I think we're in a movie

I am writing at the Rodeway Inn in Omak while eating breakfast and doing laundry, and while Michael sleeps.
We stopped for the night June first at the Newhalem National Park, where Michael paid $10 for his senior pass, entitling him to half price at all national parks and forests and such for life. Great to be 62. It rained through the night and all the next day, as we rode only 11 miles, but straight up, to the next park at Colonial Creek.
There we met up with Scott and Julia, through bikers whom we've met several times before. It was raining so hard that the four of us decided to set up our tents on the asphalt under a roof outside the restrooms. Since there were no other campers, they took over the men's room and we the women's, stringing lines and hanging all of our soggy stuff. The handicapped restroom was heated, so we all used that and hung the essentials there. After they treated us to spaghetti, the rain got harder and began to flood our tent, so I moved it to a nearby regular site, which turned out fine.
Once we had really settled in, dryish and fed, a woman drove up and got out of her car. Michael went to her and apologised for the mess and asked if she was going to be camping. "No, we're having a wedding." Herdaughter was getting married by the lake. Soon four tall young men with suit bags went into the men's room. The minister was trying to persuade everyone to find another place, as it was pouring. But the bride, who arrived in a beautiful gown, said no. I asked her if I could rig up a tarp down by the lake where the wedding would be performed and she consented. She and her attendants went into the women's room to primp among the soggy bike clothes. They were married under the chuppah and then came back to our encampment to say goodbye and warm up the flower fairy in the handicapped lav. You can't make this stuff up.