I know everyone is waiting with bated breath to discover if I’m really going to survive my intimate encounter with a 3,000 pound boulder at the High Desert Museum a couple of days ago. Well, after spending most of the morning with a half dozen medical people, I think I have the answer. Those talented and hardworking folks, including clerks, nurses, x-ray techs, and a very nice red-headed doctor, whose ancestors almost certainly came from the same part of the world that mine did, i.e. the rocky crags of Scotland, Ireland, and Wales, seemed to think that I lucked out. And while my ribs don’t FEEL very lucky to me, they say that the x-rays show no real alteration to their original architectural design.
I was astounded! The past several days I’ve been hobbling and groaning around like Methuselah’s grandfather, hardly able to bend over and tie my shoes. I wince at even the thought of rising from my chair. Every single move, no matter how slight, sent waves of pain at lightning speed to my overloaded nerve center. Now they tell me that in all likelihood, all I have is something called “contusions.”
Okay, well I might have contusions but I bet they’re spelled in ALL CAPITAL LETTERS! But no one in the powder blue and forest green outfits seemed to think that I had anything to worry about; that someday soon I’d be as good as new. Of course the Doc, an extremely likeable fellow with the Scots name of Campbell, did say that “someday soon” might translate into weeks over even months from now. Ribs weren’t always so forgiving of being applied to very large rocks.
This of course leaves me wondering just how I lucked out and managed to NOT let any of my ribs come into contact with the sharp edge of the offending bolder, that actually DID succeed in removing several square inches of my left forearm skin. Certainly if even a single rib had contacted the sharp edge of the rock it would be broken instantly.
Perhaps, I wondered as we later motored up the Interstate toward Washington State, I somehow managed to break my fall with my arm against the sharp edge, which deflected my upper body onto the flatter part of the stone. I know I hit the rock hard enough to break things, especially things as delicate as ribs. So in order to only have contusions, I reason, all the ribs must have hit simultaneously, thereby spreading the impact over a wider surface. I think it's one possibility. Another is that fate decided to go easy on me this time. Who knows?
So, having spent most of yesterday morning at the hospital, and the balance of the morning shopping for groceries and then having lunch, we didn’t leave town until 12:30 p.m. Our goal was to drive to Yakima, Washington where I had read about a nice full-service camp. As fate would have it, I had underestimated the distance by a lot, so we actually stopped at a very nice wooded campground about 60 miles south of Yakima on Highway 97.”
The camp is called the Brooks Memorial and is owned by the Washington State Parks and Recreation folks. I was prepared to have to use a dump station as it didn’t appear from the entrance that it would offer anything but water and electrical connections. But surprise, surprise, the very nice gentleman who met us as we drove in immediately informed us that there were lots of spaces available and each space contained full hookups. Oh happy days!
The up side is that the camp is beautiful, quiet, and intensely serene. The down side is the internet connection is nill, which is why you didn't read this yesterday. There are trails around the area you can hike, sayeth the camp host, and most of the sites are close to level. We had to boost the rear wheels about four inches, but that's no big deal.
As I write this piece this morning, we've left camp and traveled the 60 miles to reach Yakima. Right now as we decorate the back lot of a truck stop, the internet connection is 100%, which I haven't seen this whole trip. I rather suspect that connection availability, as we travel further north and into Canada, may be spotty at best, but we'll do what we can to keep you updated. Until then, I wish you exciting destinations and memorable travels from the Davises, the Happy Wanderers.
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