Well, it finally happened. I awoke to knocking on the rig. 2:30 in the morning. I sat up. Sat very still and listened to see if I’d really heard it, or was it part of a dream?
Nope. There it goes again. Seven or eight sharp raps in quick succession—just the way you’d knock on a door.
I located and donned long pants and a sweatshirt. Then I opened the small window over my kitchen sink, and called out a challenge. “Middle of the night, you banging on my rig? WTF?” No response. No retreating footsteps. I sat down on the edge of my chair to listen, and let my heart stop racing and pounding. And damn, there is this creaking and bumping, like someone is maybe drunk, and clumsily sliding along the side of the rig?
At this point I was thinking it was a person, an intruder, because while I’d been to town doing my errands, someone waltzed into my campsite and took my three-foot lengths of 2x10 that I use to level the rig, and my, “HOME IS WHERE YOU PARK IT” doormat as well. In the previous seven months of travel, no one has taken anything from my campsite. Weirdly enough, my gas grill was set up on the picnic table and my pop-up screen house was sitting there, with my folding chair and my chaise lounge. I don’t understand why they only swiped my leveling boards and doormat. But this incident truly primed the emotional pump, for me being yanked from a deep sleep.
I put on my little flashlight, found my compressed air-airhorn, and my Big Badass Stungun/Flashlight, (thank you George for getting this for me! I was so happy to have it in the rig with me at this moment.) No further tapping, but the bumping and creaking continued.
The rig was not tethered to any electric or hoses, since this is a primitive mountain campground with no hook-ups. I decided to quickly stow any loose items, retract my slide and drive the hell out of here. No way I’d get any more sleep this night, and I thought I could get some company if I drove over to park near the camp host, who is a really nice guy. I drove over there, turned the rig off, and sat quietly reading a book on my iPhone for a while. Then I got up and made tea and oatmeal.
Supposedly, there are no bears here. Anyway, bears are not so polite to knock or tap, anyway. I’d have expected scraping sounds if it was a bear. Maybe raccoons? Now, I started to feel silly, like I'd over reacted. But better safe than sore. I planned to go out in the daylight to see if I could spy any telltale paw-prints.
No paw prints or other identifiable marks on the exterior. I'm outta here. Going back to the coast for a few more nights before I head back east towards The Hoover Dam.