Greeters

Glimpses from the 2026 road, 2

Larry has a key to the office. He figures the Wi-Fi password must be written on the router in there. “Hold on,” he says, “Hold on,” and then, all in one breath and clearly on the move, “I’ll tell you what? Call me right back. Give me like two, three minutes. Call me back OK.”

Chuckling, the short, middle-aged woman standing in the sliding side doorway of a tall, boxy van sets her phone on the honey-colored countertop alongside the three-burner stove—all of it bedazzled with dancing rainbow splotches.

Sky’s in a Puckish mood—displaying its cornflowerest cornflower blue, staging sun to spill, through nearly naked valley oak limbs, white-gold streams bright enough they should hurt your eyes but soft enough they don’t, tucking billowy clouds the color of old quarters stage left, as if it hadn’t just spat a two-day deluge, as if this wasn’t just an intermission.

The woman, having seen a guy who must be Larry enter the office a few minutes ago, dials.

A second man appears around the front of the van as expected. She clocked him sauntering this way-ish, glancing this way–ish, little ash-brown dog on a leash, as soon as she finished backing in and stepped down from the cab to take in her surroundings: The flat lot ending at the lake. A single rope chain stretching between thigh-high line posts. Three-quarters of the dozen or so side-by-side sites on either side of the lot between her spot and the lake occupied, mostly with fifth-wheels. Only a couple looked like “permanent” residences (whatever that meant in a place where lives were tumbleweeds )—a fat bike under a cover with a Harley logo, an outdoor patio setup with a shade structure separate from the home, and a ‘90s-era blood-red Mustang the suggestions of roots. The long-timers must live on the other side of the drive into the lot, up the little hill and tucked behind a hedgerow of ashes and maples. All, she figured, would stay a good deal longer than her.

“Hi there,” she calls as the man and dog pull up short, bodies angled slightly toward her, the edge-of-a-lawn distance from her door.

“Got it,” Larry says into her ear. “You ready?”

She holds up a just-a-sec finger to man and dog, points to her earbud. “I am.” Poised over her phone, she keys the letter, number combination Larry reads twice, slowly, into her Notes app. “Thanks so much.”

“That’s gotta be it,” he says. And she realizes he’s waiting for her to try it.

“Couldn’t connect,” she says after a moment. “Let me try again.”

“It’s right there on the router.” Now Larry’s voice is coming at her double—in her ear and above her head.

Stepping out of the van, she waves up at the deck and taps her earbud to disconnect the call.

Larry’s leaning over the railing, jostling on the balls of his feet. Blond-red, wiry hair pokes from under a ball cap. His jacket isn’t the only reason she imagines him having played high school football a few decades back, not a line position, maybe one of those guys who run ahead and catch the quarterback’s passes. Her ex-husband would be appalled she can’t come up with the name. “I’m pretty sure that’s the one I put into my TV,” Larry calls down, still holding the phone to his ear.

She thanks him again, says she’ll give it another go. Her mobile hotspot—she hopes but not out loud—will suffice for her rapidly approaching client meeting.

Larry lingers, as if tethered by his inability to solve this problem.

The man with the dog calls up a question the woman doesn’t catch.

Wi-Fi isn’t the only bait that has brought her to this spot. The price break on the single site with only an electric hookup—which she’s in rather urgent need of, sky’s recent outbursts and all—was an irresistible feathery glint. Now, she pulls her extension cord from its home under the passenger seat. Taking it around back, she plugs the female end into the van’s shore power port and the male end into the post at the rear of the site and sighs, thinking of her full fridge and freezer.

Rounding the corner to her “front porch,” she finds three men where she left two. “Afternoon.” She nods to the latest arrival, willow thin and bent like a hook over a rolling walker.

“Terry,” the man with the dog says. “This young lady needs the Wi-Fi password.”

“I do,” she agrees. “Nice to meet you, Terry. And thank you.” She smiles at the man with the dog.

She climbs inside to check the charge controller. For days, it’s been reporting a steady drop in her house batteries’ charge. Now, she wants to see proof of 500 watts of instantaneous power flowing in, to feel the warm surge of satisfaction and relief (not as great as if that flow came from sun but still) flow through her.

“0 watts,” the screen reads.

She cusses.

She returns to the electrical post, phone and charging cord in hand, plugs it in. No charge. At least the problem is the post, not the van. Eyeing the empty site next to her, she pauses for only a moment before uncoiling the cord and going to its post. This one has only a 30-amp outlet, its two round hot and neutral slots and U-shaped grounding slot far too large for her 15-amp plug.

The next site over is also sans occupant. Its post has both options.

“Please be long enough.”

The cord, stretched taut, complies. If this post isn’t hot, she figures she’ll have to turn to Larry again and is glad to see she’s not down a man when she returns to her porch.

“Try this,” Terry says, breaking from the conversation and catching her attention with a wave, which causes him to tilt a little. He gives her an altogether different password. “That’ll do it.”

“It’s Amber’s birthday,” the man with the dog adds in her direction before she can thank Terry.

Her eyes flick to the dog. But then the woman she’d spoken to on the phone a couple days back, who’d told her about the electric only site in her price range, pops into her mind.

The trio wonders what the birthday girl’s doing with her day off (moving sites, the woman will later learn). They all agree Amber needs a day off, Larry noting it’s hard to ever get a real day off when you live here. The woman remembers him mentioning a couple of times just happening to have the cell phone and it surprising him when it rang in his pocket.

Back inside, she sets up her workstation, giving the charge controller a moment to reset. She opens it: “462 watts.” Bliss.

Terry’s password is a no-go as well.

She stands in the doorway, cheeks sunward. The men have dispersed. A gaggle of fat geese with long black legs waddle down a little grass slope in her direction. A startlingly sharp crack sounds against the roof. Then another. She jumps down, looks up at the tree dropping acorns, and scolds, “Stop that.”

Sapphire glimmers on the surface of the dark water beckon.

At its edge, she can see palm trees on either side of the chain rope. “Well hello there,” she says. She hadn’t realized how long it had been since she’d seen palms, hadn’t realized she missed them.

“You’re back,” their fronds seemed to whisper.

The geese, unconcerned with the barrier or her, pass by and slip into the water and glide.

She’s nearly back to the van when the man with the dog reappears.

“Hi, little one,” she coos. “May I?”

“Oh he loves attention,” the man says.

She squats, hand held low. The little terrier nudges her hand politely but begs to differ.

“You should get an adaptor from the office.” The man’s tone sounds urgent.

An adaptor? Good to know, she thinks, recalling the hardware store she passed on her way here. But she doesn’t think it’ll help in this case, even though the post at her site did have both a 15-amp and a 30-amp hookup; it seems unlikely only one of the outlets would be hot. “Sure.” She stands. “It’s gorgeous out.” She gestures to the sky and then to the dog. “I bet he’s happy to get out.”

“Someone could pull into that site.” The man is tall. Still, his spindle shape is a good pairing with the terrier, whose paunch overflows his short legs.

“They could,” she agrees. She needs to get back to the van and call her client. She makes to leave but then gives her name and asks him his.

He tilts his head as if considering another tack for getting her to understand the need to remedy the electric situation and then shrugs. “Gary.”

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For the comments: Have you had any mishaps with technology lately? Do you have neighbors who greet you? What’s your sky looking like as you read this?

And thank you, thank you for being here and for reading and sharing my road. It’s an honor and joy to share these glimpses with you. Won’t you please hit that like button or the recycle (restack) button so more can join us on this rolling journey?

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