People person

If a couple, we also feel that one of you needs to be a people person. Why? That is how you ferret out all the information not in the route books — the local “poop”— unaltered by chamber of commerce commercial tourism rhetoric. We strive to buy and eat local. Why travel, our logic states, from national chain to national chain.

Some of this raw data may need processing for your individual use. It certainly comes with local flavor. It is sort of like gold panning—the pebbles are thrown away, and the nuggets are kept. This is how you find the best and least untouched experiences, bargain campsites, a restaurant to remember.

Waitresses in a local eatery is usually a fund of knowledge. If these are not “fast food” establishments, local customers may join in a conversation about an area and your may end up with a multitude of suggestions.

Another good source is females who work the counter at service and convenience stores. Somehow men in these same positions usually only offer a yes or no to your questions. This factor — on top the natural born talents she has for “working” the locals— is the reason Bobby is our people person. She has been known to walk into a local place that I might fear to tread, and within five minutes has me holding the babies and calling people by name —even those with double names as Billy Bob, or Mary Jo

Worth it—yes, you bet.

In Burns, BC we were directed to a free, city park, inside a tranquil wooded setting, overlooking a pristine lake, that wasn’t even mentioned in the usually complete listing of camping spots in the four inch thick Milepost Directory (a far better source when headed to Alaska than a Woodall’s, or Trailer Life Directory).

In Arizona, a convenience store conversation saved us for making the big mistake of driving our rig to the big RV Park at the South Rim of the Grand Canyon.
Instead we spent a couple of very enjoyable days commuting through the back door with our dingy, from the Navaho Indian reservation ($8 per night).

In Moab, Utah, asking about the uranium millionaire Chares Steen set us to a delightful evening in a restaurant overlooking the town, in his old mansion. (continued next page).