The new air conditioners were finally picked up and installed on Monday. Credit where it’s due, the guys busted their asses trying to make things right. By Tuesday morning, Wanda, our 40-foot chariot of chaos, was finally cool and ready to roll. Time to get the hell out of Florida and start working our way toward Fair Play, South Carolina.
First stop, Lake City, Florida. Red Rooster RV Park. A tiny working farm with only six sites, but each one had 50-amp power, water, and sewer. That alone puts it ahead of half the county and state parks we’ve seen. The site was flat, the air had finally cooled, and for the first time in months the humidity seemed to have taken a vacation. We walked the dogs, we listened to farm sounds, and nothing, and I mean nothing,beats the sound of a braying ass in the distance. A couple of beers outside sealed the deal, and we slept like rocks. Morning brought coffee in the cool 65-degree air and one hell of a sunrise. That one morning almost erased all the bullshit we’d waded through just trying to get out of Florida.
Day two, we packed up and hit the road. All seemed fine until, of course, the radio died. No sound, no Bluetooth, nothing. Music is my fuel, and suddenly I was running on empty. Kylie tried to help, but no dice. I was ready to bite nails until she queued up Yacht Rock Radio on her phone and set it on the dash. If you grew up in the 70s, you know. If you didn’t, you’ll never understand. Eventually, she remembered the Bose wireless speaker in the back. I set it up on the dash and boom, better sound than the RV speakers ever gave us. Looks like I found my next upgrade.
The hills got steeper as Wanda chugged north, steady and strong. Lunch at a rest stop was easy, one of the perks of RV life is eating on your own couch with the AC blasting while the dogs stretch their legs. But arriving at Lake Tobesofkee proved tricky. The GPS led us to the wrong campground, and I had to turn sixty feet of rolling mayhem around on a two-lane road. Luckily, a sympathetic gatekeeper let us swing through her lot, crisis avoided, and we were back on track.
We finally reached the right campground, right on the lake, and checked in. Except, and there’s always an except, the Jeep battery was dead. Of course it was. I had jumper cables but no way in hell to reach with the RV. Just as I was piecing together a plan, a guy in a pickup with a hunting dog pulled up and offered to help. Sometimes, when the world feels like it’s burning down, a small act of kindness resets the balance. Jeep jumped, rig parked, beers cracked.
Kylie took the dogs out while I finished setting up, and within seconds Benny found goose shit to roll in. He’s officially upgraded from Benny Bunghole to Greasy Goose. We scrubbed him down, parked ourselves by the lake with beers, and soaked in the view. Too many beers, maybe, but no regrets. The next morning was cool, 58 degrees, mist rolling over the water. A perfect sunrise, and I’m fumbling for my phone to snap it when Benny goes into another mystery roll. No idea what it was this time, but he came out grinning. Demented dog. Still, standing there with coffee, fog on the lake, and silence except for the waking birds, it all felt worth it. Even if Kylie was still asleep, sleeping off the beers she matched me for the night before.