Mile Post Marker: Whalers Rest Rv Resort

4/19
We left Mt. Hood Rv Resort minutes before 10am and had enjoyed our time there.
OnStar downloaded the directions to Whalers Rest and we were on our way driving W on 26.
The route was W-26 to 212 to 205 to S-5 to Exit 228 and W-34 then left at 101 to head south through Newport and turn left at 123 St. to reach our days destination Whalers Rest RV Resort.
Easy peezy.
Within that mishmash of hwys, byways and towns we went through Boring, Or. and past the one and only Not So Boring Bar and Grill. It was a hardship not to stop and find out who won last nights karaoke contest.
We arrived at Whalers Rest around 1:30  The desk clerk at the store gave us a site map and we picked up our packet with the gate pass code #'s, and he said we could pick our own site as long as it was empty. The best (almost only) wifi was at the lodge/game room and that site 91 (a pull thru) got some wifi reception too,
I made site 91 my destination on the basis of the words 'pull through' and 'wifi'.
We fumbled with the gate code and drove into the park. At around site 34 the road turns sharply to the left and I was not thinking about the dreadnought that I was pulling behind me.
I did not swing wide enough to allow for the trailer to make the turn without cutting the corner close. Suddenly I hear this grinding noise and look out my mirror to see the top of the trailer no more than a foot from a lamp post and tires in a pothole making the trailer lean towards the post. The grinding was the back bumper scrapping when the tires dropped in the pothole. My thoughts were just an almost continuous stream of 'Oh shit'...'Oh shit'...'Oh shit'... punctuated with a 'I fucked up.'  and visions of tow trucks blocking the road for hours.
I get out and look things over.
One of the other persons around there walks up and looks over the situation.
"Seems to happen quite often on this corner."
Does not make me feel any better.
I cannot continue the turn or I will own the light post.
The truck is turned in relation to the trailer.
I need to go straight ahead.
There are large garbage bins across the road that if moved would give me enough room to go straight then continue the turn.
I move the bins.
I need to back up and get the truck straight.
More scrapping as I back up a little to straighten the truck.
With the truck straighter, I swing wide to keep the trailer straight until past the apex of the corner.
'Whoopee! Made it.'
On to site 91, the road has no more sharp bends according to the map that I now have taken out and perused minutely for trouble ahead. I pass the 60's sites, the 70's sites, the 80's sites looking for #91.
I see it. It is empty. To my left and uphill, bordered by trees on the right and hookups on the left with a 50' concrete pad down the center.
'Yup, doin' it.'
I again do not take the length of the trailer into account and end up on the pad crooked. We walk around and figure good enough. and unhook. Then Connie notices that the kitchen slide is too close to one of the hookup posts.
'Damn.'
Hook back up.
Start to back out to get a straighter run at it when a fellow RVer walks up and ask if he could help. I told him my plan to just back up an try again and he said I did not have to do that. He could get me straight.
'What the hell, sure.'
I later learn his name is Tom and his wife is Tina.
Well, Tom has me pulling forward and backing up 4 to 6 feet at a time, while crimping the wheels sharply left or right each time. Pretty soon the trailer is squared up on the pad and there is room for the slideouts to extend.
Setting up camp followed.
One propane tank is almost empty and I found out that propane is only sold between 2p and 3p so I take the tank down to the fill station.
I invited Tom over later to sample some Rye whiskey that we had received as a going away present from Toby and Jeanna. Tina was on a grocery run and not home. Tom and Tina have been fulltime RVers for 12 years now. We talked music alot, Tom is a musician and 68. I thanked him several times for his help
Later, Connie, I and the poodogs head to the beach. A walk across the park, to the pathway that leads west to 101, look left, look right, no traffic, crossing the highway to a viewpoint that has a path down to the beach.
Once on the windy beach, Connie, takes the dogs off the leases and immediately they begin to run.
Chasing...being chased...sniffing...poo and pee pitstops...more running and chasing.
We laugh at the antics.
Back to the trailer.
Up the trail to the parking area. There are more cars at the viewpoint now. The sun is about 2 fingers from setting and the cars seem to be drawn to it like moths to the flame.
Crossing 101 I look back over my shoulder. No golds or reds bleeding through clouds, just a yellow sun setting, in this here, and this now, for one more day.
The trailer beckons.
Calling it a day.