C.J. Hall
October 26, 2021

The Trio of Doom: Walkabouts and Wanderlust

If you think that RV life is extraordinarily social, you may be surprised to hear that it’s often solitary. It makes sense, if you think about it. People in RVs are frequently on the move, and your neighbors may be here today and gone tomorrow. Or, you may be the one here today and gone tomorrow. Or, you may not have any neighbors at all. It happens.

Fellow travelers often share cursory nods, greetings, or acknowledgements when they see each other. These are generally polite interactions and not a gateway for further communication. But there are situations where substantial conversation becomes more likely. Namely, someone needs help, or someone is curious. It was a combination of these two circumstances that led me to meet the Trio of Doom.

I was camped at an RV park in northern New Mexico, where I planned to work on my next book and see the mountains. Crash and I were out for our morning constitutional when one of my neighbors approached me, a man who wanted to borrow one of my several cans of WD-40. I couldn’t tell whether the man was frazzled or frustrated as he explained that he couldn’t get his fifth wheel camper unhitched from his truck. He thought that maybe the hitch lock was rusty, thus his search for WD-40.

This seemed a strange problem to me, especially since he’d only hitched the camper to the truck the day before. The hitch lock wasn’t rusty then. And if there was a problem with his hitch, how did he get it connected in the first place? Normally, if you can hitch it, you can unhitch it. However, I know that when it comes to RVs, anything is possible. I acknowledged his statement with my best concerned look and told him it sounded stressful.

“Sure,” he said, “but that’s not the worst part. When I pulled it up from Texas yesterday, the fresh water tank fell off.”

“Excuse me? Did you say it fell off? When you were driving down the road?”

“Yes, it fell off when we were driving down the road.” He studied my face as he nodded silently, apparently realizing that I needed time to integrate this information into my world view.

If you aren’t familiar with RVs, the fresh water tank holds clean water to supply your sink, shower, and toilet when you aren’t connected to a continuous water supply. It is an integral part of the RV, connected to your plumbing with an array of tubes, valves, and a water pump. The tank itself is likely to be installed on the underside of your RV close to the front of the camper. These tanks are prone to leak or crack, but they aren’t generally prone to fall off when you are going down the road.

But while it’s unlikely, it’s not impossible. It can’t be, because it happened to my neighbor. He was driving down the highway, at highway speeds, when the fresh water tank fell off, hit the pavement, and rolled down the underbelly of his camper, smashing into the other tanks, water lines, propane lines, sewage lines, both axles, and everything else on the underside of his camper. All I could do was shake my head in sympathetic dismay as he told me that he had no idea how much damage his camper sustained, but in the spirit of tackling one problem at a time, he was focusing on getting it unhitched first. I watched him set off with my can of WD-40, and I went about my day.

Hours later, Crash and I walked over to his campsite, to collect our WD-40 and check on his progress. The camper was unhitched, but apparently, my WD-40 was not part of the solution. No, this man had bigger problems than a little rust. It seems that the lever on his hitch that locked the camper to the truck was installed backwards. Thus, he couldn’t unhitch the camper because when he thought he was unlocking the connection, he was actually locking it.

Now, if you follow the logic here, you might guess that the inverse was also true—when he thought he was locking his camper to the truck to safely pull it down the road, he was actually unlocking it. I don’t know if my neighbor was lucky or unlucky that it was merely his water tank that fell off instead of the entire camper, but at this point I’d like to remind you, dear reader, that it is never a good idea to tailgate anyone pulling a trailer.

My neighbor explained that he’d spent the last several hours disassembling the entire hitch, piece by piece until he could finally disconnect his camper. That was how he discovered that the locking lever was installed backwards.

“It wasn’t me,” he assured me quickly, apparently concerned that I might judge his competence. “No, I’m not nearly foolish enough to do something like this. I lent this hitch to a friend of mine three years ago, and when I told him I needed it back, he installed it in my truck. He must have put the lever on backwards.”

“I see,” I said. “So, it’s your first time out in three years?”

“No,” he says, “we go camping all the time. I was using a different hitch. I liked the other one better, but it wouldn’t fit in my new truck.”

“I see,” I said again, trying to focus on the positive. “Congratulations on your new truck!”

“Thanks,” he said, with forlorn hesitation. “I liked my old truck better, but I had to get a new one when it got struck by lightning.”

“Lightning?” I ask.

“Yes,” he replies, “it was totaled.”

I was lost for words. While I tried to conjure a response, I could feel my eyes darting right and left, instinctively scanning the horizons for any signs of swarming locusts, or perhaps a freak avalanche coming down from the mountain. I wondered if lightning could strike when the sky was perfectly clear, and then I realized I had more pertinent questions.

“What did you say your name was again?” I asked. “And exactly where and when do you think you’ll be traveling?”

That’s how I met Stan and his wife Ann. They have a son named… Wait for it… Dan. What are the odds of all three of their names rhyming? Well, I suppose they’re better than the odds of a fresh water tank falling off an RV while it’s going down the road, so why not? I said a little prayer over my can of WD-40 as Crash and I returned to our own camper, hoping to free it from any bad luck that may have rubbed off throughout the day.

Early the next morning, the Trio of Doom pulled their camper into the storage area of the RV park and took off in their new truck. As the day passed, and I began to believe I might be out of the blast radius of their bad luck, all seemed right with world once more. I silently wished them better fortune, and I haven’t crossed paths with them since. I’m okay with that.

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October 4, 2021

The Homestead of Josie Bassett: Legends and Folklore

“Well-behaved women seldom make history.” I’m sure you’ve heard the saying, and it seems true enough. Earlier this summer while traveling through Utah, I encountered a woman history remembers, an unforgettable woman who, by the standard of her time, was definitely not well-behaved. Let me tell you about her, so you can remember her, too.

Have you heard of Josie Bassett, or perhaps the Bassett sisters—Josie and Anne? If you are a student of history, you may know that the Bassett sisters were closely connected to Butch Cassidy and the Wild Bunch. In fact, if you search for Josie Bassett on Google, you will see many pictures of Butch Cassidy, or even Josie’s sister Anne, but few of Josie herself. What a shame.

Josie was born in Arkansas in 1874, but when she was just a few years old, her parents moved to Brown’s Park, a mountain valley that spanned northeastern Utah and northwestern Colorado. Her little sister Anne came along in 1878 and was the first white child born in northwestern Colorado. Their mother, Elizabeth Bassett, was fiercely free-spirited, and both girls learned to ride horses and run cattle and rope as good, if not better, than any man.

Everyone was welcome at the Basset family ranch, saint and sinner alike, and it was a favorite stopover for all sorts of travelers. Herb Bassett, the girls’ father, did regular business with outlaws, selling them beef and horses, and perhaps this is how Anne became involved with Butch Cassidy when she was 15.

Both Josie and Anne had relationships with Butch Cassidy at different times, as well as other members of the Wild Bunch. But unforgettable women are not defined by the men in their lives—they play the lead in their own stories. The Bassett sisters were far more than embellishments in Butch Cassidy’s story.

Before you make assumptions about Josie or Anne, know that they were both well-educated. They attended a prestigious East coast boarding school and spent many hours in their father’s extensive library. And they were both considered stunning beauties, although they had different builds and features. These two sisters were just as elegant as they were fierce and independent, and they both chose ranch life over lives that might be characterized as more civilized.

Josie Bassett was married five times. She divorced four husbands and survived one. It’s not entirely clear whether that husband died of alcoholism or if Josie poisoned him, but she was acquitted of the charges at trial. She ran her father’s cattle ranch for many years, while her sister Anne ran her own cattle ranch. Then in 1913, at the age of 39, Josie left her father’s ranch and established her own homestead in northeastern Utah. One of her two sons helped her build a cabin on the land, and she spent the next 50 years living there alone.

Josie was a bootlegger during the Depression, as well as a skilled deer hunter, although technically some of the deer were poached. She was accused of stealing cattle, although she convinced the court that she was framed for that. She made her own clothes and her own soap and grew most of her own food. She lived on her homestead until she was 89, when she broke a hip tending to a horse. She was hospitalized and died a few months later at the age of 90.

Josie’s homestead is now part of the Dinosaur National Monument, and you can still see her cabin, her orchard, and the box canyon where she kept animals. It’s not a place you’ll happen upon by accident, so if you want to see it, you’ll have to go on purpose. Enter the park from the Utah side, not the Colorado side. Then drive past the visitor center and the quarry hall, past the petroglyphs and nature hikes. When you pass Turtle Rock and cross the Green River, the pavement will end, but keep going. It’s a pretty drive, so enjoy the scenery. The further you go, the narrower the road gets, but don’t give up. Josie’s place is at the end, the cabin where she lived with no electricity or running water until 1963.

So, why did I visit her old homestead? I was curious, I suppose. When I saw her cabin on the park map, I did some quick research and was surprised at what I found—a kindred spirit. I, too, have made choices that some people envy and other people don’t understand. I, too, seem brave and fearless to some, incomprehensible to others.

I walked around Josie’s homestead, thinking about the years she spent there living alone, tending animals and a garden, chopping firewood, canning food, making clothes and soap, and doing the myriad of activities required to survive in a place like northeast Utah. I wondered if perhaps Josie felt the same way I feel about some of my choices—I haven’t chosen the easiest path, but I’ve chosen the only one I can bear.

Do you think I’m a woman who is wild and free, who lives life on her own terms? If your answer is “yes,” you aren’t wrong. I go where I want, when I want. I spend my time the way I want, writing books and blogs. I meet interesting people and do interesting things. It’s all true, but it’s not the complete story. In the unabridged version, “wild and free” often translates into “misunderstood and alone.” “Untethered” becomes “adrift,” and “independent” becomes “overwhelmed.” If you think it’s rainbows and roses, don’t forget that rainbows follow storms, and roses have thorns.

We all have blessings, and we all have mountains to climb. That’s as true for me as it is for anyone. I won’t assume that I understand Josie Bassett’s blessings, or her challenges, because I know too well that many of the assumptions people make about independent women are wrong. But today I raise my glass to Josie Bassett, to her memory and her legacy and to every ounce of inspiration we can take from her life, whether she intended to inspire us or not. Thank you, Josie, and cheers!

Josie Bassett’s Homestead

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