You, Me, and the Dog: Stories From the Mobile Mojo Dojo Casa House: June 2024 -- The Land Between the Lakes, Kuttawa[ish], KY

Always good to learn more about yourself

Hillman Ferry Campground has 368 campsites. It’s a busy place with kids on bikes and scooters dodging more golf carts than I’ve ever seen in one place. Golf carts going to the beach. Golf carts going to the store. Golf carts dragging portable wastewater tanks to the dump station. Golf carts on flatbed trailers hooked up to 5th wheel trailers hooked up to 350 Duramax dualies. Golf carts stuck in golf cart traffic. And a review of Hillman Ferry on my go-to campground review site saying, “This place is like a small city. After staying here we went out and bought a golf cart because you really need one at a place like this.”

You don’t, actually. And we did not buy a golf cart.

There were plenty of other things to do. We hiked a 2.5 miler through nice woods that supposedly was also a bike trail but Renee was skeptical. It was hot and there were so many spider webs I had to get another web clearing stick. There were also many ticks, but we didn’t know that until we got back. So many ticks - mostly of the Lonestar variety.

Another day we took another hike - this one leaving from the “North Welcome Center” along a path that also allegedly doubled as a bike trail. It was part of a network of about 14 miles of single-track and looked like a lot of fun (to bike) but Renee was pretty sure “No.” We climbed through mostly woods (no spiders) and a big field beneath power lines, found all sorts of cool places that would make great forts and hideouts. We passed big rocks and small cliffs, huge fallen trees, and occasionally a clear view of a sheltered bay along the lake that, unbelievably, had not been developed, or even claimed for the day by boaters seeking the same solace we had found. The birds and butterflies and dragonflies kept us company. And the ticks. But there were also blackberries. And also so many ticks.

Later we tried to ride a small, relatively flat section of the same trail system on our “so last decade pedal only mountain bikes.” It was a blast, or not, depending on who you talk to. Renee accused me repeatedly of trying to trick her but had no difficulty keeping up or handling the technical root/rock/washout/log sections. I kept alternating between, “wow this is so cool” and “Dude, slow down because you’re too old for this to end well.” When we found a shortcut back to the car we decided to take the win (and shortcut) and call it a day.

Another day we hiked around lake Hematite at the Nature Center which included a boardwalk over stinky swamp (bonus content included ticks, people with dogs, and Axel slipping his leash). We also saw a tree that lost one of its trunks revealing another tree growing inside of it including quite the root system, a couple of “Kodak moment” views of the lake, and concrete stepping stones across the spillway that Axel did not find amusing at all. The trail was hot, flat and busy, but we enjoyed the walk and many blooming Persian Silk trees.

There was a 2 mile paved trail connecting our campground to the northern welcome center that we decided to check out on the bikes. Turning onto it was like turning into a different world. The pavement was broken with grass and trees coming up through it. The path was narrow and heavily crowded by wild foliage and gave the sense of being a last remnant of the old civilization in some verdant post-apocalyptic garden. It was also steep, required weaving between hanging deadfalls, and an absolute blast. It was so fun we decided to tackle a portion of the 11 mile cross-island trail another day.

That was a more adventurous trail that included some cool moguls, lots of narrow bridges, and signs saying things like, “Caution” and “Death Ahead.” Renee said it wasn’t too bad, but we haven’t been on the bikes since. We saw a few other cyclists and some hikers but mostly it was just us and the trees flying by as our tires hissed and crunched over the gravel and dust and pine needles.

For Renee’s birthday, we went into the bustling metropolis of Grand Rivers (pop 342 or so) just up the road. We needed fuel so first we stopped at one of the sketchiest gas stations I’ve ever encountered. There was a car there that smelled like a dead body with skittish, meth-skinny people leaning against it giving us the eye. I was glad the Cruze fills up on 7 gallons and we were gone in less time than most bank robbers spend cleaning out teller drawers.

Back in town we found a place called the “Tiki Turtle” which sounded close enough to “Tortuga Jacks” we wanted to give it a try. it was an enjoyable afternoon and a good birthday. Also, if you were in on the joke that the people who worked there hated their lives and everyone else, it was entertaining to watch them with the other patrons. But, at the end of the day, for us, Grand Rivers was the kind of place you go when you are already there.

One evening we drove down to the “Elk and Bison Prairie” for a look-see. We paid the toll for the 3 mile loop and spent a couple of hours doing laps and watching the Elk. At one point we rounded a corner and came across a field with the herd of bison – complete with calves and a couple of bulls. We parked on the side of the road and watched them until out necks were stiff and we started saying silly things like, “Look, now that one is eating the grass.”

We took another lap excited to see them again but they were gone. Vanished. Like the great herds of Buffalo before them. It was an unexpected object lesson in the importance of appreciating here and now, how things might seem like they’ll be there forever but aren’t. A giant sign saying, “There’s no guarantees for the next lap.”

But if it was a lesson in all that, it was also a lesson in not dwelling on what’s been missed because if we’d been sadly staring at our pictures of the bison we won’t see again instead of looking out, we’d have missed the bull elks and let me tell you, they were a sight to see.