Chet and I drove into Boise City, Oklahoma, population of 1,142, yesterday afternoon with plenty of time to nap and have a nice happy hour. However, finding a campground, which showed many on the google map, turned out to be difficult. There were only two in town, both tiny, and one was full.

“She was frightened of me at first, until I mentioned that I’d seen her at the dinner tent in El Cameron the night before, and the realization dawned on her who I was. I could see that she also realized how much help I might be to her because she gave me a hug as if we were long-lost friends.”

She froze. Two women dashed toward the girl and grabbed her arms pulling her toward the group. I could see the women scolding her as if she were a child and then came the tears. The women put their arms around the girl to soothe her or to hide her, I wasn't sure, but before I could assess the true situation the men came back with a couple of blue vans, and they all piled in and drove away.

The women were plain of face with dull brown hair under their caps and some carried babies of various ages. But one young woman was pregnant and looked nothing like the others. She was naturally pretty with a peachy complexion, blonde hair, and big, blue eyes. She seemed to be looking for something. Without turning her head conspicuously, her gaze was darting about almost frantically.

We thought we'd found our piece of paradise at an RV park in the tropics of the Yucatan; however, it didn't take long to realize that the 'paradise' part may be a myth.

My heart was hammering and I nearly missed the noise in the background. I had to strain to hear. There was a thrumming noise, constant in its rhythm that would be accompanied by a sharper whack, like the striking of a hammer. But then a new sound caused us to stop in our tracks — chilling my bones. A scream. I clutched Marty’s arm.

“What the hell was that?” I whispered.

The plan for that winter’s Mexico trip was to drive to Sayulita on the West Coast with our beater travel trailer for a month to visit and say our goodbyes to the friends we’d made, sans Tom and Sheila. We’d then head to the East Coast the quickest route to pick Isabelle up from the Cancun airport on New Year’s Day.

How are you! Here we are, we are your native sons!” Just a version of Arlo Guthrie’s song, though of New Orleans, it can’t be wrong. Our next adventure is to the Northwest, and we will try our very best, to make this run and have some fun with many sights to see.

The plan for that winter’s Mexico trip was for Mac and I to go to our usual west coast campground with our “beater” travel trailer for a month to visit and then say goodbye to the friends we’d made, before heading to the east coast to pick up my daughter Isabelle, also a diver, from the Cancun airport on New Year’s Day.

When we approached the trailer, almost like a switch had been turned on, I had a sudden and overwhelming need for sex. It was urgent and primal, nap forgotten. After we got inside I was totally focused on that need, and began undressing Marty.