There’s never a dull moment as a homeless person. I seem to never stop learning.
I blew a tire on the trailer. It may have happened with the cruise control set on 65mph on I-95 or it may have happened as I was on the off-ramp at the Fort McAllister exit, as that was when I first noticed it. I felt tugging and surging from behind as I tried to change speed, now on local roads. I suspected that it was a blown tire but did not know for sure, never having gone through a blowout before. I couldn’t see the tires in my rear-view mirror.
I would have liked to pull off the busy four-lane roads that I was on but in unfamiliar surroundings, I could not spot a grocery store or a Wal-Mart that would have a parking lot large enough to get in and out of; a dentist’s office just ain’t gonna work! I traveled much further than I should have but made it to the entrance to Fort McAllister Georgia State Park in the Savannah area. I parked and walked around to have a look. By this point, it was done like dinner. (The ‘coach’ is double-axled, it has two tires on each side.)
I checked in then came back to change out the tire. I had no sooner pulled the jack and the lug-wrench out of the trailer when a ‘good-ole-boy’ came over and offered to help. Rough translation… he changed out the tire for me, commenting on the shredded tire, “Yah, you used all of it.” It was good to be back in The South!!
The campground is a mile away from the Park Office, picnic areas and Civil-War goings-on, including characters wearing the costumes of that era. The RV sites are on Savage Island but thankfully the name was not an indicator that my lot was worsening. The park is beautiful with large Magnolia trees dripping with Spanish Moss. It was virtually deserted, we had the place to ourselves. “We” being Tupelo and I. Tupelo was soon to be in Cat heaven.
With no neighbors and such an open area, The Fleabag could wander safely to his heart’s content.
And roam he did…
The weather was so much better in the Savannah area. Even although I had followed the Atlantic Coast from St. Augustine, the humidity was bearable at Fort McAllister. I’ll never understand all those yankees in St. Augustine who had fled the snow to live in oppressive humidity. Now, Savannah is still the South, and it’s summer, so the temperature gets into the nineties each day…..
…y’know…. St. Augustine was humid and filled with yankees. Fort McAllister had no yankees and wasn’t humid. Maybe yankees are humid people?…..
… and The Fleabag could take only so much heat in his fur coat. Much of his time outside was spent in the shade, making it easy to keep track of him….
One morning I let him out at 7:30am. He wandered, found shade and rested, came into the trailer for a bite to eat, some water and his head rubbed then away he went again. This continued all day. At 7:00pm, he struggled up the trailer steps, had a nibble, a drink, a head rub then headed to the back of the trailer and the darkness under the bed, where he flopped for the night, exhausted.
It’s a tough life, being homeless.Share