Camping: No Valet Parking & No Maid

We ventured south, to Carmel, for the weekend. Although less than two hours' drive, a lot more than two hours of preparation go into loading everything up and garden must be watered and arrangements must be made for cats to be fed, before we can "spontaneously" hit the road.
The Artistic One is limited to a few steps, with a cane, and has a hard time pulling himself up the steps into our Travel Trailer when he gets to it, so everything falls to me. I admit that I  participate with a chip on my shoulder. I'd be happy to stay at home; go riding on the weekend; not have to haul half the contents of our kitchen and bedroom across the driveway and find places to pack it all away. I also hate being a passenger when my driver is so nonchalant about the rules of the road.

We had reserved a spot under a shady oak, overlooking Carmel Valley. Our Travel Trailer is 20ft long and very comfortable for the two of us and occasional guest Brook a prior foster dog who's forever family had asked if we could take her for a few days while they went on a road trip with their Corvette Club.

Four miles inland from the ocean and a steep road up to the top of Saddle-Back Mountain is a small and tranquil camp ground, surrounded by nature. The late afternoon hazy fog blows in from the ocean and cools everything down. The other campers are from all parts of the US as well as Germany, Sweden and Canada.

We unhitched our car and drove down to the beach on Saturday morning. I had to borrow some children to get Brook far enough away from me to take her photo. She's a bit of a Princess. She accidentally got her feet wet and kept sitting down and giving me her paws, obviously not enamored of the feel of sandy feet. You could imagine her saying "Eeww!"

The Carmel River spills out into a wide lagoon. The beach was uncrowded and beautiful. Everyone was at Ocean Beach, the better known destination at the foot of the main street and open to off-leash doggy exploits so our beach was barely  punctuated by humans.

 

Further up the valley, the same river must be crossed to enter a park with wide, well groomed trails. It's nice to know there is some water left in California. 

We had planned on cooking dinner for friends who love the coast and were going to join us. Our fridge was loaded with the makings of Ratatouille and Brochettes. Rose wine was chilling and red wine and fresh, crusty bread were available too.  I hadn't heard from them by mid-afternoon so I texted and found out that they were busy doing other things and hadn't had the courtesy to update us on their change of plans.

We ended up heading into the village for a drink and some food, too disheartened to make a special dinner just for us. We were seated outside on the deck with just the right combination of warm air and shade. I had a salad that turned out to be very good. I had asked them to add salmon, not thinking it would be smoked, but it was lovely, if unexpected.

A band of "mature" musicians showed up to entertain. They were very musical with their guitars but someone should have told them long ago that singing was not their strong suit. I clapped anyway, to be polite but they didn't make us want to prolong our stay.

We had a less than perfect night as the carbon monoxide alarm kept going off, for no reason, and I couldn't make it stop for more than an hour at a time. I wanted to get at the batteries but finding a Philips screwdriver at 2:30am was beyond me. I kept leaping up at the slightest beep, afraid of waking our neighbors. By shortly before dawn it gave up squealing and I was able to sleep for a couple of hours, until the dog needed to go out.

Brook found a comfortable spot to sleep in the caravan. From a mangy, hairless foundling, picked up in torrential rain on city streets, Brook has adapted well to the good life.