A view inside the casual RVers' life

On a recent trip to Desert Pools RV Resort, I found myself gabbing with all sorts of folks for all sorts of reason. The park was in the process of closing down for the season and we were all extra cordial.

One day, while luxuriating in one of the three small mineral pools (98-,100- and 104-degrees) an old duffer and I start talking. He's been a full time RVer for 22 years, (which is way outside my realm of comprehension) and we got to extolling the virtues of the mineral waters we were sitting in. Then he abruptly brings a twisted digit up out of the water and says, "see this finger? I had to use all kinds of pain relievers before I got here and now, no pain" and shoves it back in the water. I ask where he's headed from here.

"Going to meet my girlfriend at a park outside of Bakersfield, in an orange grove; costs $500 a month."

One afternoon as Orllyene, my wife, and I settle into the soothing waters of the 98-degree pool, we're greeted by a youngish looking couple. The lady is dangling her feet in the warm water. Her somewhat portly husband sits half submerged beneath her.

The man said he lives in Covina and comes here on weekends.

"I just lost my job and my wife will probably lose hers any day now, so we've decided to retire early and travel," he added without warning. "I asked if they'd let me finish out the year but they said no."

Orllyene and I begin telling them the fun they would have RVing, about our gathering wild blueberries on the Minas Basin in Nova Scotia, parking our motor home among the palms along the coast on the Mexican Riviera, anything that sounded positive.

"Hey, I got axed," I confided. "They said they abolished my job. It felt more they abolished me."

"Ron wouldn't even let me say the word 'retire' at first," Orllyene chimed in.

He still looked unconvinced so I hug the big hairy guy, standing in 3 feet of tepid water.

From there I slip over to the 104-degree pool. A curvy blond woman of ample proportions has a big pink bow in her hair and is with a hulk of a man.

Looking innocently childlike, she is swishing her hand through the hot water. Her partner is submerged to almost eye level.

"I have arthritis in my hand and a nasty bump on my head," she said.

"I threw her out of the coach and she landed on her head, but it didn't hurt her a bit," the man thunders just as I'm about to offer my condolences.

"How long have you been doing stand up comedy?" I asked, trying to defuse the situation.

"He always makes me laugh with what he says but he won't do it for the family," Bo Peep chirped.

I look hard at the gruff curmudgeon across from me and on a hunch say "do you write?"

In an almost inaudible voice I hear "yeah, I write poetry about the beautiful things I see in nature."

Alberta is tiny, has an endearing smile and isn't the least bit standoffish. She is about to pack up her laundry and leave as I sit listening to the rumble of two dryers filled with my laundry. Happily, Alberta lingers and I learn she's 79, has six great-grand kids, who call her each week. She and George have been full-time RVers for 16 years.

"We've been to all 50 states and have a 26-foot motor home," she said. "People can't believe we're happy in such a small rig, but we are. If we don't use something, out it goes"

The light on my dryer goes out and I ignore it. Alberta has bewitched me.

"Were you a homemaker or did you have a job outside the home?" I asked.

"I was a grocery checker for 25 years and George worked in a gold mine for 32 years," she answered.

"You seem like a very, very happy person," I observed.

"I am, but my daughter says we should stop full-timing, and get a place to come back to but I just hate to give up," she said.

Completely won over, I come to her defense.

"Alberta, most people don't even know they aren't happy," I replied. "They lose themselves in their job or daily life and never find out what would make them truly happy."

Later as I pass by Alberta and George's motor home I see to electric scooters parked in front. What courageous people they are.

Mark is a tall guy, tanned to perfection, who looks to be in his 50s. He radiates sincerity and has clear blue eyes.

I met him while he is taking down some flyers he's put up around the park. His lost kitty has just returned.

Mark and wife Penny are full-time RVers.

"When we decided to full time I said, 'Lord, 'show me how to do this.' We only get a third the income I got as a teamster then at one of our bible study groups someone says 'it's right there in front of you Mark,' and he was right. Because I'm so particular about our rig, polishing and detailing it, I now do it to make money during the winter months in Yuma. People call me 'wax man.'"

He talks about God like they are on a first name basis. He invites me to his Bible study group.

Penny greets me at the door of their rig.

"Hi Ron, bible study is over," she said. "Mark told you the wrong time, it was at 9, but come on in anyway and have some coffee."

Their rig has a slide out dining area, soft yellow decor and plenty of mirrors to make it look spacious. Soon we are talking about different levels of faith, prayer, and the difference between fellowship and socializing.

"Mark got involved with Christ before I did," Penny said, "but when I saw the look in his eyes and his friends eyes I said, I want some of that."

"I worked in the shipping department for 30 years," Mark said. "At lunch everyone watched their language when I was around (implying his co-workers considered him different) but when a loved one died, or some such dire emergency, they always came to me to pray about it."

Once back in our coach I capsulize my experience at Bible study to Orllyene. She listens quietly to my rambling and says "Well, agree or disagree, you were stimulated."

Pondering her words, I suppose I could use a little hardcore inner peace. Tomorrow, 9 a.m. You bet I'll be there.