Resorts of America
We’ve just spent six days in a place that could almost not be called an RV campground. In fact it is on the leading edge of a new trend – motor coach resort. This place was gorgeous. Nobody smaller than a Class A motor home invited.
Instead of gravel, bugs, a rickety table and a rusty fire grate, you get an extra-wide, extra-long slab of cement bordered by manicured gardens, trees and grass which is mowed once a week. And an incredible view.
If you’ve never experienced parking in a site that slopes to the left, leaving you to sleep in a bed that slants in the same direction, you won’t appreciate the bliss of a flat, firm surface where there’s no need to drop the levelers – and no swearing, and cursing when you can’t get that damn little bubble to stay in the middle of the level on your dashboard.
Your garbage is picked up at your door in the morning, and if you want to sleep late, the little man with the cart will come back later. We rented, of course, but we were greeted by a lovely man who helped us back in successfully, then let us know that if we wanted to buy, he was the man to talk to.
In addition to three pretty ponds, a gated entrance and a reception building that looks like Trump would be at home here, the whole place is surrounded by its own golf course, and of course you get a cart that you pay for. Which everybody does. Next door is a fabulous four-star restaurant, this in a town that considers Arby’s upscale eating. This is the mountains, people, not the big city. Nevertheless, there it sits.
Most of the people we met were owners, which meant we were in a class below them. Transients, heaven forbid! They had paid – ready for this one? – upwards of $129,000 for their spot, then proceeded to replace the perfectly good cement with slate, brick or some other beautiful paving stone, add an outdoor kitchen and enormous barbecue, high-end table, umbrellas and chairs, and of course, a nice big bar. Then they called in their own landscapers to finish off the look. Here were people who’d paid maybe $300,000 for their motor coach, $150,000 for the site and probably more than that for the customization. Then they called in the gardener! Where do people like this come from?!? Who are they anyway?
I’ll tell you. We went to a cocktail party in the Entertainment Tent on Sunday and met “I was the president of …” and his friend “I was the CEO of…” and their wives who all wore designer jeans, Jimmy Choo sandals and enough bling to light lower Broadway. One of them was named Ann Kroc, and when she told me she owned two sites adjacent to each other PLUS a home across the street on the lake, I decided she had to be that Kroc. As in McDonald’s. Ray and Joan's daughter-in-law? They were nice people, all of them, but if we weren’t outclassed, we were certainly out-moneyed. We decided to act As If.
We met a lovely couple from Florida, Chuck and Cathy Hopper, and spent a day at a local craft fair with them, another evening playing cards at our house, the next learning Euchre at theirs and feasting on key lime pie made from her own limes, then went to the aforementioned 4-star joint the next. He’s one of those presidents and she’s had a long career in civil service and they were lovely and unassuming and nice to be with. We’ll call them when we get to Inverness. I hope I can pick up some nicer clothes before then, but I don’t think they’ll care.
There are maybe a dozen of these over-the-top resorts all over the country, and we’ll try to visit more of them, just because it’s such a change from the ordinary KOA. And it certainly isn’t Yogi Bear’s Jellystone Park Campground by a longshot.
We figure, if we go to enough of these places, we’ll get used to the altitude, and maybe even be able to act like we belong alongside of the rich and famous, if even for a couple of days.
Ray Kroc’s possible relative included. Either way, a nice lady.
Betty
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