On New Hampshire's Lake Winnipesaukee lies the charming and historic resort town of Wolfeboro. Traffic here at this noon hour is bumper-to-bumper, barely crawling along the narrow streets. This late June weekend marks the official beginning of the summer season. Schools in the region are just now letting out and families eagerly head for the lake in droves.

Adding to the congestion, tens of thousands of motorcycle enthusiasts swarm over the region, from Laconia and Gilford on the southern shores to Center Harbor and Wolfeboro up north. All around this large and beautiful lake the roar of Harleys, Hondas and Indians resonates along the shoreline roadways.

It's not going to be the quiet, serene weekend many traditional summer people hope for. The invasion of bikers cannot be escaped. Fortunately, this weekend marks the end of their week-long occupation.

We pull our travel trailer through the congested streets, working our way toward a campground just four miles beyond at nearby Lake Wentworth. Once we clear the town limits the traffic lessens and the wooded countryside becomes noticeably quieter. A sign along the highway beckons us to enter and we earnestly hope that this campground is not full. The crowds we just passed hint that every place in the area must certainly be booked up for this opening weekend. And we have not made reservations.

We ease along the rough dirt road from the highway toward the park's office, while scanning a large open meadow for signs of other campers. To our great surprise and utter amazement we discover that the campground is not full at all. In fact, we are the only RV-ers here. Is this the right place?

Two pickup trucks and an old car are parked between a large mobile home and the campground's communal restroom building. Unpainted steps and a front porch addition to the trailer indicate that the place is not yet finished. In fact the driveway appears to have been recently carved through the woods with a bull-dozer or grader. It is far from smoothed. This place must be new.

Just how new we quickly discover. We are the very first customers at this campground, declares a large disheveled woman who greets us smilingly. "Welcome," she enthusiastically shouts, over the bark of two dogs and the buzz of a power saw working out back of the building. "Yes indeed, we have spaces available for you with water and electric hookups. Take your pick," she offers with a sweep of her hand toward the open meadow. "All the RV sites are out there around the edge of the field."

I suggest that perhaps it would be prudent for me to walk around the area, to examine the available sites, the rough roadway access and the location of hookups we might use. "Help yourself," she urges. "Pick out any spot that suits you. You can register here after getting set up." I nod, smile and begin my walk across the field, while my wife remains in the cab of our truck.

The setting is nice, a large grassy meadow surrounded by evergreens. Though it's more than a mile from Lake Wentworth and not the shore-side place I'd hoped for, it is inviting. Sunshine has warmed and dried the morning dew from the unmown grasses. I decide that a spot along the western edge is smooth and level enough. We will be shaded from the afternoon sun if we park close to the trees. And I discover that the electric and water connections exist only along the outer perimeter of the meadow, back some ten feet under the trees.

My wife agrees that the selected site is probably the best one, so we decide to park, unhitch and use this place as our base camp for a few days visit to the area. In just minutes we are set up, connected to the utilities and ready for a late lunch in our trailer. But first I must go to the office to register and pay the campground fees.

A young black Labrador greets me as I climb the porch steps. He is nearly full grown but still has the mannerisms of a pup. He licks my hand and jumps up for a closer pat. "Get down, Blackie," the woman manager scolds. "Sorry about that, mister. Blackie won't bite. I'm trying to get him trained. C'mon in, please."

I walk through the opened screen door into the front room of the mobile home. Everything inside appears to be in a state of total upheaval. Boxes, furnishings and papers lie askew everywhere. An unpainted home-made counter about four feet long serves as a temporary registration desk. The woman reaches below the counter to get a receipt book and says, "It's $26 a night, but no credit cards, please. How many nights will you be with us?"

"Twenty-six dollars?," I gasp. "That's awfully high for the limited facilities you offer." The woman is startled. She looks at me curiously and then announces, "Well, mister that's the going rate in this area. What did you expect to pay?"

I explain that other campgrounds we've visited, those offering much more than a parking spot in a pasture, seldom charge over twenty dollars. I suggest that $20 a night ought to be tops for what's available here, even in this resort country.

She insists that it's $26 and that she has checked into what others in the lakes region are getting. I reluctantly accept the outrageously high fee, agreeing to pay for just one night. My mind quickly formulates a plan to stay here just until I find something more reasonable, if it can be found at all in this tourist area.

Before I leave the office the lady declares that we are the very first customers they've had. This is the first day they've been open. She explains that her rates are in line with what other charge, but I quickly discern that she's not very confident. I again nod, smile and leave, to return to the trailer. My wife agrees that this fee is exorbitant for such minimal facilities and such a primitive campground.

Before we finish our light sandwich lunch there is a knock at the trailer door. It is the lady manager and she wants to talk. I put down my iced tea glass and step outside beside my truck to see what she wants. "Mister, we want to treat you fairly and hope that you will enjoy your stay with us. I have discussed your concerns about our rates with my husband. He agrees that $20 is probably right." Then she hands me six one dollar bills.

I thank her and we begin to talk about campgrounds. I learn that she and her husband have just recently purchased the 90 acre site that was once a scout camp. They have put all their savings into the facility and are struggling to make it ready to serve RV-ers and tenters. They are most eager to start getting paying customers.

Soon I explain that we are seasoned campers who have trailered from coast to coast and throughout much of Canada. We serve as campground evaluators for one of the top three RV park and campground directories and feel we know what's popular, accepted as standard and how ratings systems are commonly used. I suggest that this place would rate barely one, out of a possible five, stars in most directories. And then I explain why.

To demonstrate what I am telling her I get my own directory from the trailer and thumb through the pages, while pointing out to her what other places across the country offer and what they charge. She was not aware that such books existed and soon became curious about how to get their site listed too.

I went on to explain that this campground's dump station, for RV-ers to empty their holding tanks, is awkwardly placed, making it difficult for departing units to use. I suggest that the location of the water and electric utilities at each site is far from convenient, especially for folks with trailers or fifth-wheels that have connections up near the front. And I add that the cheap plastic connectors they've used for water hoses will surely cause problems.

She listens intently and presses me for more suggestions about how to make their new campground more acceptable. I cover a great number of subjects, ranging from the absence of trash containers to torn and missing screens on the restroom windows. There are many things that need doing, and I hasten to add that it's obvious they won't be able to do it all this first season.

I discover that neither she nor her husband have ever been camping or RV-ing. They know nothing of what people look for, expect or demand in RV parks or campgrounds. And I wonder, to myself, how in the world they expect to create and manage a competitive facility. I also understand that up here in central New Hampshire the season is short. They must make their income for the year in just a few months.

She thanks me for explaining things to her and invites me to tour the whole facility, to meet her husband and advise them please in other areas. I agree and return to finish my lunch. My wife and I agree to pay for two more nights and stay put, for at least we have a site here and might not find one elsewhere.

Stumbling onto this campground was unexpected. We soon discovered that the one we originally planned to use was a mile farther down the road, beyond the turnoff to Lake Wentworth. My wife and I are bemused by the innocence and inexperience of our hosts. We wonder if they can possibly make a go of such a venture. There is so much for them to do, And they will have to invest a great deal of money that they don't have. Further, we discovered that they are outsiders to the area and have run into bureaucratic obstacles at every turn. The locals are not helpful at all.

But then we realise that they have no choice, for they have dumped every dime they have into the place. They will have to be fast learners, hard workers and willing to adapt to what the campground industry practices as norms.

We sure hope that those folks make it. It might be interesting to visit again in three to five years to see how they're doing.

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