South Haven, Kansas

We got up early.  In the cool of the morning just before sunrise, I shared one last cup of coffee with Bob, my newfound friend.  I feel bad about leaving, we were just getting to know each other.  We plan to keep in touch and I’m sure our paths will cross again someday.

So, we disconnected the water, pulled the slides, unplugged the power, aired the suspension and raised the stabilizers.  One last look around and we pulled the coach to the front of the office to hook up the Jeep.  We checked the brake lights, did one last walk-around, waived goodbye to the campground owners and turned onto the highway.  After five weeks in northwest Arkansas, we were back on the road.  We didn’t find our dream home, but we very much enjoyed our stay and made some new friends.  No doubt, we will be back for a visit; maybe to stay for good.  But first we need to do a little more traveling.

After fueling the coach we headed south along I-540 and then west on highway 412.  Our route would take us through Tulsa to I-35 and then north into Kansas.  The roads were good and the drive was uneventful.  Surprisingly, the terrain was rolling hills with ranches and farms separated by woods.  It was all very picturesque and peaceful.  The coach hummed along seemingly unbothered from its five week stay in Arkansas.

Our destination was near the small town of South Haven, Kansas, which is just over the Oklahoma/Kansas state line.  Fortunately there was a diesel fuel stop a few miles before our turnoff, so we took the opportunity to tank the coach.

Sunset in South Haven, Kansas. Nothing else of note was around, so we took a picture of the sunset. What you can’t see is the howling wind.

Finally, we arrived at the RV park.  Dear readers, trust me when I tell you there was absolutely nothing around.  The RV park was in the middle of a plowed field in the middle of more fields.  It was as if someone had the bright idea to put hookups and a small office in the middle of nowhere.  The small town of South Haven was miles away.  A cloud of dust swirled around the coach.  Exiting the coach, all you could hear was the wind, cicadas and trucks in the distance.  The old-style gas station bell summoned the campground host, who emerged from a well kept 1970s era trailer.  There were only three other rigs in the park.  I looked around expecting to see Rod Serling standing in a vacant campsite; surely we had entered the Twilight Zone.

The campground host chatted on an on with the enthusiasm of someone deprived of human contact.  We finally finished check-in, pulled into our spot and hooked up.  I got to work getting the bugs off the front of the coach.  All day long we were getting whacked with beetles as hard as flying rocks.  The front of the coach looked like vandals used it for paint-ball practice.  It took about 45 minutes of scrubbing in the howling wind to get it clean.

Since the coach was the tallest thing around, getting satellite reception was no problem.  We watched TV before falling asleep.