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Magnificent Seven RV Oasis

(3000 words — prompts: character- chose Veteran, location – chose RV Park, thing – scroll as a noun)

May 2, 2023

I hated camping at RV parks; tent campers were objects of disdain. Those in the luxury liners were perplexed by the likes of me; the true campers motored by with judging looks. We tenters were viewed as pathetic souls or riff raff. I preferred federal campgrounds. This RV Park was in the ancestral lands of the Nez Perce, who may be the most ancient of indigenous peoples. The Magnificent Seven RV Oasis website stated it was located on seven acres. The seven being true if not the magnificence. I parked my small hybrid near the office. A man in his forties or fifties walked over to the desk. His tee-shirt said something about once a marine always a marine. He wore a red MAGA cap.

“I would like a tent site for three nights; I’ll be hiking and exploring during the day.”

 “I’m using the tent pads to store the dirt bikes I rent.”

I replied, “Is there a grassy area mostly level?”

MAGA said impassively, “There’s a grassy area over by old Hop-along’s trailer. Hop-along came with the place.”

“That would be great. I have several indigenous sites I want to see.”

“Everything’s sacred with them Injuns. They don’t want a man to make a dollar or have any fun.”

“I enjoy walking where the ancient peoples walked.”

MAGA continued, “They stop everything, then complain there ain’t no jobs. What they want is to roll back time and eliminate all of us that brought civilization. Old Hop-along won’t disturb you especially if you’re gone during the day.”

MAGA pulled out a map and drew an X, “Sometimes he puts his speakers outside, then I go quiet him down. I call him a hippie; he doesn’t like that. You’ll see his rundown trailer. Hop-along isn’t as crazy as he looks.”

I noticed the cash only sign; Apple Pay wasn’t an option. I was glad I still had a twenty and a ten. He took my money saying, “A dirt bike is a great way to see the country.”

 I thanked him and left.

The old trailer was near the back, well away from the six figure rigs. There was a wide grassy area beyond the trailer. It would be a great place for a tent better – than those packed sand pads, which were sometimes hard and rocky. I parked off the road and began to unpack my stuff. An old man on crutches came out of the trailer. He had one leg; the origin of his nickname, I assumed.

Hop-along waved, “Hey, how you doing?“

“I’m setting my tent up over here; I’ll try not to disturb you.”

“Good spot for a tent. I’ll help you.”

I didn’t need help. I nodded, “thank you” unsure what help a man on crutches could be.

Pointing with his crutch, “That old tree attracts lightening, wouldn’t set up too close. Cute little tent, you backpack with it?”

“It’s a two-man tent. I have taken it on an overnight hike, but mostly I do day hikes.”

“What’s you do’n here on desolation row?”

“I’m going to hike, look at ruins. I want to see the temple of the sun formation and petroglyphs. I plan on being here three nights.”

“Just so you know my snoring shakes my trailer, hope you get used to it.”

“I won’t notice. Sleep is one thing I’m good at.”

“It’s late, best go over to the museum first thing in the morning.  One of the hosts is there early- great guy to talk to even before it opens.”

“Sounds like a good plan.”

The old man said, “I got stew and biscuits, gonna heat them up for supper. We can share it and gab since we’re neighbors.  I got no use for most of them rich bastards. You look like a decent joe.”

I nodded, “Yes, a real stew sounds great, better than my usual peanut butter. It is good but gets monotonous.”

“I used to work at a restaurant, I picked up a few skills.”

Soon Hop-along was back in his trailer. I finished my camp set up. My cooler made a decent table. I had a couple of nice solar lamps and a hiker’s folding chair. The old man came back with a can of beer. When he saw my chair he said, “I’ll bring over a couple chairs.”

He came back with two folding chairs before I could do anything other than hold my beer. I unfolded the aluminum tube chairs. I decided only one nylon strip was broken, and it would hold me. Hop-along was back with his beer and sat in the other chair. I noticed how accustomed he was to positioning his crutches.  We each sipped our beer. Honestly, I do not like beer especially the weak non-craft type. He said, “Glad you’re not one of those entitled twits.” Being quiet and polite had made me a good neighbor.

I said, “My name is Travis, nice to meet you.”

“My real name is Ronald, but I’ve been Hop-along for many years nothing else sounds like me. Before you ask let me tell ya. I stepped on a mine in Nam that’s how I lost my leg. You ever in the army or another service?”

“No, I haven’t been in the military.”

“Yep, just keep running through the same poor folk now there’s no draft. I wouldn’t ‘ave joined but they grabbed me. I was barely out of high school. I had the dumb luck of a low number in the lottery. Only lottery I ever won, more like losing.” In a quieter voice, “losing more than you can imagine.”

“I’m sure I can’t imagine but thank you for your service.”

He sat up defiantly, “Don’t pull that fake jingo shit on me. I didn’t choose, I was took. I went around complaining and screaming about the guvment for years. It didn’t change anything. Made me worse. I was lucky they got me the restaurant job. All I had to do was answer the phone and make reservations for people. I worked from near noon to about six. The head waiter Bill took an interest in me, taught me how to eat and keep fit. Some of my innards are missing, not everything works like God intended. I wouldn’t be alive today if not for Bill.”

“I’m glad someone was able to make your life better.”

“Learned to listen to what body I had left. You come to the trailer door, and I’ll hand you the stew and biscuits. Then we’ll sit and chew the fat with some fat to chew.”

I sat listening to Hop-along’s journey, rehab to restaurant to a trailer out here in the great Northwest.

“Thank you for sharing real food.  Hot food is a rare treat on a trip for me. The stew and biscuits are great.”

“I learned a few tips hanging back near the kitchen answering the phones. Help me get the pans back inside, then you can get back to the tenting on the old campground thing.”

“Thank you again, I appreciate it very much.”

“If you’re gonna be here tomorrow night, I could fix some beans and cornbread. We could chat some more. I haven’t heard your life story. You might learn a thing or two on the hike unless you know it all now.”

“I’m a student of history with much to learn. Another real meal, thank you for offering. The peanut butter will stay in the jar.”

It was a nice evening; I read awhile. I never heard Hop-along snore; in the morning I left early.

I drove back into the Magnificent Seven RV Oasis. I stopped at the office to buy firewood. I had noticed a firepit behind Hop-along’s trailer. A fire was needed to discuss ancient humans.  

MAGA asked, “How you and the old commie coot getting along?”

I said, “Very welcoming, he fought commies in Vietnam, doubt he likes them any more than hippies.”

“Hop-along used to show some sense, but he’s getting soft in the head – maybe dementia. Our country is descending into a jungle. Gangs of weirdos will be roaming if we don’t stop them. He got into a fight defending queers a couple of years ago.”

“He’s a feisty fellow.”

“Used to bring fight to the movement. He told me he was staying home. He wouldn’t speak at our rallies anymore. He was a leader; folks came to hear him. Government screwed him over bad. Don’t know what’s got into him.”

“He still can cook, made a good stew.”

“Just not the man he used to be. Now the coastal elites are sissifying the whole country. Trying to make us defenseless. Stealing our guns. The Chinese will be able to walk in. We’ll all be in camps like the Uyghurs if we don’t start fighting back.”

“I think we’ll be talking about the ancients tonight. No modern Chinese discussed, maybe ancient Mongolians.”

“Hop-along had some young relatives come out around the election. We warned him no more of that propaganda. We don’t support pedophiles and groomers.” Paused to inquire, “You’re not a pedo-supporter, are you?”

“No, I vote the straight and narrow.”

“America will be great again when we elect real Americans.”

I left with my wood bundle. People who worship lies aren’t much interested in rational debate. The societies of our early peoples are much more complex than many know. I think we are as superstitious as any human who lived ten thousand years ago. I came back to find Hop-along had put up a better table. The speaker outside his door was not overly loud. He told me the kids had connected a device to his old stereo. It saved flipping LPs.

Surrounded by music of the 60s and 70s, I got the fire ready. We ate beans and cornbread. Hop-along knew how to cook the basic foods. After I helped him store the leftovers, we enjoyed the fire. We talked about humanity, our evolution or de-evolution. I told him, “We are stretching to the stars at the same time we are clawing our own eyes out.”

Hop-along went to his trailer and brought back a curious wooden figure. This one looked like a head. He said, “I like to work with wood.”

I mentioned my exchange with the owner. I asked, “What were you warned about?”

Hop-along asked, “You ever heard of the American Redoubt Movement?”

I said, “No.”

Hop-along then explained about the number of anti-government people who hoped to create some type of sanctuary east of the coast in the northwest. He said there were many variations of the states it would include, how it would be ruled, and how it would be created. All the plans had one goal: to create a Conservative Christian Nationalist refuge.”

“They need a refuge?”

“They think they do, bunch of whiny bitches.”

I stifled a laugh, “I call them the grievance caucus.”

Hop-along spoke earnestly, “I was bitter. I didn’t just lose a leg I lost my nuts. Them commies made me a steer. I wanted to blame everyone, but I liked my job. I got all fired up by Ruby Ridge; I gave stemwinders against the government. I was a leader in the movement.”

“What changed?”

“My older brother Keith got cancer. His family asked me to come back to Ohio. Keith had a wonderful family. His grandkids drove and took me places. We had great talks.” After a pause, “Guvment’s just people, the ones we elect and the ones we hire. Guvment supports me, at least mostly. Back with family for four months I realized this whole militia movement was a dead end. I ‘d heard the talks filled with anger calling on an avenging God. Keith’s family lived by a different God, one of love.“

“Sounds like you have a loving family.”

“I’d been away so long I’d lost touch, but they cared for me. I quit going to rallies. My grand nieces and nephews came to visit, never been out west. In town they met a young candidate and helped with his campaign. Our officials don’t like to be challenged.”

Hop-along stirred the fire, “I spoke up about the laws making it illegal to be gay. A small delegation come to talk. Now, I stay quiet.”

“Why do you have to be quiet, and why did you speak up for gay rights?”

“Bill the waiter was gay. I would not be alive today without his care for me. They talk freedom but scream lies and hurt folk. I had to speak up. The movement is worried I am becoming a turncoat and would rat them out. They have very advanced plans and are very powerful. I go to the store and come back. I’ve said nothing to no one.”

“Why are you talking to me?”

“I think you see things as they are, not in the movement’s bubble of illusion. I am hoping you will help and not get me killed.”

“How can I help?”

“Flip that wooden head over. Can you see the indentation, the circle at the bottom?”

“Yes”

“Can you feel the pegs?”

“Yes”

“If turned carefully they will come out and reveal a hollow area.”

“Ok but why?”

“There is a plot to seize power combining militia arms and local government enablers. They even have allies in the national guard and on some bases. It is getting close to D-Day as they call it. I was in deep; it is why they are concerned about me.”

“Seize power! You mean a coup?”

“It will be an uprising. They believe they can leverage power and control. It will be a bloodbath. First the insurrectionists will start it, and then more blood when the superior federal guvment comes to end it. I was blind. I believed if we organized and had the will, we could win. We could establish a region preserved for Freedom Fighters and Real Americans.”

“Are you serious?”

“It is very real. I know how many allies they have.”

“It is difficult to believe.”

“If you heard the speeches and talked to the people, you’d know. They believe the derndest things. Many feel a threat looms in this country; they’re eager for a civil war. Foolish fantasies will kill a thousand maybe tens of thousands. You must go to the FBI in Seattle or San Francisco. Seattle may be more familiar with militia threats.”

“Why will they listen to me?”

“Tomorrow night come back like you planned. Get more firewood. I suspect a couple of men will be in the office having a bull session. When they ask about me, joke with them. Tell them we discussed Indians. Make no mention of anything else; tell them you are moving on just as you had planned. Tomorrow night, as we sit with the music on, I will tell you the tales. We will put wooden figurines in your gear. The hollow place conceals the information. You will be able to tell the FBI enough to interest them in looking at the wooden figures. Tell them to be careful with the pegs.”

“What’s in them?”

“A Staples was closing out a few years ago. They had a box of adding machine tapes. No one wants them anymore. I bought several rolls for near nothing. I have written names, dates, and places on the tapes. I have rolled them as a scroll. The scrolls have the detailed information the FBI will need. Ask them when they make arrests to please arrest me. It will disguise my role; I like it here. Want to stay peaceful, not be shot.”

I left early. I hiked to the sun temple formation and enjoyed the petroglyphs. I debated who was crazy: Hop-along or me. Why even listen to him?  As I stopped to get firewood two guys were chatting with MAGA. They asked, “What’s crazy Hop-along saying?”.

I smiled,” Hop-along fixed beans. We sat round the fire, reminded me of Blazing Saddles.“ We all had a laugh. I said, “I will head back to Iowa with a few Vietnam stories.”

Hop-along had the grill going and we enjoyed hamburgers and a pasta salad. Tonight’s tales were more sinister.  When he was finished, I better understood the violent desperate people. He helped me pack. We concealed wooden figures inside my packs and bags. He left the last three to put in my sleeping bag in the morning. We put his speaker back and ended the 60’s/70’s fest.

“Goodbye, Travis. Go to Seattle; save lives.”

I broke camp in the morning.  I got five miles from the RV park, almost to the highway, when I was pulled over by three sheriff’s cars. I was questioned with a gun at my head. One deputy looked through my car. I nervously answered questions about my fireside chats with Hop-along. I retold the Native American stories and how Hop-along was bitter, but now he wanted to live in peace.

A deputy found one of the figurines in my day pack. He held it up, “Hop-along give you this? What is it?”

I nodded, “He said it was a native spirit symbol.” 

 His suspicious look changed when a bevy of teens on dirt bikes came by and threw firecrackers.

I almost fainted. The gun man ordered the deputies, “You two go after the brats.”

He turned back to me, “Native crap; they make it all up. Damn drunks find their spirits in a bottle. Only thing Hop-along gave you was his worthless woodwork?”

 “Yes sir, nothing else.”

“Ok farm boy, get back to Iowa. We’ll be chasing brats all day: not street legal, no licenses, illegal fireworks, likely underage drinking. City brats think we don’t have laws out here.” He put his gun away.

“Thank you, sir, I’m straight back to the Iowa prairies.”

Everyone who ever studied a map knows Seattle is on a direct line to Iowa – if following a spirit trail and not a GPS.

Walking the path of the ancients requires quiet reverence