Our first experience with the RV lifestyle was about 35 years ago. We bought a used Ford E-350 dually, conversion diesel pusher and a 35’ Royals International 5th wheel. It was a beautiful rig; complete strangers would come up to us at fueling stops just to marvel at it and tell us how beautiful it was. We bought it in Albuquerque, NM and headed west on the Mother Road to the next job in Lost Hills, California, (otherwise known as “The Armpit”). We were so happy, all cozied up in our overstuffed Captain chairs and then disaster struck for the first time but definitely not the last. The brakes on the Ford went out within 50 miles of the dealership where we purchased it.
I don’t remember how much it cost to fix, but for a poor doodlebugger it was serious change. Then once we made it to California, we were driving down to Bakersfield, to visit a friend and a cooling system hose blew up on the way, so we had to call a tow truck and pay for more mechanical services. Then we left California and headed to North Dakota for a new job and as we exited the Interstate in Glendive, Montana with 50 feet of RV slipping and sliding on the ice, the transmission gave up the ghost, ($$$).
You think we would have learned our lesson but we didn’t. A quarter century later, as we were closing the gap on retirement we bought another RV. We’ve had it for about a decade now and like the first rig, that’s when things start going haywire. With a ten year old motorhome and toad, (Jeep Wrangler) theres’s roughly two or three hundred things that can go wrong and turn to shit, without any warning.
Cousin Eddy and the Flip Flop Fairies
Just this morning, we were preparing to leave Emerald City on the frigid High Plains and head for the enveloping, moist warmth of the Gulf of Mexico. We had been prepping all week, shutting down operations at “The Cottage” and getting “The Bus” ready for our journey south. Visions of shorts and flip-flops dancing in my head like so many sugar plum fairies. I had even made reservations in Northwest Houston for the first extended stay.
Tanya asked, “How long is your coach and what year is it?” “It’s 36 feet long and I think it’s a 2012.” “Can you send us a picture of it.” “Why?” “That’s just the policy. Anything over 10 years old, we need to see a picture.” “Hmm. Ok. It’s in the driveway, I'll send you a picture and if it passes inspection, you’ll have my number, call me back.”
The “Cousin Eddy” clause, I suppose. I had heard of it but until this year never been subjected to it. Tanya called me back and let me know in her gruff Texas accent that we had a good looking rig. I didn’t take it personally though.
Back to the real story – I got ready to pull “The Bus” out of the driveway and the entry steps wouldn’t retract. WTF? I pushed all the buttons, nothing. I went around to the 12 VDC circuit breaker array and pushed all those buttons, even though I could see nothing was wrong and of course nothing changed. I checked the temperature and it was still only about 13 degrees. If I was sane I would have just went back in the Cottage and had another cup of coffee and waited for it to warm up, but the flip-flop wearing sugar plum fairies kept egging me on.
The Good Old Days
Then the soundtrack for my life kicked on, in the far reaches of my mind and a tune started playing. I could hear “Commander Cody and the Lost Planet Airmen” doing an old Truck Driving Song from the Good Old Days – “Here I sit, all alone with a broken heart – I took three bennies and my semi truck won’t start.” Here’s a link to YouTube if you want the lyrics trapped in your head too. This song predates the original RV experience.
So I’m laying on the ground, truck driving lyrics wrapped around my cerebral cortex, staring at a decade of rust and corrosion. An icy, stiff breeze is flapping my jacket, my fingers are numb and my eyeballs are glazing over. Nothing looked obvious, so it was off to YouTube-land and then to check a few RV forums. I was able to enjoy that other cup of coffee and then with a head full of usable information instead of truck driving lyrics, I crawled back under the bus, laid on the cold, cold ground and removed the motor assembly for the “Kwickee” RV steps.
I wired the steps up just like the old days, when everything got fixed with pin flag wire and duct tape. And finally we were headed for the Third Coast, only a half hour or so behind schedule. The thought was just get south where I can lay under the bus with shorts and flip flops, instead of two coats, stocking cap and gloves, numb fingers and frozen eyeballs. We still had time to make it to Texas on the first day out.
Texas
We stopped at a cool little park we’ve stayed at a few times in the past, hooked everything up and broke out the wine, salami and cheese. But the kitchen faucet wouldn’t shut off and it wasn’t just a drip, drip, drip. It was a pretty significant trickle. Damn. Time to start a list of all the broken shit that needs to be fixed. I thought we were going on vacation.
We’re used to it though, I suppose. We’ve been diligently working to restore the 100 year old Craftsman-style cottage we live in for about 5 years now. So we’ve gotten well acquainted with fixing broken shit, day after day. And we’ve got plenty of experience with old RV’s too. It’s all part of the trials and travails of traveling in an RV. Boat people grasp the concept as well. Murphy said it best; “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong, and at the worst possible time.”