"You know the name of a knot?".....and V-8 Juice karma

 

Our campsite, Robbers Roost (no apostrophe) is out in the middle of nowhere in Big Bend National Park. We have had only a couple of vehicles drive by the spot in the two days we have been here.

 

So imagine our surprise when we see a woman walking up the road. She has no hiking equipment, so looks to be just out for a stroll.

 

Well, not, as it turns out. She was heading to a campsite further up our road, got worried that her vehicle couldn’t make it, tried to turn around, and got stuck.

 

We walked about a quarter mile down the road to her vehicle. Our verdict was the same—she’s stuck. She had seriously high centered, and created some huge holes trying to drive out.

 

A week previously we had purchased a small spade and a small pickaxe. But we couldn’t get her out even with a lot of digging.

 

There was no alternative except to try to pull her out with the pickup. This meant packing up everything and driving to her.

 

Problem? No strap or chain. What we did have was a leash that Vicky had for her dog Rosie. Why she still has it is another story. One I hope to hear one day. We also had a few single links of chain that are used for the camper tie-downs.

 

Well, what the heck, let’s try it.

 

I fastened the links onto the frame of her car, and one end of the leash to the hooks on the pickup.

 

Problem: how to tie the loose end of the leash to the links.

 

Vicky: “I know what will work. Grandpa Burt taught me. A Bowen knot.

 

Woman: “You know the name of a knot?”

 

Vicky ties it.

I drive the pickup. The woman drives her car. Vicky pushes.

 

And it works! Comes out slicker than a whistle. A dog leash, a few links of tie-down chains, a Bowen knot, and Grandpa Burt.

Our new friend spent the night at our campsite—not too thrilled about the idea of driving up the remaining two miles to her campsite. A single parent out by herself in a minivan that didn’t provide enough clearance for the road, and camping in a backcountry site. Impressive.

 

Next day, a guy comes up the road walking his mountain bike, stops, and talks with us. We ask if he needs water, and he says no thank you.

 

He looks to be about 35 years old. Says he has been coming to Big Bend since he was a child—sometimes with his family, sometimes by himself.

 

For reasons I can’t remember, somehow we start talking about V-8 Juice. He says he’s never had one, so we produce one for him, and he drinks it down quickly. He was hotter than he thought he was.

 

Three years ago we were riding our bikes through Death Valley and ran out of water. A man had stopped by the side of the road to take our picture. Vicky asked if he had water, which he did and shared with us. Then our Good Samaritan offered us a V-8 juice. I don’t know if anything ever tasted any better, and I got hooked immediately on the stuff. Now I drink one about every other day. (you can get low sodium V-8 Juice which is the best), and always carry a can in my hiking pack.

 

Our cyclist friend today represents karma of some type. Or V-8 closure. Now it is his turn to pass along the V-8 love.

 

We have one more day at this campsite. We are anxious to see who walks by us on this mostly deserted road today.

 

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