Day 32 -- Lake Moffitt to Louisville, Kentucky -- 161 Miles

To quote that now famous philosopher, Jack T. Colton, in Romancing the Stone, "One hell of a morning has turned into a bitch of a day!" It all started about 3:00 a.m. this morning when the muffled sounds of tiny raindrops on the RV roof suddenly increased in intensity until it compared favorably with what the great Niagara must sound like if you happened to camp at the foot of the falls.

The rain fell that way for a couple of hours, and then began to taper off a bit. By breakfast time it had largely quit and the sun had even begun to poke it's head through the clouds. I was even able to walk around the camp and snap a few photos before I had to pack up the RV gear and head out.

Moffitt Lake in Kentucky turned out to be just the finest, most reasonably-priced camp we've come across. The scenery is lovely, including a view of the lake from virtually every camp site. The staff is extra nice, especially the head maintenance guy who came by a couple of times to see if we needed anything. His name was Eddie, and he said he'd lived his whole life in Kentucky, was born and raised right down the road from the lake, he said. We even ran into Eddie as we were leaving the camp and we stopped and shook hands and wished each other well. He was just the sort of guy you don't come across every day. We were glad we met him.

The drive back to Route 60 from the Lake was wonderfully picturesque. The farm fields were green as an emerald, and were a perfect backdrop to the red barns and John Deere-green farm equipment. Even the roadside ditches got in on the act with their riot of bright yellow wildflowers.

And that, dear readers, is where the good part of the day ended. By the time we drove the dozen and a half miles back to Route 60 so we could head east toward Louisville, the sky had turned angry-looking. And then, drop by drop, wind gust by wind gust, last night's thunderous rain made its reappearance. Thereafter, the storm built in intensity until we were being pelted with sheets of rain, the skies on all sides of us were crackling with lightening, and thunder claps boomed incessantly to give the whole scene punctuation.

Stopping only for lunch, we forged ever eastward toward our afternoon goal of Louisville, though we had no set goal of just where we would be staying. In 2014 when we came to Louisville, we picked out a KOA camp just across the Ohio River in Indiana that we thought might be good. Little did we know that a very active rail line ran just to the east of the camp's boundary. All night long trains thundered by with irritating frequency. I told Concetta we definitely would not be staying there this time.

About mid afternoon the storm clouds really began to look ominous, though we could see clearer skies in the direction we were heading. We decided not to worry. But then, suddenly, my cell phone chimed with an incoming message. I gave the phone to Concetta and she read the alert from Verizon. "Tornado warning in your area," it read. "Get to shelter immediately." We looked at each other, then at the torrents of rain falling outside.

I'm not sure where the Verizon folks expect us to go," I said to Concetta. "Let's just keep an eye out all around us and proceed onward. We drove some more. At one point we even pulled off the highway, got out of the rig, and surveyed the surrounding skies, but saw no sign of a funnel-shaped cloud.

We had only been back on the highway a short time and a message from Verizon came again. "Tornado Warning in your area until 2:30 p.m.," it said. "Take shelter NOW."

Just about that time the rain really began to increase in intensity and everywhere the sky was alive with lightening flashes. We rolled into the little town of Garrett and the first thing I saw was a tiny abandoned gas station with a nice sturdy canopy still in place. I swung the wheel over, rolled off the highway and slid neatly underneath the old station's canopy on the diagonal so that as much as possible of the RV's roof would be protected from flying objects.

Moments later, just as hail began to tap-tap-tap onto the exposed surfaces of the RV, a black faded pickup rolled in and parked beside us. Then, as the hail began to drum loudly on the filling station's metal roof and on what surfaces of the RV could not be protected, more people rolled in off the street and wedged themselves anywhere they could find a small corner of the roof to protect them. By the time the hail had tapered off, the lot contained a half dozen vehicles in addition to our own. Hail was mounded all over the parking lot, and rain was coming down in waterfall-like torrents.

But after thirty minutes or so, the storm began to lighten a bit and most of the cars began to drift back onto the highway. Once everyone was gone we, too, rolled back out onto the highway and headed east. The rain never really stopped, but it became more manageable and we were able to make at least 45 to 55 mph toward our destination.

So what was our destination? Well, by then Concetta had found a camp near Louisville that was NOT the KOA from two years ago. We programmed the GPS and finally found our waterlogged home for the night just in time to have the rain largely stop. I'm always much elated when the rain stops at least long enough for me to get set up.

But the lack of rain turned out to be about the only positive thing that happened for about the next hour. Everything else immediately began to go wrong. First, as we pulled into the park we noticed that it looked NOTHING like the advertised description. The camp was run down, tired-looking, and was filled with battered old mobile homes. Second, there was no designated office structure. That's almost always a bad sign. Not seeing an office, I went ahead and rolled through the the park until I found an empty spot, then I backed the rig in close to the power pole, and shut off the engine.

Out the truck's front window I could just see a couple of women sitting on a nearby mobile's front porch smoking cigarettes. Deciding that I ought to not wear my new tennis shoes through the surrounding mud and water, I took the time to put on my Kroks. Then I went over to learn from the smoking women just where a person went to pay.

"Over yonder at space twenty-seven is the manager," the younger of the two women said, and extended her arm so I would get the general direction I need to go. It was raining just ever so softly, and I was thankful I had thought to don my rain jacket.When I got to space 27, the manager, a young man of about twenty, was just exiting the mobile. "Hello," he said, when he saw me.

"I just put my rig in space 8," I said. "You the manager?"

"I am," the young man said. "Come on inside." Then he added, "By the way, you have a reservation?"

I shook my head. "Sorry," I said.

"It's okay," he said. "This past weekend we were full up and there wouldn't have been even one space, but now, you can just stay in space 8. No problem."

When we go inside I immediately began to suspect that there wasn't going to be any sort of standard operating procedure such as we experience at every other camp. I wouldn't under any circumstances be giving the young lad a credit card. "So how much for one night?" I asked.

He looked thoughtful, like he was trying to decide just how much he was going to be able to charge me without my deciding to go down the road. "Well," he said, "since you didn't have a reservation the cost is $35.00. You can pay with a check or with cash." He sort of trailed off at that point and studied me as if he was wondering if he'd get away with charging me that much.

Suspecting that he probably wouldn't be giving the owner any money I gave him, I nevertheless handed him the $35.00 and felt relived that I didn't have to drive any further. "Thanks," I said. "Oh, and by the way, "does the power pole have 30amp?"

He shook his head. "We only have 50amp here. You'll have to use an adapter if you have one."

Thankfully, I did have one. I just bought it on this trip when I found a great deal at the park just south of the Grand Canyon. Best $15.00 I ever spent while RVing, because without the adapter I would have had to find one or hook up using just the 110AC cord.

It was when I was leaving the manager's mobile that things really began to go wrong. The Kroks I was wearing have become quite worn and slick over time and I only use them for walking around in the wet grass and mud on this trip. But as I started to descend the slippery porch I fell and neatly removed a 1/2" wide swath of skin on my right forearm about 8 or 10 inches long. Naturally the blood began to flow with a vengeance and I had to roll up my jacket sleeve to keep from getting it all bloody.

After I got back to the RV of course I still had to get the water, sewer, and electrical set up and everything shipshape. All through this process I had to keep stopping and swabbing up the blood on my forearm with paper towels. But once that was done, I began to breath a sigh of relief. I shouldn't have.

The problem was that while doing the nightly sewer dump after hooking up, I left the water hose in the ON position that was flushing the tank. I had only just gotten back in the RV, and had started to tend to my damaged arm, when Concetta let out a shriek from the bathroom that the toilet was overflowing. Of course I knew immediately the dumb mistake I had made. Jamming my feet in my soggy, slippery Kroks, I dashed for the door. I cleared the steps okay, but as I neared the rear of the coach where it was extremely muddy from all the rain, I slipped and fell again, banging my head into the overhanging slideout.

Picking myself out of the mud, I hobbled over and turned off the water hose, then pulled open the black tank valve which sent an explosion of water toward the drain. I knew that there was probably going to be hell to pay when next I appeared in the doorway. My Kroks were destroyed. My Bermuda shorts were covered with mud. My arm was bleeding profusely on everything. My left side felt like a heavyweight boxer had pummeled it, more damages from falling down the stairs. And that was only MY problems. I could only imagine what the bathroom looked like.

At this point Concetta ordered me to find old towels (I had brought several), rubber gloves, and a bucket. I got right on it, blood or no blood. Fortunately, the bathroom floor was soon cleaned and disinfected, the old towels and bathroom rug were segregated in an orange Home Depot bucket I'd brought for just such emergencies, and my bloody arm was wrapped up in a large fold of paper towels so I could bleed out in peace.

So you see, that even if life seems to go your way for long stretches of time, there's always that one day when you should have stayed in bed. Oh, and did I mention that the campsite we chose quite by accident since it seemed level, is situated about fifty feet from a rail line! I had no idea until the first train rolled through. The tracks had been screened by trees and shrubs. Fortunately, it doesn't seem to be quite as active as the one two years ago at the KOA, but hey, the night is young.

So, while I can still move my fingers without pain medication, I wish you Happy Travels!