We lived in the Houston metroplex for 25 years and experience has taught me that if you want to drive the main thoroughfares with the least impedance, Sunday morning is the time. Don’t know if it’s that all the Baptist’s are getting ready for church or everyone is nursing a hangover but that is the only time except the dead of night that the congestion frees up. So that was my target for departure.
I was running through the mental checklist on Sunday morning over a cup of coffee and realized that I had been in Texas almost a week, with no Whataburger. So I called 3MPH Jr, and asked if he would bring a couple Honey Butter Chicken Biscuits by for breakfast. If you’ve never had one, you should make a special trip to Texas just to get one. The warm, salty, buttery, sweetness is what dreams are made of.
With breakfast taken care of, I hooked the toad to the bus, waved goodbye to Jr. and hit the road. The plan was to be north of Conroe, before all the Sunday go to meetin’ got under way. It worked, like a dream. Driving along I-45 with 60’ of rig and absolutely no stress. The traffic was light and the weather acceptable. In retrospect, it was the section of the trip that I feared the most but was the easiest part of the entire journey.
A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood
Still did not have a firm route plan. Just knew that Dallas and Ft. Worth weren’t on it. So, I exited stage left at Mexia and worked my way around Ft Worth on the two lanes all afternoon, with an occasional rain shower. With a stress free 400 miles or so under my belt, I stopped at Fort Richardson S.P. in Jacksboro, for the night. That’s where everything went to shit.
Found a beautiful spot and unhooked the Jeep. Backed the bus in and hit the Auto Level button. I knew the spot was sketchy and debated whether to get some leveling blocks out of the basement but thought I would see how close it was. The jacks raised the back all the way, lifting the wheels off the ground, then made a weird noise. I tried to override the system but nothing. No up, no down, stuck. It was almost dark and the wind was coming up, so it would have to wait until tomorrow. Finished setting up and spent the evening perusing YouTube video on how to fix stuck leveling jacks.
It was cold and breezy in the morning. I bundled up and went for a walk around the park. It’s a beautiful park. The mind kept slipping back to the problem at hand though. After some coffee, I went into town to the Tractor Supply and picked up some tools I didn’t have for the required surgery. The Youtube surgery failed. Don’t believe everything you see on the internet. Called a mobile RV tech and he said $100 for the service call and $120 per hour. Shit, the mental math quickly rang up $300-$400 in my head. I asked him how he would fix it and he told me.
No Job for Old Men
At least the sun was shining on the hydraulic controller door and the bus blocked the wind. The fix involved opening the hydraulic valves to all four jacks and then forcing all the jacks up by hand into the top position, then closing the valves. Squeezing a gallon or so of hydraulic fluid out of the lines. No job for old men, yet there I was laying on the ground with a claw hammer and my tire club, pushing, pulling, levering and cussing until all the muscles in my arms, shoulders, back and abdominals were screaming for mercy. The jacks were back home in their cylinders though. At least I wasn’t laying on the ground in the mud or fighting against freezing cold temperatures. There’s always an upside – just adjust the perception.
Back to Tractor Supply to get a funnel with flex extension to put the hydraulic fluid back in the reservoir. It was 2 PM by the time I completed the surgery and hit the road. Bruised, battered and covered in hydraulic fluid, (I washed up and changed clothes). I just wanted to be home and punched up the fastest route on the GPS and headed for Wichita Falls.
Changed my mind though at the fueling stop in Vernon and decided to go through Oklahoma rather than the Texas panhandle. Sayre, Oklahoma became the destination for the day. Pulled into the City Park RV spot with about a half hour of daylight left. Tried to find a good level spot because I didn’t want to deploy the jacks.
Clicking those ruby slippers
It was supposed to get below freezing so I disconnected the water before hitting the sack. Out like a light until it started getting cold. I switched the heat from electric to gas. It ran for a few minutes and turned off. Propane system on the fritz too? I checked the inside temperature; 48 degrees. Checked the watch; 5:30. I’ll just get up and hit the road, I thought. Started the bus and went out and disconnected.
Everything was ready, so climbed into the driver’s seat and turned on the headlights; no headlights, only parking lights. John Prine lyrics came to mind. “There’s a hole in daddy’s arm where all the money goes.” Only for me, it’s; “there’s an RV in daddy’s driveway where all the money goes,” as I calculated all the failed systems. RV’s and boats – will we ever learn. Just rent one. Ok, back out to plug into shore power and make some coffee, while I waited for the sun.
I started clicking the ruby slippers together and repeating, “There’s no place like home, there’s no place like home.” By 2:00 PM MST, I was pulling up in front of the little cottage on the High Planes. I love getting out “On The Road,” but “There’s No Place Like Home.” The road is a lot more fun with Mrs. 3MPH and the dogs.
Postmortem. The weather is beautiful on the High Planes, so I’ve been doing maintenance on the bus and happy to report that everything is back in proper order for less than the cost of a fill up. That’s the thing. The cost of a fill up has gone up 20% since I headed south. What’s up? There’s a hole in Daddy’s bus where all the money goes; the gas tank!