We have been RVing for three months now. We've stayed at RV Parks, truck stops, a shopping center parking lot, and a couple of rest areas. One weekend was spent outside a closed tire store after we got a flat.
We don't often have an opportunity to find out our neighbor's names at the RV Parks. Someone might pull in beside you at dinnertime, but be gone before breakfast. Then again, while some folks are very sociable others like to keep to themselves. We've come to refer to some of our neighbors by the name of the state on their license tag: "Colorado left this morning." Or the brand name of their recreational vehicle: "The Winnebago left." Or the unit they were parked in: "Unit 12...." You get the idea.
The place where we're at is pretty nice. All of our restaurant, shopping and entertainment needs are just a short bike ride away. The ocean is even closer. One of the many things I enjoy doing is watching people. And one of the people I've been observing lately is an interesting character with Montana tags. Caucasian, middle-aged, short, heavyset, and bald, he lives alone in a small travel trailer that he pulls behind a dark blue minivan. Every few days he goes somewhere in his van, and returns a day or two later.
Montana mentioned to the park owner that he wanted to buy a cooler. The owner knew we intended to get rid of ours. It ran off a 12-volt battery, and didn't keep our food cold enough, so we bought an apartment-sized refrigerator that runs off 110 volts. The owner introduced Bob [Montana] to us. Bob said the cooler would serve his purpose well. He explained he wanted it for water, pop and beer. He made an offer. Since we didn't have a use for the cooler or a place to store it we gave it to him for nothing.
Seeing him set the cooler on the floor at the back of his van caused my writer's imagination to kick into high gear. Is Montana a serial killer? Will he dismember his victims at night, and stuff their body parts in the cooler for transportation and disposal? Or will he use the cooler to save the heads for trophies?
These and other questions were on my mind this morning while I was bike riding on the beach road. I stopped at the store, and bought a loaf of pumpernickel bread. Upon my return to the RV, I saw Montana pull out of the park, and drive straight to the nearby marina. I, um, followed him...at a safe distance. Holding the cooler by the handles he went aboard a medium-sized boat with dark red sails. I've seen many a sailboat in my life but none with sails the color of blood. He set sail. I watched until the vessel disappeared from view.
A couple of hours later, I saw him park his van beside his RV. He usually parks in front of it. The cooler dangled loosely from his right hand signifying to me that it was empty. I couldn't see what he was doing, but I heard the distinct squeak of the outside spigot being turned on. Did he dump body parts in the ocean? Was he washing blood out of the cooler? I don't know. And I have enough sense not to ask. I probably could have, though. He seems like a nice guy. The kind that wouldn't hurt a fly.
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