things. When checking if we left any last minute things, I found our friend's Yamaka, from when he said his prayers at the spot where we read in the morning. It's my favorite souvenir.

To get out of the park, we drove toward the east gate. In 1931, they blasted a long dark tunnel, that has a few arched windows to let you peek out to the scenery. There is a different look to the sandstone on that side.... almost a melting effect. It's so astounding, that you have to stop about every few feet to get a better look and take photos. Zion was a gift to our senses.

Next we drove to Kanab, Utah, a little town known as the "Hollywood of Utah", since many old westerns were filmed here. The beautiful red and tan sandstone mountains that surround Kanab drew producers of westerns to use it as their backdrop. The Hollywood Museum in town is free, and they have well preserved buildings from movie sets. We're thinking we will rent "Outlaw Josie Wales" some time to spot the house that we were in today.

It was about then that Doug proposed that our two week retirement trip wasn't set in stone. We didn't have to go back right away, since everything was basically being taken care of at home for a while. The great beginning of our extended retirement trip began with Doug saying, "I wonder if my friend from high school is home in Colorado. Maybe we could go there and visit him!" Well, he was.....and we did.

Smithville, New Jersey Revisited, more Travels With Our Prius

I can't believe it's been 37 years since I worked in an "olde" village called Smithville in New Jersey, just West of Atlantic City.
We're on the big retirement trip.... kind of a grand tour of the U.S. My husband Doug has visited old haunts, and we stayed with a high school friend of mine in Indiana. After we left New York, I suggested that we check out Smithville, where I have fond memories.
Excited to see that the place still existed on Google, I grew eager to see the place that I have told so many people about.
It was on a different "big trip" during the Bi-centennial year, 1976, with my former husband, Walt. He had secured a fancy waiter job at the Seaview Country Club, and I had been making patchwork denim vests and halters from old jeans and old flowery draperies. I went to Smithville, and was told I could set up my wares at a table on the entry road.
I had no sooner set up my display, and it rained! I grabbed everything, and ran into an old building that had been abandoned. I remember thinking that I wasn't doing very well at contributing a portion of our income. I prayed that something would come along. Suddenly I had the feeling that I shouldn't worry, and also I shouldn't speak. (Being alone, I didn't think that would be a challenge.)
At that moment, a man ran in from the downpour. He was surprised to see me there. I just said "Hi" and we commented about the storm briefly. Usually I'll talk to strangers more, but I felt I shouldn't speak. The man told me he was the manager of the old village down the road. It had houses that had been moved from different areas of South Jersey and there were craftspeople in each house.
Suddenly I found myself saying, "Do you have a quilter?"  Hearing myself say that, I almost jumped.
He looked at me, and said, "No, we don't... And you're a quilter, right? If you're interested, I think there's an old quilting frame in the attic at the potter's house. If you can find it, you can have a job, if you like."
So that was it. I was given a long cotton blue and white dress, and an Amish-style white hat, and informed about the house I would be in. It had been owned by Noah Newcomb, a basket weaver for the oyster trade. He made them out of cedar and oak hardwood. The quilting frame was up in the attic, like he thought, and already had a quilt on it, partially done. That was handy, since I had never quilted on a frame before, only doing something called "quilt as you go", square by square! I ran to the nearest library and got a book about it. Thank you God! I had a job!

So now, here I am in 2013, age 63, with grown children, and grandchildren coming to revisit a place I had loved in another lifetime.
When I looked at the Historic Village of Smithville's website once more, I was shocked to see that my old Smithville had been turned into 60 specialty shops, that there was a little train ride, a merry-go-round, several restaurants, a B&B, and even condos! I was appalled at the thought of this, but we decided to visit it anyway, to see if I could recognize anything.
First though, to make my trip down memory lane complete, we looked up Blueberry Hill Campground in Port Republic, NJ. That was where Walt and I had stayed with our van, a small trailer and our dog, Lillian (on the Romer big trip).
I guess the old saying that "you can't go back" is true. the woodsy forest of deciduous and pine trees is still there, but 1/2 filled with huge RV's and mobiles that have surely been here for awhile. There seems to be a competition as to who has the most decorations around their campsite. Flags, lights, gnomes, carved signs, lit up lighthouses and assorted colorful chairs and gazebos with Tiki bars abound. All the campsites look foreign to me, and I couldn't imagine which one I had stayed in so long ago for three whole months. Doug and I finally agreed on one near the restrooms with showers.
We sat for awhile in our camp chairs and then decided to find Smithville, so I could stop wondering about it.
Times have changed so much that we used our iPhone map to guide us, rather than a paper one. My memory wasn't recognizing any of the surroundings, since everything had changed.
Then we rounded a bend and I could see the familiar small lake just past an unfamiliar parking lot and shops. We parked and ventured over to where the water wheel had been. Only a rusty hub remained and the mill house was roped off with yellow security tape. Then I spotted the bridge that had led in to the village I knew. Before, black swans had glided majestically under that bridge, but they were gone and plumes of algae were forming instead. Still, I was full of anticipation as we walked toward some shops that had been installed in some of the old houses. I tried to recall the shape of Noah Newcomb's house, but then realized that all the houses had been moved into a different configuration. There used to be a huge village green, about as big as two football fields, but it was made much smaller and all the houses were squished closer together, in order to have the little train ride circle around the edge.
In the pottery shop, there was a woman, who was actually trimming a bowl on an electric wheel. (Back in the day it would have been a kick wheel). She was interested in my story of how things had been, but she hadn't been there long, and didn't know about the house she was in. I told her it would have been nice if a potter was in "my" house, since I do some pottery myself.
As we went out of her door, I noticed there was a little sign on her house that identified whose house it had been--just like in the past. There was hope!
When I looked at the sign on the very next house, I was pleased to see that it said "Noah Newcomb, 1820". I stood out in front to try to recognize it, but it had been stuck right in between two other houses, so that they all shared walls. Walking in, I told the sales person, that I was kind of a special case...that I used to work in this house, and I just wanted to get my bearings. My eyes went directly to a small door on the right. I said, if this is the right house, inside this closet is the underside of some stairs. I bumped my head on the stairs one time when I bent to get a broom. I opened it, and there they were, the stairs that had sent me to the emergency room 37 years ago to make sure I hadn't fractured my skull!!

Back in the day, I was hired as the village quilter, since that's what I told the manager I could do. Now that is a ridiculous idea, since most of the women would have been quilters, but he told me about that quilting frame in the potter's attic.

He led me over to meet the "village potter", a nice young woman with her brown hair pulled back with a ribbon. She wiped her hands on a towel and we ventured up a ladder to look for the frame. There it was, complete with a navy blue and white quilt half done, sewn on to it.
The next day, (after cramming about quilting at the library), I used the information I had gleaned to figure out how to set up the quilting frame in Noah Newcomb's house. We had to look authentic, as if it was the 1700's, so when I walked around the grounds with my little Amish-style white hat on, I carried a basket as a purse. I already had a leather thimble, but the pincushion that I had on my wrist was frowned upon since the plastic band on it hadn't been invented yet! I bought a leather bracelet and replaced the plastic. I learned to make nice, neat stitches, and noticed that experienced quilters walked in my door and bent right down to examine my stitches on the back of the quilt! The house was next door to a barn and corral, so if I left the windows open on a hot day, horse flies would fly in and pester me, landing on the quilt and leaving "fly specks".
The funny thing is, many folks who visited assumed that all of us "actors" in the houses actually lived in them, and here we were working a 9 to 5 job just like them! I'd try to act the part, some days more than others. I'd talk about my "brother" Noah, who was the basket maker (there were actually stacks of baskets outside my front door presumably for sale), and how "I don't know where he could have gone off to". Noah was known for going on drunken binges. It was fun pretending and to have people appreciate my little act.

But now, everything in the two rooms was foreign, and it was even being used as a jewelry shop. I recounted to the shopkeeper how a man who impersonated Mark Twain used to come in to visit me on a slow day. We would heat water for tea or Lipton Cup-A-Soup with a little plug in element that I had, and sit at a table and visit. Whenever a family came in, he'd revert to his Mark Twain persona. Also, I told her about the Towne Crier, who rode horseback on a dappled grey horse, would come to visit by letting his horse poke his head in the door and whinny.
Revolutionary war re-enactments were performed a few times out on the Village Green, and every time some entertainment was about to happen, the Town Crier, in his three cornered hat would call out, "Hear ye, Hear ye! Come to the Village Green at one o'clock, to see the troupe of actors perform a show!", or some such thing.
The girl in the house next door to mine, Marianne, made apple head dolls, and she came over to visit sometime and showed me how to peel and carve a head out of an apple and then watch it shrink, wrinkle and age over time and in the heat. She made beautiful, detailed clothes for her dolls and sold them for quite a lot. 
There was a guy dressed as a pirate, and he hung out down by the lake with a huge red plumed parrot, which he let me walk around with one time. Canadian geese were on the lake with the black swans, (whose honks sounded like bicycle horns). One day, the geese all left at once and never came back....time to go south.
I went to other houses, which had also been disappointingly made into stores, and we rode the little train, but no one remembered how it used to be. It was, I think, worth being remembered, so that's why I'm recording my memories of it.
Time goes on. They say that the Smithville of old, wasn't making money and was sold to a developer that has brought lots of jobs and money to the community. That's fine and good. I still wish I could go back in time.

Back at the campground, however..... We've decided we like it here. It's been refurbished, has a nice pool and spa, a new playground for the kids, and brand new washers and dryers in the laundry room that are super efficient. The café. now called Clark's Landing Café, is being given a new start with Joe, the excellent cook and owner. We're having dinner here tonight, and I even have my eye on a string of flamingo lights for our campsite.  I think we should "join 'em".

Dry in Utah, more Travels With Our Prius

Evidently, in Utah, because of the Mormon influence, liquor is sold in separate state-run liquor stores. We were staying for the night near the border in Kanab, UT, and thought we'd save a little money by not ordering wine in a restaurant. A merchant in town told us that the nearest "packaged" liquor store was just across the border, in Arizona. We entered "liquor store" into the maps app on our iPhone, and the directions popped up. We headed for the border of Utah, into Arizona.
Sure enough, a lone, weathered building stood in a gravel parking lot with a peeling sign that said  "Liq or". It had the look of a business that was either closed or was neglected. From the outside, empty cardboard boxes could be seen piled up against the window. Doug said, "The man said there were two stores, maybe we should try the other one..."
There were three cars in the parking lot, and I said, "SOME people shop here. I think this looks interesting. Let's both go in."
The screen door creaked as we walked in. Doug ventured ahead of me down a narrow aisle. I was greeted by a little black bulldog. When I bent to pet him, flakes of dandruff appeared on his dusty looking coat. There was a slight scent of a litter box. The dog followed behind as I turned to take in the scene.
Some of the nails were sticking up above the weathered floorboard. On either side of the aisle were big bags of cat food, dog food, and garden soil. Something for everyone. What was really encroaching on the aisle were stacks of old newspaper, and discarded packaging that never made it out to the garbage.
Behind the counter sat a rather tall old woman with waxy skin and and long gray hair. She made eye contact with me, and I noticed the bags under her eyes and the deep wrinkles from years of smoking.
"What's your dog's name?", I asked, trying to be social.
She looked me up and down and then shouted ,"He's Bull! B-U-L-L!" at the top of her voice, as if she was hard of hearing, or she thought I was.
Behind her was a another stack of newspapers and magazines, this time intermingled with three bottles of what I recognized as little plastic bottles of homeopathic remedies. I was going to be bold and ask her about them, since I've taken the different "cell salt" tablets before for different ailments, but I refrained. Maybe I felt that it made me more like her...
I walked back to where Doug was examining the different bottles of wine that were displayed amazingly neatly, but with no prices.
In the mean time, the lady smoked the last of a cigarette, flicking the ashes off her stained down vest, chatted with other customers, asking about their families; how she hadn't seen them for a couple of days, etc. A young man with a bowl haircut and missing a couple of front teeth, emerged from a big refrigerated room with a 24 pack of cold beer. She asked him when he was leaving for his new job. "Tomorrow", he said.
We made our selection, a Turning Leaf Merlot, but wondered about the price. "Seven ninety-five." she called out. She called out "See ya!", to some other customers, and then asked if we would pay by cash or credit.
"Visa if that's okay", said my husband.
"BOBBY!!", she hollered. "Seven ninety-five!!"
Turns out Bobby is her grandson, who arranges the bottles and runs the credit machine.
As he was ringing us up, Doug asked the lady if the road to the North Rim of the Canyon was open yet. The boy from the beer refrigerator said, " It won't open till May 15th, I'm going up to work there. We have to get it ready in the next coupla weeks." He smiled and shrugged his shoulders proudly.
"So I guess we'll head on up to Bryce or Arches", Doug said.
Trying to make a little more conversation, I said,"I bet you do a pretty good business here right on the border!"
She looked at me oddly with her rheumy eyes, and in a moment said, "Yeah, some tourists come through here."
The young man with the beer offered, "Well, ya got a lotta regulars!!", grinning from ear to ear.
"Well, tomorrow I think I'll just close for the day", she said, "I've got a lot of errands to do." She moved an overflowing ashtray to a neater place directly in the middle of an old Oprah magazine.
Her grandson had Doug sign his receipt, and then went back to straightening the liquor bottles.
We said our good byes, and headed for the door, once again followed by Bull. Near the door I saw a big white ice machine and opened it thinking we might need some ice for our ice chest. I closed it quickly and made for the door.
Doug said, "You don't want to get ice?"
I shook my head and said, "There wasn't any ice in there, only old pizza boxes..."
We walked to our car thinking that perhaps we should wipe down the wine bottle before we opened it. I guess you can see that we aren't fine wine connoisseurs....