Hotel Introspections VII

RECREATIONAL VEHICLE (RV)

Aug 2017

Another highly efficient Uber (charming Peruvian driver) extracted us from the Streets of SF and deposited us at a Cruise America rental on the outskirts of Oakland. I was pathetically excited about going to Oakland, it being synonymous with Hunter T and the Hell’s Angels. I had no reason to be. At the RV collection point a tremendously over-weight and un-thorough female worker introduced us to our mobile home for the next week. But herein lies the lesson – be prepared to talk to and listen to anyone. She may have been a bit of a slacker but it was from her we learned why there are so many homeless crazies out here. Reagan mental health policy. Apparently you have to self-declare yourself as insane in the US (warning: unchecked fact) before the system will step-in and take you under its care. The irony is not lost on me. Considering America’s interventionist foreign policy since WWII, it seems a little odd that it can’t intervene to protect tourists from frothing Chinamen and, ultimately, frothing Chinamen from themselves.

The RV being my Muse’s idea; she will do most of the driving. We head to the periphery of Yosemite National Park and hook-up at an RV resort. It gets even weirder in Mammoth Lakes a few days later, but I had never experienced the American RV vacationer. Some of these vehicles would have been fit for Led Zeppelin (band, equipment and crew) in 1971. On our first night I sat out late, drinking rum, listening to music and having a good old cathartic grizzle. Across the way a family lounged outside in what looked like standard household furniture and watched TV on a cinema-sized screen. I recall they even had LED/neon lighting. In the gloom their eight storey, 110m long RV loomed like Thunderbird 2 (slight hyperbole, but you get the point). That’s a holiday? Our RV was a little more rudimentary. Imagine you are on a submarine in the Pacific in 1943; it just happens to have wheels and the Japanese aren’t plopping depth charges on it. There is much I could write about the RV experience, and maybe one day I will, but for now let’s just say it was challenging. On the shit-ometer it is in the same category as British B&Bs and camping. It also rained a lot in Yosemite and therefore we were oft trapped in the terra-sub playing Uno, like a family from York on holiday in North Cornwall in 1984.

Which is a perfect segue. The Brit view of California is heavily influenced by LA and the coastal towns and cities. Inland it all changes. By way of a reference we have gone from Brighton to Bugle. Inland, up in them thar hills, things are gnarlier and service drops off.

Now with no hotel gym in which to luxuriate, intent on burning some calories and maintaining mental equilibrium; I have been for a couple of runs. The first took me into perturbing woodlands and past houses/shacks with snarling dogs on chains. I ran deeper into the wood, fascinated by the notices laying claim to the land for the purposes of gold-digging; until I clocked a tent partially hidden in a thicket. I turned and ran, checking over my shoulder in anticipation of an arrow smashing into my back and/or the sound of a chainsaw sparking into life. The second was in Mammoth Lakes, which is thousands of feet above sea level. The day was heavily overcast and rainy; perfect conditions for running like an overweight old lady, which is what I did. It took me a few hours to work out that the feeling of lethargy was not the onset of heart disease but instead the sensation of high-altitude running.

We took a coach tour into Yosemite. I am not a nature fiend, I tend to become bored if there are no people around, no book to read or music to listen to, but Yosemite is fucking awesome. The size, the distance, the expanse, the geological fists punching the sky. We climbed upwards for hours, with insufficient water, along winding paths and beside sheer drops. Waterfalls hammered into canyons as deep as the Empire State is tall. Utterly amazing. I only wish I could have enjoyed it more. I have always had the impression that I may be on the vertigo spectrum. And I am. In an aircraft or a tower block I don’t feel it at all, but in open spaces I clearly do. My low level panic attack, assisted by dehydration, lasted some time (and tested the already low empathy levels of my family). Reunited with aqua and our coach we then experienced the irony (again) that is the USA. Here in probably the most majestic collection of scenery on the planet, Americans have added their own twist. Gridlock. Yosemite in rush hour is something akin to a modern European city. It took us an hour to actually escape the giant car park. To distract myself I read an article about the scourge of prescription drugs. Addiction to (ineffective) painkillers in the USA is probably as damaging as the impact of illegal drugs. And as we know, American exports usually reach the UK. A few months later and the Evening Standard ran a series of articles on the same issue.

We ventured onwards to Mammoth Lakes. Here I was reminded of a few personal truisms: I don’t like ski resorts, Ed Sheeran and Coldplay. Unfortunately many Americans do. It pissed with rain virtually the whole time we were there and my Muse’s romantic vision of life in an RV began to fracture and dissemble. Our levels of personal hygiene slipped considerably. One of the most nausea-inducing human concepts is the communal shower room at a camping park. I visited as infrequently as a middle-aged tourist could justify.

The RV park was filled with monster trucks, which spawned smaller off-road vehicles that were nearly as big as our motorhome. Men with aviators, bandanas and paunches worked on these vehicles (I assume for some perverse recreational enjoyment) as the Stars and Stripes fluttered overhead. We couldn’t wait to leave.