Night Sounds

I fell asleep last night not wearing my earplugs. Awakened at 2:00 a.m. by crying and shouting, I went to investigate. The moon was high and bright in the clear night sky.

Locating the direction of the sobbing, I found it to be outside the campground next to a service road adjacent to the creek and behind a hotel. I shined my powerful torch in the direction of the sobbing but saw nothing. Still the sobbing continued.

As I returned to my trailer, I thought of the Kitty Genovese stabbing in New York City many years ago. Numerous persons heard her cries for help as her attacker stabbed her multiple times. No one responded. While what I was hearing didn't sound like cries for help, I wondered what was happening. I chose not to leave the campground to further investigate, convinced this was not a Kitty Genovese case.

Returning to bed, I tossed and turned hearing the sound of a crying baby. In the darkness, I found my earplugs and pushed them into my ears. No longer hearing the crying baby, I lay awake for about an hour, eventually rising at 4:00 a.m. NPR kept me company until time for the campground check at 5:30 a.m.

As I exited the trailer, the sobbing and baby crying had stopped. Now the morning traffic and crashing surf was all I could hear. I need a nap.

Crazy Dazed

The drug addled homeless guy who took a push broom and destroyed a window of my trailer while I was absent from the campground has provoked strong emotions in me. I am pissed and perplexed by the act. I pity the guy who was arrested, transported to a homeless shelter and cited to appear.

Why was he in my campsite? What prompted him to break a window through which he could not enter my trailer? 

Many of the homeless people who stay in the area remind me of the rodents who have overrun the campground. They are feral and survive by their opportunistic predations. They contribute little if anything to the general welfare but have as much right to life as any other sentient creature. No one wants to have any interaction with them. But, they can't be ignored.

The squirrels undermine the vegetation, carry disease and chew through automobile wiring. The homeless frighten campers, trespass and steal. Both squirrels and the homeless are not responsive to efforts to control them, but require management for the betterment of the campground.

The inexplicability of a random act of violence is most unsettling. It challenges one's assumptions about homelessness, petty crime and drug abuse. It is an inconvenience, a perturbation and inexcusable.

Beach Trash

I did beach patrol this morning, going west to a small jetty. This area of the beach is not as well used as the east side. A sand berm blocks the path of a polluted creek where nasty looking runoff accumulates.

With my thirty gallon heavy duty plastic bag and sturdy grabber, I collected the usual assortment of beach detritus. My standard is to grab anything not naturally found in the sand. There were many plastic bottle caps, cigarette butts and other plastic items, plus items of clothing and footwear.

A particular piece of footwear, a right foot Birkenstock men's Arizona sandal, size 46, got me thinking, since I wear the exact size sandal, Where was the left sandal? How does a man lose only one sandal? Where is the owner of the sandal? Did he have a backup set of footwear? Or, did he hop to his car, bike, motorcycle and drive to Famous Shoes? Did he suffer a cut or injury to his bare right foot? Was the sandal thrown at a vicious, attacking dog? Or, was it thrown at another person as Arabs do to show disrespect?

Many more questions ran through my sun addled mind as I dragged the heavy bag of trash to the nearest garbage can. What prompts me to think of such things? Is it the two cups of coffee I drink in the morning? Maybe the influence of too much time staring at an electronic device? Whatever the reason(s), trash harvesting on the beach suits me.
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What I Learned Today

During the morning campsite census, I saw two motor scooters parked adjacent to an RV. One was tan. The other was claret. After generator check, I stopped at the scooter campsite and encountered a man and woman who were most willing to discuss their scooters.

The woman immediately showed my the only scratch to mar her tan scooter. She explained how the scratch occurred and took complete blame for it. Her husband then showed me the scratches on his scooter and explained their origin.

Having now become intimately acquainted with the scooters' imperfections, I  felt compelled to learn more about them, and as it turned out, their owners. The Honda 125 Cali Scooter is retro in appearance with small tires and chromed curving, upright handlebars. Both had rounded, locking luggage compartments behind the leather seat. Brain buckets were locked therein.

Mrs. said she got about 80 mpg. She added that her right knee has healed from her self-caused crash.  Mr. asked if I would like to ride his bike and, while I did want to, I begged off saying I was on duty. Whatever that means.

The couple trailer their scooters behind their RV using them to explore wherever they camp. With a top speed under 50 mph, the scooters are best suited for blue highways or backstreets. Theses venues offer the greatest possibilities for surprises and adventures. The couple recounted the many interesting places and events they have discovered.

As they donned their helmets, and quietly departed from the campground, I wondered what interesting sights and scenes they would see today. I wished they had a bright colored third scooter with a matching large helmet just for me.

A Little Antsy Here

My trailer has been infiltrated by a rogue force of Pharoah ants, commonly known as sugar ants. The little bastards can insinuate themselves in the most troublesome spots, i.e. anywhere. I harbor no animus towards them but insist they carry on their operations elsewhere.

A site recommended by a Google search suggested I combat the infiltration with a 50/50 solution of white vinegar and water, baking soda and commercial poisons. I decided to use the lithium battery powered vacuum cleaner as a first strike. After sucking up many platoons of the the army and depositing them in the fire pit, I sprayed, what to them is agent orange, on all flat surfaces. Next, I spread baking soda around the trailer tires, stabilizer jacks, and the hitch post.

The ants have retreated except for stragglers. I wish I had an Aardvark. But, you should see the look on the faces of the little critters as I brandish the Samsung vacuum cleaner. The look says, " Oh no, the alien space ship is coming for me. Help - thwuck."

Early October

The beach has lost its sand. Formerly submerged structures have reappeared. Once grassy lawns are brown. No water flows from the outdoor showers. Still, the campers come.

The lure of sun, surf and sand is strong. The park may not look as good as it once was but it still provides campers with a glorious respite from the world beyond the coast highway. No one complains about the dusty campsites and weary vegetation. They do what campers have always done:    become sunburned, eat too much, drink too much, sleep to little and play hard.

The cool October nights prompt early bedtimes. The dewy mornings keep campers in bed later. The warm soft day provides opportunities for adventures on the sand and in the water. One day camping here is not enough. It never is.

Back for a Month

Thinking I would avoid traffic by motoring early on a Saturday morning across Los Angeles on I5, I was wrong. The 80+ mph traffic passed me like I was some senior citizen from the Pacific Northwest.  Eventually I arrived at the humid, sunny, crowded campground.

Wow. Nice surf and hundreds of paddleboarders greeted me. I fitted the trailer into the campsite with the strangely good assistance of Sticky Wicket and Wick O'Shay. Squirrels refused to get out of the way. Mice shuffled by not the least bit phased by the presence of sweaty humans. Wick said his cooler was infiltrated by sugar ants. A posted sign warned of West Nile virus contagion. Wonderful to be back.