Welkome to Hell - Please Drive Karefully
There really is nothing wrong with Eureka, California. It's a small highway town with a few hotels and a Pizza Hut, and a neat looking house with some history that we didn't read about. It's just a couple of miles away from the Avenue of the Giants, a windy road that affords some of the best views of the California Redwoods. And, it so happens, Eureka, California has a "KOA Kampground".
About the time we were approaching Eureka, we were in need of a shower and a laundromat. Flipping through our AAA Campbook, we discovered that the Eureka KOA had both, and a hot tub to boot. The deal was sealed.
The campground was easy to find - all KOA's are well marked with blaze yellow signs, and early warnings can almost always be found on billboards outside of town. We pulled in to the lot, and the first thing that we noticed was: there are no c's, in a KOA Kampground. "Welkome to KOA Kampgrounds!", the entrance sign proclaims. "Please Drive Karefully!" They advise you as you leave. It was already annoying.
The next thing you realize as you approach the office is that you will not be 'roughing it' here. A sign in the office window reads, "Internet access inside!" Power lines hang across the parking lot, leading to the main office, and supplying electricity to the satellite dish on the roof. As you go inside to pay, they hand you a pamphlet (manual) of rules and regulations, as well as a dozen or so advertisements and brochures for local attractions and restaurants (we appreciated this...glossy paper makes great kindling). The cash register is a computer with a flat screen display, running software powerful enough to steer a battleship.
We are in site 82. Navigating our way around the children on trikes and pedal-powered floats, we eventually find the location, and parallel park the car in the space provided between cars 81 and 83. The spot really isn't much wider than that. We pitch the tent, and decide what to do next.
Since there is no dead wood about (the brochure read, "Kamp under the Redwoods!" The Redwoods were evenly spaced, and about 8 inches in diameter), and the packet of papers we were given wouldn't hold out all night, a fire is out. We settle for the mosquito coil, instead. In stunned silence, we watch the children streak by on the rented trikes, bells ringing. The grape float cruises past every so often, each time carrying a new load of screaming kids. It's quite a change from our last campsite at Crater Lake, Oregon, where the site was a quiet section of pine forest on the edge of a ravine, larger than my backyard.
I understand now why they spell it Kampground instead of Campground: this isn't camping. ItÂ’s a hotel, without any of the conveniences of a building. It's a campsite, without any of the pleasures of the outdoors. It's a little too much of everything, and not enough of anything. It's a mistake we only made once.
I look at Rob. He says, "Welkome to Hell."
The k was implied.
- Drew
