It all started when we rolled up to the reception desk, only to find it completely deserted. After finally flagging someone down and, in the glorious 100-degree Fahrenheit heat (that's 38°C for you metric folks), asking for a spot with some shade, I was promptly informed that, since I'd booked a "cheap spot" ($60, mind you!), shade was simply not an option.
So, we set up our little slice of hell, desperately trying to conjure some shade with our awning and sunshade in the blazing sun. Just as we finished, some park "authority" waltzed over to tell us we had to turn our rig around because, get this, "park rules." Our polite suggestion that this would render our awning useless and bake our van's entrance was met with a shrug and another firm nod to "the rules." Never mind that we were the only fools in a very long, empty row. Naturally, the staff offered precisely zero solutions.
Then came the joys of the night. The highway, just a stone's throw away, apparently doubles as a drag strip where drivers have an insatiable desire to ride the rumble strip, making delightful, ear-splitting music. And on the other side of this "peaceful" park? A train track, where conductors apparently believe the only way to announce their presence is with a constant, valley-echoing blare of the horn. Sleep? Yeah, that was a laughable concept.
This place isn't just unsuitable as a stopover; it's an absolute travesty. Consider this my last dance with KOA.