After a long drive, we arrive at the camp

to discover the chuckwagon leaving,

followed by a caravan of vehicles.

We stop a driver and ask where they’re going.

“Follow the chuckwagon,” was the reply.

We comply, joining the procession down

the rocky, rutted road, bringing up the rear,

in our small car, trailing large trucks who

pass easily over the washed-out sections.

Finally, a dip so large, we get out to

examine our clearance.  No go.

We back up, turn around, and retreat.

The chuckwagon has evaded us.

We go home and heat up leftover casserole.


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