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Monday, May 9, 2011 - Clarinda IA

Power & Light, Hastings NE, May 8, 2011
Power & Light, Hastings NE, May 8, 2011

Oh shit...

This has been an interesting day. Clarinda IA and Nodaway Valley Park is not where I expected to be spending the night. Some days even the vaguest of plans go awry.

Some time early in the sweltering hot humid afternoon I pulled off the road for a pee break and to refill my water cup. Funny smell in the bathroom - guess the airflow has reversed for some reason. It happens. Ah well.

I pull back onto the road and hear a funny scraping noise, look in the mirror and see a scrape in the dirt and a small dust cloud where I left the verge.

Back to the verge I go.

Yikes! - the leading edge of the black water tank dropped and is dragging on the ground. This ain't gonna be fun - as luck would have it that black tank is darned near full. That's about 20 gallons and a hundred and fifty pounds of stuff now vastly complicating this little problem.

Stay tuned

I have long had an uncanny way of getting out of tight spots on the road - I have many many such stories from my long distance motorcycling days - now there's another to add to the growing list of RVing tight spot stories.

Night camp

Site 9 - Nodaway Valley Park, Clarinda IA

A Siberian dog signal-howl

A camp in the middle of a clear, dark winter's night presents a strange, wild appearance. I was awakened, soon after midnight, by cold feet, and, raising myself upon one elbow, I pushed my head out of my frosty fur bag to see by the stars what time it was. The fire had died away to a red heap of smouldering embers. There was just light enough to distinguish the dark outlines of the loaded sledges, the fur-clad forms of our men, lying here and there in groups about the fire, and the frosty dogs, curled up into a hundred little hairy balls upon the snow. Away beyond the limits of the camp stretched the desolate steppe in a series of long snowy undulations, which blended gradually into one great white frozen ocean, and were lost in the distance and darkness of night. High overhead, in a sky which was almost black, sparkled the bright constellations of Orion and the Pleiades--the celestial clocks which marked the long, weary hours between sunrise and sunset. The blue mysterious streamers of the aurora trembled in the north, now shooting up in clear bright lines to the zenith, then waving back and forth in great majestic curves over the silent camp, as if warning back the adventurous traveller from the unknown regions around the Pole. The silence was profound, oppressive. Nothing but the pulsating of the blood in my ears, and the heavy breathing of the sleeping men at my feet, broke the universal lull. Suddenly there rose upon the still night air a long, faint, wailing cry like that of a human being in the last extremity of suffering. Gradually it swelled and deepened until it seemed to fill the whole atmosphere with its volume of mournful sound, dying away at last into a low, despairing moan. It was the signal-howl of a Siberian dog; but so wild and unearthly did it seem in the stillness of the arctic midnight, that it sent the startled blood bounding through my veins to my very finger-ends. In a moment the mournful cry was taken up by another dog, upon a higher key--two or three more joined in, then ten, twenty, forty, sixty, eighty, until the whole pack of a hundred dogs howled one infernal chorus together, making the air fairly tremble with sound, as if from the heavy bass of a great organ. For fully a minute heaven and earth seemed to be filled with yelling, shrieking fiends. Then one by one they began gradually to drop off, the unearthly tumult grew momentarily fainter and fainter, until at last it ended as it began, in one long, inexpressibly melancholy wail, and all was still.

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