Prune Creek, Wyoming

I....didn't sleep well in Prune Creek. It wasn't Wyoming's fault...Wyoming was lovely. I didn't sleep well in Prune Creek because I am a very very bad person. Very bad.

So, the drive into Wyoming was pleasant enough. About halfway through the day the road started climbing into the Rocky Mountains which made the drive more challenging but also a bit more interesting. I mean, what's more compelling than the idea that any moment you could drive right off a cliff? Fun stuff! :)

After at least a couple of hours of mountain driving, I arrived at my destination, the Prune Creek campground. I thought I had reserved a site at Prune Creek way back in the planning stages of the trip, but when I got there, instead of a reservation, all I found was a cash box for payment of camping fees. Okay, I figured I must have gotten PC confused with one of the other bajillion sites I had camped at during the trip, so I started digging in my bag for cash for the fee. Ruh roh. I only had eight bucks and the fee was 14. They took checks but I had managed to get away with not paying the fee at Holy Ghost in NM, so I was very, very tempted to just say screw the fee and try to camp for free. But I couldn't just drive away, see. I had to make it look like I was putting my fee envelope in the box so I could take the little slip to clip to the post in my campsite to demonstrate that I had paid. I know, I'm a terrible person. So anyway, I did that. I totally made it look like I paid my fee, grabbed my slip, and then I drove around the campground to find a good site.

I stopped at a site near the eponymous creek, clipped my slip on the post and began to unpack my tent and stuff. A few minutes later, here comes trouble. A big green pickup truck with an insignia on the side that said "campground host" pulled up to my campsite. Shit. The jig was up. this dude was going to take one look at me, know I hadn't paid, and call the Rocky Mountain cops. I braced myself for the inevitable judgment as an old gentleman in a fishing cap and a very well-worn old plaid shirt ambled up to my car.

I was trying to remain upbeat and seem like not a criminal, so I gave the gentleman a friendly "hello there" as he eyed my license plate. After a few moments of intense license plate scrutiny he looked up and asked me where I was from. I figured that was obvious from my plate, but I answered "Oregon" anyway. This was clearly not the answer the gentleman was looking for and he cocked an annoyed eyebrow at me. He asked me where in Oregon and I told him I lived in Portland. An awkward silence passed while he thought that over. Anxious to fill the silence I added "It's a nice town." A beat later the old gentleman wrinkled his nose and replied "not really."

Oh dear...if my beloved Portland couldn't win this guy over, what possible chance did I have?

So I asked him why he didn't like Portland and it turned out that he used to be a long haul trucker and it's hard to deliver things in Portland because the streets are narrow or complicated or something, which I could totally understand. Driving in Portland can certainly be a challenge. I attempted to convey this understanding, but the gentleman was clearly done with pleasantries and ready to move right on to business. He mentioned that he had stopped his truck because he saw me "messing with" the cards clipped to the post at the end of my campsite (they had these plastic cards where they could say if a spot was reserved or not and that was the same place you're supposed to clip your little strip). Apparently they have a lot of trouble with people messing with the cards. Gah! Don't touch the cards!

So he stopped his truck and (in his words) was about to start hissing and spitting about the cards but then he saw that I was just a "nice lady" instead of some sort of delinquent so he didn't have to worry about me. Oof. I felt like such a schmuck. Yep, I'm a nice lady who is totally stiffing you on camping fees, sir. Sorry bout that. Business handled, the gentleman bid me good night and ambled off to his truck.

I resumed setting up my campsite and quickly headed into my tent to escape the aggressive mosquitoes (and the SHAME). I stayed in there for quite a while, reading my book, still a little shaken from my close encounter with the campground law. And then I heard the crunch of gravel under tires. Oh. Shit. He had probably been to the cash box by now and found that I hadn't paid any fees! I unzipped my tent window about a quarter of an inch and peeked my eye out. Green truck. He was totally coming for me! I watched from my tent, my insides churning, terrified to be caught in the lie of not paying and saying I did, trying to come up with a way to play it off ("Oh, I was going to pay on my way out" or "Oh, did I not pay? Silly me, I never was very good at math. Just a girl, you know") . The old man climbed out of his truck and peered at my slip of paper clipped to the campsite post. He peered for a good long time. Finally, he got back in his truck and slowly drove away. Whew, right? Wrong. Now that he had had a good look at my slip, I was entirely convinced he was going to go compare it with what was(n't) in the cash box and come back to take me away or at least yell at me in a really mean way. It could happen.

I was a little wound up and stressed about my inevitable humiliation and/or arrest but I tried to make myself go to sleep anyway. Unfortunately, one of the campground host's duties is to drive around every now and then and make sure everything is okay. So just as I would get to sleep I would hear the crunch of tires on gravel and have to peek out the window, freaked out that he was coming to get me. After a while it didn't even have to be his truck...any car on the road woke me up and made me look out the window to make sure he wasn't coming for me. It got to the point where I knew I wasn't going to get much of a night's sleep and I decided that as soon as it was a decent enough hour I was going to pack up and get the hell out.

5 am finally FINALLY rolled around and I popped out of my tent and packed everything up as quickly and quietly as I possibly could. The only road out of the campground went right past the host's RV and truck so I had a hard time deciding whether to drive nice and slowly so as not to wake anyone, or as fast as possible so I could get out of there ASAP. I don't remember what I chose...it was all a blur. What I do remember is about half a mile down the road, I saw a green pickup truck in my rearview mirror.

....I know, right?

So, heart pounding, I nonchalantly pulled over into the nearby welcome center parking lot (because I'm sure lots of people want to check out the welcome center at 5 AM...what's weird about that?) and held my breath waiting for the truck to pass.

It turns out it was a blue pickup truck, nobody was after me, and the old man at the campsite probably never even realized I had stiffed him his camping fee. I freaked out and twisted myself up into knots over absolutely NOTHING (which btw is easy to see in retrospect, but I was perhaps not in my right mind at the time. Maybe it was the altitude).

About 100 miles later I was pulled over by the police in Cody, Wyoming. Just for speeding, though, not campground larceny. The nice cop knocked ten bucks off of my fine because I was wearing my seatbelt. How about that? Also Cody is apparently the rodeo capital of the world, but not at 7 am on a Monday morning. Bummer.

So yes, I am a bad person for not paying my campground fees but boy, I paid for it in stress. Next time I'll just write a fricking check.

Next stop, Yellowstone!

xo,
C

PS: Want to know the kicker? I looked it up online and I was right the first time...I HAD made a reservation and paid already for my Prune Creek campsite. So it was ALL FOR NOTHING. Ha!