campground scofflaw

once i got situated at my campsite, i slept like a baby. i chose a site close to the bathroom and water; two things that are constant challenges for bikepackers.

upon emerging from my tent in the morning. a neighbor approached, curious about my bike packing set up, but also curious why i had camped in the host’s site.

“it’s a salsa beargrease with 29” wheels…wait a minute…what? i’m camped in the host’s site?”

“yeah”.

“where does it say that?”

“right there by the frog that says “slow down.”

i looked and yes, one could make a connection that my site was actually the host’s site, but where were they?

anyways, it didn’t matter because i was leaving and had registered and as the canadians say “not a worry”.

then doug, who i had met the previous night came over. the three of us had a nice conversation about all things that weren’t politics or religion.

they left, i packed and was ready to leave, when a golf cart, driven by someone’s great-great grandpa, pulled into my…i mean the host’s site.

he didn’t even bother to get out of the cart, he just said “you can’t camp there…that’s the host’s site.”

you know that scene in blazing saddles when the minister tells mongo he can’t park his bull “there” and mongo knocks out the rev’s horse? that’s what i wanted to do. i wanted to knock that golf cart out.

fortunately, decorum took hold and i showed ggpa my registration receipt but he wanted nothing to do with it. i had violated the code of old people driving golf carts in public campgrounds and there would be hell to pay.

father time put the cart in reverse and told me “you didn’t even get the right permit,”

one of my more memorable scoldings.

i really didn’t care. i was about to start pedaling and in my mind, i made an honest effort to comply with instructions that were at best, confusing and befuddling.

i hopped on my bike and was about to climb to the exit, when a park enforcement vehicle pulled up and an officer got out and approached me.

i showed him the receipt and even the 800 number i had dialed to reserve a site and he proceeded to tell me that the tier of campsites i had stayed on was available only by registration and that the receipt was for a day pass and not a tent site.

craig, however, gradually began to appreciate my story. i had a receipt, even if it was the wrong one and a phone log and he acknowledged the system is not very functional for bikepackers. rather than cuff me and force further indignation, he suggested “tell you what…give me 10 bucks and we’re done.”

i gave him the cash and he put it in his shirt pocket and wished me a good day. felt like i was in juarez.

i climbed up from my, i mean the host’s site and there was methuzalah, perched in his cart, waiting for another miscreant to violate not only the colorado park and recreation’s code of conduct, but his.

i waved at him and he kept both hands on the wheel. there was no acknowledgement, only a disheveled great great grandpa who caught the guy in the host’s camp site.

good work boss. you had best get busy on your bucket list.