World's Worst RV Boondocking

Of all the RV boondocking locations Quartzsite and the Slabs are probably the most famous. But there is another place that has its own kind of distinction: the Walmart in Gallup, NM. I went through there recently on my way to picking up my little poodle who was rescued above Book Cliffs near Grand Junction, CO.

Gallup is certainly at a convenient and strategic location, on I-40, near the Four Corners. 

It's surrounded by a Navajo reservation. When an RVer pulls off the highway he immediately notices many big-box parking lots, without any signs telling him to get lost. Happy Hunting Grounds, then, for an RV boondocker?

Alas, truckers off of I-40 sense opportunity, too. There are signs prohibiting them, but they pay no attention to them. There was a whole line of semi-trucks parked next to the Walmart. On my way up to pick up the poodle I stayed at one of the quieter big boxes, but on the return trip I was led by a perverse curiosity to the Walmart--just how bad could it be?

I'd heard that the Gallup Walmart was famous for panhandlers knocking on RVer's doors at night. This story was told as a typical scare story, by the same sort of timid RVer who tells you about banditos in Mexico or the Bogeyman in the national forest.

Still, I was surprised when I saw a police substation attached to the side of the Walmart. In fact a Navajo panhandler did knock on my door. He was "concerned" about my new dog barking in the van. At first I was a bit nervous, but he eventually put me at ease, moving through the usual pleasantries. He probed ever so smoothly for points of vulnerability in me. Eventually I started to admire the guy. He was good at his craft, and his grasp of the English language was superior to many presidents and candidates of recent years.

The new dog's separation anxiety caused her to keep barking as she sat alone in the van while the rescued poodle and I hung out in the travel trailer. It was an unsteady, sharp sound that was truly obnoxious. This was a new experience for me and was quite worrisome. I didn't want to give in to this problem of hers.

But after awhile I started to see a kind of 'negative beauty of tragic tones', as Thomas Hardy would have called it. It wasn't mere barking -- it was desperate wailing. It soared over the roars of diesel engines, highways, sirens and trains, like the violent climax of a Puccini opera. It honored the occasion -- it perfected -- the worst night of boondocking I'd ever had. Had my little poodle wailed in desperation like her, during his two weeks of cold, hunger, and fear on the high plateau above Book Cliffs? I would give anything to see a video of his life for those two weeks.

But of course, I gave in. Soon she was in bed with me, licking my hand. Good girl. The little poodle generously shared the bed with her.