Alice, Texas

Ever hear that poem where a kingdom, or business. was won or lost, on account of a horseshoe nail?  There we were in the wilds of West Texas, in our new rig, and had a flat. A novice motorhomers' nightmare. Fortunately, Bobby had talked me into changing insurance from Safeco (that I had been with for many, many years), as they did not offer fulltime mothorhome coverage.
 
Yes, I fell for the Good Sam spiel of the advantages of GMAC fulltime motorhome coverage, including contents, that also had a road service, suggested to be many times more robust that standing alongside the road holding a cardboard sign reading, “AAA, help!” Not a month later we had to call GMAC and meekly ask what could be done in this situation. Well shoot, partner, it was no problem at all for a Waco, Texas tire service to drive 80 miles (160 round-trip) to change that flat, at no extra cost but the $45 used tire I had suggested the repairman throw onboard, just in case he needed it to get us going again.
 
As we were traveling on Michelin XRVs, and I am a believer of driving on matched sets of tires, we headed for Alice, Texas, the nearest dealer who carried our rating and size, to pick up a new pair.  Our on-board computer research didn’t show any commercial RV campgrounds, but three different sources (a printed directory, a Texas Travel Center, and a chamber of commerce brochure) listed the City of Alice Park as having camping, near a lake. Sure enough, there was a weathered sign directing visitors to camping. Some happy Canadians were already set up for the night in a fifth wheel with Ontario plates.  They commented that they had their fee handy, but so far, none of the official looking pickup trucks passing by had stopped to collect (as is the custom in many similar places), so their understanding was that old fashioned Texas hospitality almost equaled that of Canada.
 
In fact, sipping a “sundowner” with these tourists I exclaimed that we too have free campgrounds in Alaska, knowing that RVers bring in travel bucks. After waving a proud “Howdy” at two trucks full of—must-be-genuine— Texas (City Park Branch) Rangers driving by, I tried to brag in return a bit about an inherited Texas birthright, without sounding unbelievable.  I have three relatives buried in the Texas State Cemetery in Austin.  One signed twice, as the Secretary of State, the Texas Declaration of Independence, and the other two had survived the battle of San Jacinto to go on to be noted Texas Rangers, in the days when it only took, “One Ranger, for one problem. That was how I saw the Great State of Texas — then — freedom, hospitality, and legendary lawmen.
 
We went to bed shortly after 10 PM, and those “Rangers” waited just enough for us to fall asleep before coming back to bang on the bedroom sides of both our rigs.  For a moment I thought they were yelling “Judean,” in a Gestapo accent, or that we were being robbed.  Once I got my senior citizen heart back to normal, they informed us that we were “illegal,” and that we had to get out right away before they locked the gate. 
 
I wasn’t calm or awake enough to suggest, “go ahead and arrest me,” so we can take it to court , as I was born out of long line of freedom fighters against injustice, with six great “something” grandfathers that had fought the Revolutionary War in the Carolinas.
 
Alas, what did I do when confronted by these bullies-behind-a-badge keepers of the peace? Did I tell them to get the bureaucrat that had sent them, out of bed to explain why he himself shouldn’t be arrested for abuse of un-civil power and, on account of the “camping” sign, entrapment— a felony perhaps punishable by 20-years to life, plus a damage suit asking for $5 million? No, instead, sorry to say, I meekly followed their directions to become sandbagged by being the butt of a joke calling me a redneck for camping in a Wal-Mart parking lot, homeless in a hundred thousand dollar rig.
 
I certainly did not spend $800 on tires, balancing, and mounting, in Alice. Nor did I go to a local auto body shop to buff out the scratches that may have been made with what (?) on the bedroom slide.
 
Months later I have trouble going to sleep anywhere that isn’t fully sanctioned for RV parking.  What I would like to suggest is that all tourists avoid this pile of piss-ants. In fact, thinking cause and effect, perhaps, when out walking my dog and coming across beer drinking (bottles were thrown everywhere about the grounds) teens having a contest to see who could pee the furthest into the lake, I may have accidentally insulted that bureaucrat’s son, or perhaps the mayors nephew.  Not knowing at the time that this reservoir actually is the drinking water supply for the city, I tried to admonish kids-will-be-kids with a bit of humor — “Now I know why my coffee tastes like home-brew!”
 
Problem is, real frontier people (Alaskans) are not usually understood by (Texas) girly-boys traumatized by living in a Town Called Alice, trying to prove their manhood in a pissing match.  None of the residents I complained to understood my reference to the Neville Shute book, either, when I started comparing Texas City Park Rangers equaling the brutality of Japanese concentration camp guards.    
 
To keep my ranting in check my wife has suggested the guideline that if I am going to cuss out someone, or thing, in print, I need to balance it with a like praise. Besides, she wisely added, it would tick Alice off if you can find a free city park that actually welcomes motorhome travelers.  Ironically, our friends from Ontario might like to know the winner of our City Parks of Distinction Award, is Burns Lake, British Columbia, Canada. Camp free in a beautiful setting, on a lake you can fish right out your door, and thanks to real Old West lawmen — the RCMP — there isn’t a littering beer bottle in sight!

Update: Alice has finally listed a web page that states camping is not allowed in the city park, but we have not received any apology.
 
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