After a twisty drive up a rough road, we arrived at the Cochiti Area Corps of Engineers Campground. The ranger who checked us in had grown up just west of our house in Chicago but left as soon as she could. “Too conservative,” she said.

“Chicago?” I was surprised.

“My family,” she laughed. She married in the seventies and kept her name, which freaked them out.

Our first site was full of goats-heads, the spiky knobs we’d been calling stickers. When we cautiously made our way to the office to pay, the ranger suggested site 17 instead. “Almost no goats-heads,” she promised.

Dave moved the rig to 17 while I presumably paid. Except the ranger wanted to give us the National Parks discount which required our pass, except she didn’t want me walking Nola over to the rig to get it because of goats-heads in the road. She’d had a cat that died from getting a goats-head stuck in its gum. “It got infected and turned cancerous,” she said.

Meanwhile, Dave was waiting at the rig for me to bring him the permit to stick on the window. He was afraid that if I didn’t, someone else would attempt to take the only goats-head-free spot in the campground. He tried calling me but service was spotty and it didn’t go through.

Meanwhile, I was trying to text him to grab the pass from the rig and bring it over but got no reply. I continued talking to the ranger. After her divorce, she spent 20 years in the Virgin Islands, where she adopted a hundred-pound Pit mix and many cats. The pit had a strong prey drive like Nola but was gentle with the cats. “He knew who his family was,” she said.

Finally a text came through from Dave. “I think you should come and stand on this spot.”

“You must have given us a pretty site,” I said to the ranger, “he wants me to come look at it.” She had me put Nola behind the counter with her while I walked over to 17.

The view was indeed beautiful, overlooking Cochiti Lake. But Dave was upset. “What took you so long?”

“She wants to give us a discount. I texted you to bring the pass.”

“I texted you to come save the spot while I got the rig.”

“Oh. I thought you just wanted me to admire the view.”

We walked the pass to the office and got the $10 discount, then kept Nola between us on the smoothest part of the trail coming back. We ate at the picnic table while Nola lay on a special plastic rug, just in case, and the sun set on the mountains across the lake.

The next morning was misty and quiet. We padded in flip flops to the camp showers with what by now were perfectly-packed shower bags. Then I walked Nola on the gravel road, staying to the goats-head-free center. Just as we passed the showers, a white-bearded man went by on his bike. He slowed to point out a tarantula ambling across the road in front of us. “I think it’s their migration season,” he said. “Just keep your eyes peeled and you should be fine.”

Why oh why was I wearing sandals? Should we continue around the whole campsite? What if there were more tarantulas? But if we turned back, what if that one tarantula was still there? At least I knew that one tarantula. We turned around.

As we neared the showers I looked everywhere for that one tarantula but didn’t see it, which made me even more nervous. I tried to warn a woman leaving the showers in her sandals, hair in a towel, but she said, “They’re harmless. It’s their migration season.”

Cochiti Lake COE Campground: $20; $10 with a National Parks pass. Trader Joes: $126.41. Next stop: Springer, NM.