Waking up at 7 after being out past 2 isn't any more glamorous in an RV, but we had a mission: head to Camping World to have our electricity, our tires, and our broken water filter looked at. The name Camping World is a bit of a misnomer; the store caters exclusively to people in RVs, selling such “camping” amenities as propane logs made to look like campfires, satellite dishes, and an assortment of Christmas lights for your front awning, now on sale! Definitely not our kind of store, even more so after we paid $150 to basically have nothing done to our RV. It would have been $170, but we turned down their offer to inflate our tires for $20. The Ford dealer next door did this for free, with a smirk and shake of his head when we told them what Camping World wanted to charge. Still, the store is thriving, with wealthy “campers” paying to have their Rvs hand washed and their mirrors adjusted. Not kidding.
Mike Pius stayed in St. Augustine to surf a surprise swell, and we headed to Salt Spring in Ocala National Forest. There are a few campgrounds around the actual salt spring, and we met a man in a parking lot who had stayed in all of them and made some great suggestions. He was living out of an old Dodge van, sleeping a tent when the weather was nicer. He claimed that while he didn't enjoy swimming in the salt spring, he made sure to drink a cup of it every day. “It's pretty salty,” he said, “but I have rheumatoid arthritis so I drink it for that.” “Does it help?” “Well, I guess I think it does.” After giving us a few more tips, Ward introduced himself. “Oh, I'm Shakey” he said, and waved his arms around to demonstrate.
Setting up our RV in the state park, Stephanie noticed that one of our newly filled tires was now flat, most likely from the valve extension we put on earlier. Almost immediately, the young woman from the next site over was at our side, asking us if we needed help. This despite the fact that she and her boyfriend were living in a tent and didn't have any visible means with which to help us. She was kind of odd, and seemed to want something from us. “Are you family?” she asked. Ward said yes to not have to go into any further explanation, but this was the wrong answer. “Oh cool, us too! Do you know where everyone's heading. It's a great lifestyle. I've been trying to get him into it but he still isn't sure.” Without knowing it, we had committed ourselves to this woman's “family.” RV-ers? Swingers? Meth Mules? Any of them could have applied, and in her case, these “lifestyles” weren't mutually exclusive.
We felt her eyes on us for the rest of the evening. If one of us happened to look that way, she would perk up and move to the edge of her seat, ready to come over if we so much as said hello. Stephanie told Ward not to answer the door if anyone knocked. “Yeah, I guess we'll just ask who it is?” She got a kick out of that. “Oh, like that's going to make a difference? We don't know anyone here!” Nobody ever knocked, but we found ourselves pining for the good old everyday creepiness of the Walmart parking lot.
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