Gallup is certainly at a convenient and strategic location, on I-40, near the Four Corners.
It's just outside the Navajo reservation that surrounds it. When an RVer pulls off the highway he immediately notices a plurality of 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?
Trying to escape the trucks was possible only by moving closer to I-40 and a train track. I decided to stick with the trucks, who kindly ran their engines all night. Believe it or not, this doesn't particularly bother me, since it's a steady noise. Mercifully, there were no Thermo-King reefers cycling on and off all night.
Elsewhere I had 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 thinks you need an Uzi to boondock in the national forest because of various bogeymen.
Still, I have to admit surprise when I saw a police substation attached to the side of the Walmart. Was this good or bad?
In fact a Navajo panhandler did knock on my door. He was "concerned" about my (new female) dog barking in the van. At first I was a bit nervous, but he eventually put me at ease, moving through the usual pleasantries and banalities. 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. It was an unsteady, sharp sound that was truly obnoxious. It was a new experience for me and was quite worrisome.
But after awhile I started to see a kind of 'negative beauty of tragic tones', a la Thomas Hardy, in her barking. It wasn't mere barking--it was desperate wailing...wailing. It soared over the roars of diesel engines, highways, sirens and trains. It perfected the worst night of boondocking that I've ever had.
Soon she was in bed with me, licking my hand. Good girl.
