A Very Modern Grand Tour - Day 3, Tuesday

Reports from the Campground bathhouse were generally favourable; plenty of hot water and hardly anyone about. As with the previous campground, the cleanliness left a little to be desired but at least the phantom buttock printer hadn't been in.

Setting off for Macon, I enjoyed the acceleration on the car now that it was trailer-less and even let the thing bound off at 70mph, a real novelty after two days of driving with a dead weight slung behind us. Mrs T was busy snapping pictures of the roadside billboards and direction signs, as she does, when the camera suddenly threw a wobbly, making a horrible grinding noise each time it was powered on. The sound was alarming enough for me to miss a key turn on our route to the monument and then we had to suffer the outrage of the the Sat Nav “Turn around when possible!”.

Ocmulgee National Historical Monument is an area where some of North America's earliest human history is situated. There are a number of ancient mounds, constructed by the Indians living there over 1,000 years ago, as well as a reconstructed Earth House and a rather lovely Visitor Center. Coming from Europe, it seems a little odd to me to call things ancient when they are only 1,000 years old; Stonehenge is 3,500 years old. However, it helps to realise that human development is different over here and Ocmulgee was certainly a great way to learn exactly that. One thing that Americans do particularly well is the reconstruction of things historical, be it of buildings (or even whole towns) or by re-enacting events, and this site had the great Earth House rebuilt over the original earthen floor. It was wonderful to stand inside, complete with moody lighting and cool air, and view what the place would have been like when new. Of course, we'll draw a discrete veil over the fact that much American history has been lost in the name of progress, even here at Ocmulgee, but they do a grand job rebuilding it!

We decided to go into Macon to see if we could get the camera sorted and ended up downtown at a little camera shop picked out by the Sat Nav. It turned out be a place of many second hand camera bits but also of a guy who knew what he was on about. Our camera lens was knackered so he sold us a very good Minolta lens, of a much better quality than the Sony, for $100. I thought that was a bargain, especially as we really need a good camera on this trip. Thank you Coke's Cameras of Macon. It was a very hot afternoon and we'd not eaten so we set off to find a little sandwich place, only to discover that here in the business district, everything closed at 2pm, and it was 2.30pm. This seems to be a feature of our travels; no one else wants to work to our timescale. As a last resort, we set course for the campground and asked the Sat Nav to find us a “Waffle House”, purely on the grounds that we'd seen loads of them on the way down. It's at this point that US readers will smile knowingly and say “good call”, with hardly a hint of irony. Waffle House is a sort of diner that specializes in very fast waffles and all day breakfasts, a haven for those desiring comfort food but don't have a lot of time to enjoy it. We, on the other hand, were not really in a hurry and not necessarily desirous of such things but, as we'd found out in the downtown area, everywhere else was shut at 3pm. We fell on our feet though because the waitress (sorry, server) was very patient and explained everything to us very carefully, even to the extent of getting us a bowl of Grits to try. I'd look up Grits for you but I don't have Internet access at the moment, which is another story. Anyway, a breakfast style meal was consumed and enjoyed and we offer our grateful thanks to the lovely waitress (sorry, Server) for helping us so much. Not sure we'll be back at a Waffle House any time soon, though!

That evening we had some of the world's oiliest Beefburgers, cooked on our sexy little portable gas barbecue. It was a real pain to clean up and we only just made it before the daily thunderstorm and minor deluge sent us scurrying back inside Towed Haul. We'd really expected to have spent most of the time outside but this darned rain was just following us about. Mind you, it was at least warm rain.

Another early night amidst the cacophony of a million tree frogs had us settled before midnight in preparation for the next day's drive, this time about 350 miles, south to Florida. We are getting better at this camping lark because we'd readied a lot of stuff for the morning; still, 6 am seemed awful close.

A Very Modern Grand Tour - Day 2, Monday

It was a really hot and sticky night with Mrs T experimenting with various levels of cooling and ventilation. I must have slept but it was a horrible sound when the alarm went off as I felt I'd only just gone to bed. The showers at Fort Boonesborough were warm and wet but the cubicles were a tad soiled. Indeed, it looked like someone had been kicking a muddy football around in there, either that or making exciting buttock prints on the flat surfaces.

Packing up was a bit disorganised with the Tadpoles desperate to help but in reality only getting in the way, which is a shame really. We forgot to do a few things before leaving the site, not least to remove the chocks from between the trailer wheels before moving off, but luck was on our side as one set popped out and the other locked the wheels but only to allow them to skid on the previous night's collected mud. Mrs T spotted the problem and disaster was averted, but only just.

Back on the south bound I75, we made our way through the remainder of Kentucky and on into Tennessee. It was getting hillier and our welcome to Dolly Parton's home state was a 4 mile climb up to the highest point on the route, on the outer edges of the Appalachians. The views were breathtaking, miles and miles of ancient mountain range and countless millions of trees. The Toadmobile might not have been a 400 horsepower monster truck but it dealt admirably with its biggest climb with Towed Haul so far. Sure we lost speed, down below 50mph, but she pulled well and didn't offer any sign of complaint at all. Yes, I know it wasn't Colorado but it was still a stiff climb and the Toyota passed with a distinction. Who says you can't tow that with that?

Onwards past Knoxville (home to some relatives of mine, although more of them later), then Oak Ridge and onto Chatanooga, with (of course with much talk of choo-choos). All the way down, Mrs T had been nursing a copy of Along the I75 by Dave Hunter (16^th Edition!) and was relaying useful bits of information to me from road features to historical notes to geological formations. It was really very absorbing and made the drive go by really quickly, which is essential on such trips. As I write this, I'm imbibing some intoxicants (not allowed in this State Park) and raising a glass to Mr Hunter, especially as he turns out to be an ex-pat Brit.

Whilst Tennessee was fabulous to pass through, it was a bit strange, too. There are advertising billboards of immense proportions on a lot of the mountains, complete with huge swathes of trees removed so us sad travellers can see said advertisements. Then there are the “Adult Superstores” (half a dozen adults and a packet of old folks, please) dotted by the road side, some of then accompanied by giant (and I mean giant) Christian crosses, put there by outraged citizens objecting to the Adult stores. If there's a better way of advertising the stores, I've yet to see it.

Past Chattanooga and we were into Georgia and hotfooting it to Atlanta, the biggest city on our trip so far. Those reading this blog regularly will know that I'm a novice at towing a 7,300lb trailer so I like to take it easy. However, I didn't realise that the I75 would take us right through the centre of downtown Atlanta and subject this learner tow person to a real baptism of urban freeway fire. I had to forget about the trailer and concentrate on the twists, turns, exits and entries of the city motorway, following the signs for I75 south and ignoring the HOV lanes that were also marked up with I75 labels. Because HOV means High Occupancy Vehicle, we did qualify to use them but for one thing I don't know what others would think of a trailer in the fast lane and for another it wasn't busy enough to need the things, thank goodness. Atlanta conquered, we headed on down towards Macon and our campsite for the night at High Falls, a few miles short of the city itself.

High Falls State Park really is a little gem. Spread around a small dam, a lake and some gentle falls, it's rural Georgia at its best. The Park is well kept and the staff in the registration office were great as we checked in. As is usual, the campground was at the bottom of a steep and winding track but when we arrived there it was well worth the death defying drive down. All the sites were well bounded gravel pads with plenty of room to move on them and all came with water and power. We picked number four but in reality, any of them on the lower level were excellent. The place was well tended and quiet and just what was needed after our drive; we all felt it was a great place to be. Of course this wasn't to be just an overnighter, either, as we'd booked for two nights. Bliss.

In the evening we made our way into the little town of Forsyth for some supper. The town itself was small and neat, clustered around the big, imposing Court House. Apart from the usual gaggle of fast food places out by the highway, we only had a choice of two restaurants, an old fashioned, Formica topped diner selling “country” food, fried, and the other was a quietly chaotic pizza place that made all of its own offerings. We chose the latter because it had a good ambiance and the fact that pizza was a better prospect than fried chicken. The service was haphazard in a very endearing way and the lad serving us was not really with us “Sorry for the wait, we're a bit backed up, we got busy real quick tonight”. Still, even though there was no peach upside-down cake left, the pizzas were good and not too expensive, either. The Georgia accent is wonderful and we were all enjoying listening in to conversations, but even Georgians struggle with my English speech and we had a struggle over the word coffee. It's koffy for me but caawfee in Georgia – ho hum.

One thing I always forget is that eating places on this side of the Atlantic close early in the evening, often at 8 pm or thereabouts, rarely later than that. Even Jonah's Pizza Place was hurrying us out at 8:15, this despite their slow service adding 45 minutes to our meal. I'm certain that I don't hanker for the big city but sometimes the country way of life, early to bed early to rise, gets in the way of my eating habits. Tut.

Pizza enjoyed, we headed out to the shiny new Walmart to get a few more supplies. Whilst there, we were nagged into obtaining a new camera for the small Tadpole (on the understanding that she paid for it) and we went through the check out and Walmart's bag carousel, being careful to pick up all the bags that the cashier had filled. I had noted that the camera and accoutrements were in one bag but when we arrived back at the car, the bag with the camera had mysteriously disappeared. I asked the Small Tadpole if she had the camera and she said that she didn't so Mrs T ran back into the store to see if we'd left it there. After much scurrying about and viewing of security tapes it appeared that I had indeed picked up the bag containing the camera, so the question was asked again of the Small Tadpole. No, she didn't have the bag containing the camera but, she said, the Big Tadpole did! Panic over but not without some stern words about speaking up when required to so. Grrrr.

Back at the campground, we listened to a little Peach FM from Macon (Seventies and Eighties music to which Mrs T and I knew all the words, much to the shame of the Tadpoles) and hit the hay at a more sensible hour. We'd planned on visiting the Ocmulgee National Monument in Macon on the following day but at least it wasn't an nearly start. Did you know that Otis Redding comes from Macon? I didn't but I do now!

A Very Modern Grand Tour - Day 1, Sunday

Getting up at 4 am is not the way to start an adventure. Going out and finding that it's still dark at 5 am just seemed to cement that feeling that this was just too early to do anything, and we had 420 miles of towing to do that day. Gulp!

With Towed Haul all hitched up behind us, rolling off the driveway at 6.30 am it still felt too early, but the restorative powers of Tim Hortons coffee and bagels are well known and we'd all perked up quite a bit as we headed west to Windsor and the United States.

Our tour had been months in the planning is to involve seventeen days of driving and camping, dragging our beloved Towed Haul as far south as Orlando in Florida and as far west as New Orleans, Louisiana. We were also planning to stop in Kentucky and Georgia on the way down as well as Louisiana, Alabama, Tennessee and Ohio on the way back. Logistically it wasn't too hard to set up (if you don't include buying a trailer and leasing a new car) but the prospect of spending so long towing and in the company of the Tadpoles was more than a little daunting. Still, senility can be a wonderful thing so off we went with barely a worry.

This first day was a run a tiny bit shy of 420 miles, down to Fort Boonesborough State Park in the beautiful hinterland of Kentucky, driving most of the way on the US Interstate 75, the modern replacement of the old Dixie Highway from Michigan to Florida. Crossing into the US at the Ambassador Bridge isn't normally something people relish but being so early on a Sunday there was no line up at all at the border. The young border guard was quite amenable and went and had a look inside Towed Haul himself (on the lookout for contraband food, we thought, but he may have been looking just to have a peek inside an Airstream; he was most complimentary). My forward planning in getting a Visa Waiver certificate (curse that British passport!) the week before ensured that we were, to all intents and purposes, just waved through, which was just excellent. Welcome to Amerikee.

Heading south on the I75 we made first for the Ohio city of Toledo, bouncing along the roads in Michigan, which are dire, and that made the bulk of our beautifully ironed clothes jump off the wardrobe rails. Still, Ohio was better, certainly smoother and less patched. First we headed for Dayton, then Cincinatti; up until now just names I'd heard in films but here they were reality. The traffic was light, the weather good (if a bit warm) and the only trouble we had was at some roadworks in the heap of tangled roads that form Cincinatti's by-pass. It was more than a little worrying that as we were changing lanes in slow moving traffic, other drivers simply didn't notice we were there. Look, signal, move, look again – argh! The other drivers looked so surprised to see 28 feet of aluminium appear in the lane in front of them. It was hot, too, as the car's air conditioning worked manfully to mitigate the 36 degrees Celsius outside. The city looked interesting, though, so maybe we'll make a trip there one day.

Petrol consumption was a bit alarming, with an average 19.6 litres per 100 kilometres, which is about half as good as we'd get when not towing; two fill ups day were looking likely although at around US $3.50 a gallon, less than a dollar a litre, it wasn't quite as bad as it could have been. It's only money!

Entering Kentucky as we crossed the Ohio river (thoughts of Olivia Newton John swim into focus for some strange reason) and continued south to Lexington. The I75 wasn't too busy and was getting a bit more hilly as we moved away from the flatlands of Ohio.

Rest areas on the I75 are few and far between so we used them judiciously for our P&T stops. We did pull off into a big retail area on Man Of War Boulevard in Lexington (named for a famous racehorse rather than a Portugese jelly fish, apparently; well, this is Kentucky) to get some supplies in. Crossing into the US means that you can't carry meat, fruit or vegetables, so our fridge was quite empty up to that point, but a quick spin around the big Meijers store sorted us out. Just south of Lexington we struck east off the I75, to Fort Boonesborough and the camp site which was nestled in a nice little wooded valley. It was still hot but the clouds were looking ominous; were we in for rain? The actual campsite plot was a little concrete pad, sufficiently off-kilter to be interesting and for some reason, covered in straw. We did a sort of half unhitch; loosened off the weight distribution system but stayed hooked to the hitch, ready for a quick getaway in the morning. We were just putting the awning out when the rain started and boy, did it rain! It was a deluge of biblical proportions and as we watched the brown muddy runoff from the bank beside us rush under the trailer, we realised what the straw was for; to cover the mud that was quickly gathering there. Normally the time we have after getting set up is used to get things straight, but with the rain hammering down and showing no sign of abating, were were confined to the inside of Towed Haul. It was still very hot and more so in the trailer, so on went the air conditioning and supper was prepared.

Have you ever tried Hamburger Helper? If not, I'd advise that you give it a miss.

Supper was just being served when the main power breaker in the trailer popped. Air conditioning, cooking ring and microwave all combined to give the breaker no option and, for safety's sake, click to the off position. However, as Gene Hunt might say “It's dinner time and I'm having hoops”, I was determined to eat so I flicked the system over to battery (no A/C of course) and had my supper; the breaker could wait. Initially I couldn't get the breaker to re-arm but a quick glance at the manual (we have one?) showed that I'd omitted to push the breaker fully down before switching back on, but with that little omission corrected and we were back on line. Still the rain came and now the wind joined it so I had to venture out into the maelstrom to haul the awning in; they're good things these Zipdee awnings but can be fragile, so I was playing it safe. The rain did stop eventually and we ventured out into the steamy evening, feeling the humidity pressing in, especially in our quickly dampening clothes. They said it would be warm at this time of year but the moisture in the air was something else, at least for rural Kentucky as I'm sure there are steamier places on earth.

I don't really remember the rest of the evening but I do recall thinking that I should have gone to bed earlier; we were planning on another 420 mile day and I really needed my beauty sleep. OK, regardless of the driving distances, I always need my beauty sleep.

What would the morrow bring? More rain? More heat? Who knew? Read on dear reader.....

** Photos not uploaded yet - will do that later **

Da Do Ron Rondeau (Again)

Tuesday

Hot, hot, hot. It can't last. Loading and hitching not only in the dry but in the heat meant that perspiration was the only thing getting my t-shirt wet; hurrah!

Taking four bikes, all the food we needed for the entire trip and a tank full of fresh water meant that we were as heavily loaded as we were ever going to be and we readied ourselves for the second trip of the year to Rondeau Provincial Park, only 37 Km away but the home of great beaches and swimming from the original (well, maybe not original) dock of the bay. It took us an age to get to the point of leaving, not very well aided and abetted by two very lazy Tadpoles who's idea of helping was to look glum and reluctantly ask if there was anything they could do. It's no wonder Mrs T and I are always exhausted on the first night.

On this trip, I was trying out an adjustment to the weight distributing hitch, in order to get the back of the Sienna a little higher. Canada's towing guru, Andy Thompson, had sent me a photograph of how to make the adjustment and had suggested a two-thirds link uptake. Naturally I knew better and only did one-third and guess what? Once on level ground, it turned out that the great Mr Thompson was right! We were sitting better, but not quite right. That'll be something to do on our return I think.

So, off we went in glorious sunshine and temperatures above 30 degrees Celsius, which for us was a first.

We know Rondeau well and cruised around to our designated camp site. It’s a shame that we didn't know the individual plot so well, though as it turned out to be quite small, on an uphill and sideways slope, with an access area that didn't allow us to put the trailer at the best point on the plot. It was pretty busy there and there wasn't a lot of hope of swapping sites so we looked at it as a parking challenge and, after much too-ing and fro-ing and using a heap of levelling blocks, we arrived a sufficiently level attitude. We won't be booking site number 46 again!

We were all feeling the heat by the time we were unpacked so we set off for the beach and some cooling lake water. Because it was late afternoon there weren't many people on the beach and we were delighted to find that the lake was really quite warm. The Tadpoles were off in a trice and we old 'uns paddled, as old 'uns are wont to do. I'd forgotten the sand flies that nip your legs incessantly if you're more than a few feet from the water so the (increasingly frail) camp chairs were placed at the edge of the water where we could both paddle and sit at the same time. Isn't getting older wonderful?

Sitting AND paddling

Supper that evening was a meal prepared a few days earlier that just needed heating through; excellent stuff for the first night. We'd rigged the bug tent and sat in there where there were marginally less bugs than outside. I do love camping but the flesh piercing insect world is really an irritant, in more ways than one (he says, scratching one of the many bites on his beautiful, Adonis-like legs). I'd also arranged an electric light in the bug tent and that, of course, had insects bashing themselves on the outside of the tent in an attempt to get in. Still, with a smoking mosquito ring and an industrial sized tin of spray (what does DDT stand for?) and we kept most of the insects at bay.

Night time was a bit sticky. We eschewed the air conditioner as it sounds like a jumbo jet taking off, and relied only on open windows. Yes, it was a sticky night. I'm not complaining, you understand, it's just that we have never had to moan about it being too hot before, so this was an entirely new experience for us.

Wednesday was, according to the Weather Nitwits, to be hot but with a chance of a thunderstorm. How accurate were they to be? Read on, dear Toad Fan.

Wednesday

The sticky night was followed by a sticky morning but, with the aid of excellent showers provided by the Park, we were all as fresh as daisies in no time. Such was the warmth that when the Tadpoles surfaced (eventually), we went straight off to the beach, afeared I think that the weather might turn. Well, the beach was hot but the water most definitely not. Some how in the night, the lake's currents had changed and moved some seriously cold water our way. Indeed, icebergs would have felt quite at home in there. This was now wet suit country and my luxuriantly hairy chest was no substitute so I settled for paddling again.

Back to the trailer for lunch (that certainly beat carrying it to the beach) and then we were off to the bay so that the Tadpoles could jump off the dock. The bay is a little inland lake, off the main lake and is shallow and warm, hence the swimming. Sometimes it's quite sheltered there but today the wind was fairly tearing across, albeit that it was warm and sunny. The dock protrudes about 100 metre into the bay but even at the end the water is only about four and a half feet deep, so is relatively safe for the little 'uns to swim. The Park has conveniently provided ladders to climb out of (or into) the water but kids are encouraged to just jump in, from a height of about six feet, which is good fun and the reason that most of the kids from the camp site were there. Still, it's fun to watch, especially the likes of the life jacket clad four year old who, having mastered jumping in, decided she wanted to have a go head first. Her supervising adult in the water nearly had heart failure but the kid bobbed up laughing, telling everyone how good she was at belly flops. Bless. Even I had a go, at swimming that is, I don't think the water is deep enough for an old git like me to be jumping in to.

Camping domesticity

The rest of the day stayed warm and we went back to the beach, twice. On one of the trips, a pair of relatively immodestly dressed (this is Canada's Bible Belt after all) young ladies, probably about 14 or 15 years old, decided to cavort in the water close enough for the big Tadpole to take some notice. One of them made her way to the water's edge and sat coyly playing in the sand whilst eyeing said Tadpole up. The other young lady wasn't so keen on this horribly unsubtle move and made her way back up the beach, leaving the one frolicker disporting herself (in a demure way) for the benefit of the boy. Two things jarred, though; one was the fact that the young ladies in question would be horribly disappointed to find out that the big Tadpole is only 12 and the other was the small Tadpole yelling out all sorts of inappropriate comments for the benefit of the young ladies. I withdrew both Tadpoles from the fray and later, when big Tadpole had been made aware of the female courtship display put on for his benefit (because he was the only one who hadn’t noticed), said nothing as he suddenly decided that he would make a trek to the beach on his own.  He didn't find his young ladies but it was fun to watch the upfront display and the subsequent failure of communication. To cheer up the forlorn Tadpole, we had an ice cream from the Park Store; well, you have to, don't you? Throughout all this, poor old Mrs T had been suffering from some chronic tooth ache, which was a real dampener for her and meant that she'd missed out on a much of the fun. The Tadpoles later discovered that it's not good to cross a Toad with toothache – words were spoken!

I took the opportunity to cycle around the camp site and eyeball the other trailers. This being the first week of the school holidays there were lots of families about, most in the pop-up type trailers with accompanying tents. A lot of these people tow with mini-vans and I'm always amazed at how much stuff they can disgorge. I'm not exaggerating when I tell you about one pop-up that had outside three laden tables, a tall shelf crammed with food, a full sized fridge, a microwave and a toaster oven. And that doesn't count all the other detritus like garbage bins and beach equipment. All this appeared to have all come out of one Chrysler mini-van! Maybe it was a magic mini-van? There was also a fair smattering of older trailers, alternately spotted green with mould and red with rust. The occupants of these, I think, were fishermen, set in for a couple of weeks of serious pescatorial pursuits. There were a few posher trailers, owned by nan and grandad by the looks of it (the sign “Nan and Grandad’s Trailer” might have given it away), taking the kids on holiday. Some of these senior folk are fearless!

With the welcome but unaccustomed heat, we did get a system going with the air conditioning that evening, cooling the trailer whilst we were outside and using it again just before bed time, thereby saving our eardrums and being able think a bit whilst being roundly trounced by the kids at Yahtzee and Uno. We may be beyond shakedown trips but we're still learning.

On our final trip the beach that evening, the big Tadpole remarked on how the waves were coming ashore at a different angle and sure enough, the wind had changed direction. We'd seen some storm clouds earlier in the day and even the tell-tall grey wall of rain in the distance. But now this new wind was clearing the sky and, as it would turn out, any prospect of a storm. Not being the entirely trusting kind I did batten down my hatches, though, using a couple of guy ropes on the big awning and putting away anything not bolted down. Need I have made these preparations? You'll have to read the next thrilling instalment to find out.

Thursday

Well, what a difference a change in the wind makes! Having put the duvet away and cooled the trailer down, I spent Wednesday night and Thursday morning in bed feeling cold. There's no pleasing some people, eh? The temperature had come right down and I awoke (quite often) to a clear blue sky through the fan opening and what felt like a cold breeze coming in through the windows. I lasted until 7 am before climbing out and heading for the shower block, thankful for the chance to stretch my back a bit. It was indeed a bright, fresh morning with very dewy grass and apparently few people about. I found out where the people were when I arrived at the shower block, though, it was teeming! Have I mentioned how early Canadians like to be for everything? Well, they do like an early shower because it was like Piccadilly Circus up there, not helped by the fact that the cleaner had just turned up. I nipped into the one free cubical before she did and heard her tut as she rattled the door trying to get in. Actually, I have no complaints about the cleaning regime at this park, it's really very good. I still struggle, though, with the thought that if you decide to clean the showers at 7 am, you are going to find people trying to use them!

As a fix was urgently required for her Hampsteads (Cockney rhyming slang – Hampstead Heath = Teeth) , I waved Mrs T off to the dentist at 8 am (she may find her way home from here but will she ever find the campsite again?) and settled down for some battery charging (me, not the laptop). I left the Tadpoles slumbering, made myself some coffee and sat back to ponder life, the universe and why the shower heads in the cubicles would be much better sited on the opposite wall.

Rousing the spawn at ten, we set off for the beach in the sunshine, wondering what the change of wind might have brought us. Certainly it hadn't brought many people as the place was all but deserted, but it had brought back the warmer water. It's truly amazing how the water temperature can switch so sharply like that. It still wasn't bath temperature but it was sufficiently warm to get me in and swimming. The wind had whipped up some feeble waves, making things a touch more interesting, and we proceeded to wade and swim out about 100 metres from shore before we were out of our depth. There was also only a surface current taking us inshore so it was safe and fun out there in the lake. The Tadpoles speculated about whether or not Mrs T would have immersed herself in this balmy delight but all I could imagine was her saying “Aaaaagh! You mean the water's still not as hot as my shower?”. I said that no, she probably wouldn't.

Swimming in lake water is never a delightful experience for me. Close in and it looks like cloudy lemonade with a green tinge. A little way out, the cloudiness goes but it only serves to emphasise the green. I know that it's only in certain weather conditions that the bacteria get really nasty but it's always there in the back of my mind, taunting me.

We gave up on the beach as the hunger pangs took hold and headed back to Towed Haul for lunch. Still no sign of Mrs T but clamorous Tadpoles do not want to wait. Mrs T did bowl up eventually, drugged up to the eyeballs and beginning to look particularly cheerful. Ah, chemical relief can be wonderful.

The afternoon was taken up with another beach expedition where we discovered both the missing people from the beach from this morning and that the wind had changed again. The evening’s supper was from the backwoods, cooked over the open fire in which we had placed yet more gold plated firewood. I know that the Park benefits from the proceeds of the sale of firewood but people don't like forking out $6.50 for a small bag so tend to bring their own, which then works against the Park because of the very real threat of an infestation of an invasive and hostile tree killing bug. Emerald Ash Borer, you know who you are!

A very handsome trailer

At this point I was reluctant to think about the weather on account of it being uncommonly dry thus far and the forecast predicting more of the same. As our evening nocturnal walk amongst the fireflies and rabid mosquitoes came to a close, the thunder started to roll and lightning flashed in the distance (actually the lightning came first, obviously). There was nothing in the forecast to suggest a storm but the big Tadpole insisted on leaving the skylight blind in the trailer open so that he could watch the storm whilst in bed; I tidied the camp, just in case.

So far on this trip we'd had no rain at all; would we survive the night? It wasn't looking good. Read on, Toad fans, the big climax (!) is tomorrow!

Friday

No rain! A very quiet night gave way to another fresh morning with steadily climbing temperatures. We wondered if we should head off to the beach one last time but everyone seemed happy to mooch around the campsite prior to packing the trailer and heading out.

Because Mrs T was still suffering with her teeth, she had to sit out all the hitching up fun whilst the Tadpoles used the Walkie-Talkie to direct proceedings as we hitched. I’d had to take a big pair of shears to some of the bushes that flanked the exit point to Site 46 otherwise the side of the trailer was going to get all scratched up as we turned out. I don’t like to hack down Park vegetation but it was either that or big insurance claims. It really was a tight turn getting out and I’ve made a point not to book that site again, it wasn’t good at all.

Then we were off to the dump station, the last and least popular task for all trailer users. There is something cathartic about getting rid of the poo but it’s still a stinky job. I blanched as I realised I only had flip-flops on my feet, which are a big no-no when using the dump station. Needless to say, I was very, very careful.

The run back home was easy and the backing on to the drive was the best yet; straight on in one fluid (if slow) movement, parallel to the grass and perfectly positioned. We almost look like we know what we’re doing!

We had NO RAIN on this trip, our seventh in Towed Haul so far. No rain! As you can see, I’m quite excited. Will it happen again, I wonder?

We have a couple of weeks before the big trip, seventeen days to Florida and back, incorporating many different stops on the way there and on the way back. We might just need the next couple of weeks to get ready!

Keep watching for further tales of the nomadic toads.