As I was hooking up an in-line filter to my water, an elderly man beckoned to me from just up the hill from my campsite. “Does that tow well?” pointing to my Airstream.
He was sitting in the grass next to a woman in a car-friendly wheelchair, also his age, but with red-dyed hair. I supposed they came here to look at the river. They didn’t seem to be camping.
“Do you like it here?” He was wearing shorts, and his legs had the tight translucent skin of a man with diabetes.
Sure, I said. Great weather, beautiful park, view of the water.
“Too many foreign drivers on the road” he said, and looked at his friend. She remained silent.
He looked out at the river.
“The Red River is filthy. Some dead bodies. People kill themselves in that river… Camping here long?”
“Just for the night. I’m headed to Alaska”
“Do you know how long that will take?”
“About 2 weeks, I’m hoping”
He paused. “A month and a half” he said, as if he had been there, done that.
I told him I had some chores to do in the trailer (I was doing laundry). When I came back out of the trailer a minute later, he and the woman were gone.
Were they ever there?