A recalcitrant baby

August 8, 2011—As any parent knows, children don’t always live up to their expectations. Our “Baby” is no exception.

Yesterday we tooled along. I was happy to leave Louisiana; Jim was unhappy to enter Texas. I love Texas! Although I don’t like the Beaumont/Houston area, as soon as we entered the state, I felt like I was going home again, despite the fact that it has been 25 years since I moved away. Jim, however, doesn’t like Texas because of the ultra-conservative politics. I can’t say I blame him in that respect.

When I lived here, I was a middle-of-the-road Republican. I still would be, except for Bush and the right-wing ultra-conservatives that have pushed this country to the brink of economic ruin. I really don’t get involved in politics and religion. I just wish everyone would let everyone else be! But, they don’t, and in Texas, the politics lean farther right than they do even in Jacksonville, another bastion of conservatism.

But Texas is so beautiful! And the people (except for the religious and political fanatics) are so great! I absolutely loved living there, and I would move back there in a heartbeat, albeit it would be a move to the Austin area.

Jim? No. As soon as we passed over the Texas/Louisiana border, he became determined to get out of Texas as soon as possible. Of course, that takes a while: I believe the milepost sign said it was 885 miles until the end of I10 in Texas. That’s a long way.

So, we drove, and drove, and drove.

I suggested that we boondock (dry camp) last night. Our choices were many, from rest stops to Walmarts. But Jim wanted to keep going until he got too tired to drive. So we kept moving westward. That was fine with me. I don’t want to “tourist” until we get our business done. Plenty of time to see the sites on the way back.

We passed through Houston late Sunday afternoon as the sun was starting to set. That was a good thing. If it had been rush hour, we probably would have sat in traffic, moving at a snail’s pace, for hours. Instead, we got through the confusing and ill-marked spaghetti bowl fairly rapidly.

We kept going. San Antonio, according to the markers, was another 250 miles from Houston. We reached it by around 11 p.m. And still we kept driving…until Baby apparently protested. All of a sudden, outside the lit highway areas, Jim noticed that we couldn’t see very far. Our headlights failed us!

We pulled over at a picnic area (where there were several semis parked for the night). Then Jim tried to start the generator to get the air conditioner running. Baby protested again. The generator worked, but we could not turn on the air conditioner!

There is not a whole lot you can do at midnight. We slept the old-fashioned way—with the windows open. Fortunately, there was a cool breeze and the temperature had dropped to the 70s.

Jim has a pretty good idea of why Baby failed to live up to our expectations—at least regarding the air conditioner (something about a faulty transfer switch at the generator). We’ll stop at a Camping World in El Paso tomorrow. Right now we are at a remote RV camp at the Balmorhea exit, about 150 miles from El Paso. We stopped early so he could investigate our problems and finally rest.

This is a plain-Jane RV camp—no amenities except for full hookup. We can see the Davis Mountains in the distance, and the Texas sky is HUGE right here. In a desolate sort of way, it is beautiful.

We’ll sleep in comfort tonight.

Until next time,

Linda, your Reluctant RoVer.

Driving, driving, driving...

August 7—The trouble with RVing is that you have to drive—and drive—and drive. I am not fond of driving, even though I am a passenger, not the driver. Driving was OK was I was young and I shared in on the chore, but now I find it boring and tedious. And I do not intend to drive Baby, with or without “toad” (our towed car). So, driving is boring; one interstate mostly looks like another.

The good thing about RVing, though, is that you don’t have to stop to use the toilet (as long you are the passenger!); you have a clean bathroom; you sleep in your own bedbug-free bed; you can make some popcorn for a midafternoon snack, and you both can listen to the same audiobook at the same time.

You can’t do those things when you are flying.

Jim keeps reminding me to enjoy the journey. To me, it’s the destination. I just want to get to where I am going, in this case Yuma, Ariz.

But, I’ll try to do as he says. I promise.

Still the reluctant RoVer,

Linda

Delayed start

August 5. Things don’t always go as planned. We had wanted to get an early start on our journey to Yuman/Los Algodones, but it didn’t go that way. Our neighbor e-mailed me that the lawn mower (which he uses) was still malfunctioning, so Jim had to fix that before we could even fetch “Baby.” Fortunately the fix was an easy one and didn’t delay us too much.

Packing up was another story. It seemed like I moved my entire house! It’s amazing how much you can stow in a 38-foot motorhome—with room to spare. Baby seems to have a lot of nooks and crannies, and perhaps I admitted to myself that I really don’t need all that “stuff” in the house. At any rate, we packed and finally got on our way at about 2 p.m. EDT.

We traveled as far as Tallahassee. Florida is ONE BIG state! (Can’t wait to go across Texas:<).

More later.

Your Reluctant RoVer,

Linda

Cats

July 10, 2011—When we took our maiden voyage, we left our cats at home. We wanted to “shake down” Baby without worrying about Charlie and Xena. But on this trip, we decided to bring them along with us.

My biggest worry was that whenever we opened the door, one or both of our kitties would bolt. They are used to a lot of freedom. For the last eight years, they have been able to go wherever they wanted—indoors or out. When we moved in, Jim had installed two cat doors: one from the house to the porch, and a second from the porch to outdoors. (As a side note: The second cat door was billed as “critter-proof,” requiring our pets to wear a magnet that allows entry and keeping all other animals out. Not quite. Several clever raccoons in search of an easy meal have managed to open the door. As recently as a couple of months ago, when the evenings were still cool, Jim had opened the French doors so we could enjoy the night air. At 3 a.m. we discovered a little bandit helping himself to the cat food—in our kitchen!)

I shouldn’t have worried. Charlie and Xena are true “scaredy cats.” Whenever they hear the door open, they head for the bedroom. They would like to hide under the bed, but that is not possible, since it rests on a platform. So, they either bury themselves behind the pillows on the bed, or in the corner on the side of the bed.

Yesterday, while we were driving, it was even worse. Apparently they really did not like the noise of the diesel (which is louder in the bedroom, in the back of Baby.) So where did they hide? In the kitchen cupboard beneath the kitchen sink, where we had placed their litter box. (We took the door off the cabinet to give them access.) Charlie hid behind the box; Xena sat in the box during most of the ride.

We aren’t unsympathetic to the difficulty of the cats’ adjustment. And we are trying to accommodate their needs. We bought a harness and leash for each of them. Charlie’s is blue; Xena’s pink. We have yet to try them out. Every time we try to put them on, that’s when they bolt—to their favorite hiding place.

Jim is the “softie” when it comes to the cats. He makes sure that the shades are up during the day so they can stare at the world, and he even keeps a couple shades open at night so they can keep an eye on the comings and goings of any night creatures that might pass by our motorhome. For privacy at night, we draw the curtains around the huge front window. Jim has discovered that both of the cats like to jump up on the front dash and lurk behind the curtains during the wee hours of the morning.

I mentioned the litter box. That was my second biggest worry—that they would not use it. After all, they had had an endless “sandbox” in our backyard. The first day, someone had an “accident.” Same, the next day. But I think they are finally getting used to it. At least, I hope so.

All said, I think Charlie and Xena will eventually adjust to their new home. They might not like their restrictive environment much, but that’s too bad.

Until next time,

Linda

We have liftoff!

July 8, 2011, Space Coast—The day didn’t start without mishap, but it grew into one that was memorable.

Last night we both showered before going to bed. (Nice to know, right?) When you are in an RV, the experts generally recommend what they call a “Navy shower”—wet down, soap up, rinse off. That recommendation is made for when you are boondocking—that is, camping without hookups.

We are in an RV park, and we are hooked up. At least, now we are. Last night, when we pulled into the park, it was raining, so Jim hooked up the water and the electrical outlets. That gave us plenty of H20 and electricity. But he didn’t hook up the sewer (grey water) connection, which would automatically drain the grey water tank. The problem was that he had parked the motorhome about six feet too far forward, and the sewer hose wouldn’t reach. Since it was raining, he decided to wait until the morning to fix the problem, if at all.

We forgot about showers.

Since we had plenty of water…well you get the picture. We (OK, maybe I) didn’t do a Navy shower. So, when we woke up this morning and Jim was about to take an a.m. shower, he discovered about four inches of water in the shower stall.

Not a major problem, but a lesson learned. It successfully drained, of course, once he hooked up the sewer.

I thought we were going to watch the launch from the RV park; I was mistaken. Jim wanted to get much closer, so at about 10:30 we headed out toward Titusville, which is near Cape Canaveral. The weather was still iffy but blue sky showed through the clouds, so everyone (thousands of people) were optimistic.

The closer we got to the Cape, the more congested the highway became. Cars were parked everywhere, and people were hiking along the highway, moving in a mass eastward. We hoped they knew where they were going, since we joined the troop as it trudged up (literally) the highway, took shortcuts across woody and weedy areas, and finally ended up in a park on the Indian River, part of the Intracoastal Waterway system. We walked about 1.5 miles. Had I realized we were going to take a nature hike, I’d have worn sneakers, not sandals. Fortunately, I had the insight to prepare a thermos of ice water for each of us and insist that we take chairs. We needed both by the time we reached our viewing destination.

Once we got settled, we had about a half hour to wait. The minutes passed, but no one knew if the launch would take place. The park was packed with people. On the bridge to Merritt Island, about a mile away, we could see thousands more waiting in anticipation. Would it be a “go”?

As the designated launch time—11:26 a.m.—passed, everyone wondered. Then, a couple minutes later, we could see the smoke from the rocket and then suddenly, glowing in the patch of blue sky, was the rocket with the shuttle on its back! It burned brightly for several seconds, perhaps 30, before becoming hidden in the clouds. Just as it passed into the clouds beyond our view, we could hear the sound of the rockets! Loud! They rumbled so much you could almost—not quite—feel them beneath your feet.

It was over in minutes. As the smoke dissipated, we packed up our chairs, camera, binoculars, and water bottles and made the long trek (downhill time) back to the car.

We stopped for lunch at a local barbecue place, where the wait staff was selling T-shirts of the last shuttle launch.

Next time you see me, I may be wearing, “STS 135: Final Shuttle Mission.” It was historic.

Until next time,

Linda

An aborted vacation and a late start

July 7, 2011—When Jim learned that the last space shuttle launch was scheduled for July 8, we decided it was a good excuse to take a real trip in “Baby.” Jim had witnessed two launches “up close and personal,” Apollo 8 and Apollo-Soyuz; he said you could feel that ground shake as the rockets took off. I’d only seen launches at a great distance—about 100 miles as the crow flies—in Palm Beach Gardens and in Jacksonville. So, we made plans to go down to the Space Coast to watch the shuttle take off. Although we weren’t planning to go to Cape Kennedy (which promised to be wall-to-wall with space aficionados), we wanted to be very near. We found an RV campground about 15 miles from the launch site and made reservations.

We asked ourselves, “Why not make this a real vacation?” We’d been promising ourselves a trip to the Florida Keys. This was an ideal time. Our vacation began to take form: a couple days near Cape Kennedy, a nice visit with Jim’s son and his family in West Palm, a trip down to the Keys for snorkeling and “touristing,” and a leisurely trip back up the west coast of Florida, perhaps visiting some historic spots and National Monuments. We intended to be gone about two weeks.

That was before I had a dental emergency. One of my many crowns came off.

I spent a frustrating day placing call after call to the dentist office where I had had the procedure done several years ago. The answering machine instructed me that “we are unable to take your call because we are with a patient” and advised me to leave a message. I left several; no one called me back. The next morning, I was at the dental office before it opened—only it never opened. Judging from the UPS notice left on the door from the day before, I guessed the office had closed for vacation. Too bad they didn’t change their answering machine message. (Suggestion: Do not go to Great Expressions dental clinic in Ponte Vedra Beach, Fla.)

I finally found a dentist, who charged me $190 for an x-ray and recementing the crown. But she had bad news for me: The crown had leaked and I now had a tooth requiring a root canal and news crown. The cost? About $2000. Ouch!

American dentists are expensive. Not so the dentists south of the border. A small town in Mexico near Yuma, Ariz., boasts more than 1,000 dentists. After receiving referrals from two friends, we had decided to make the trip to get long-postponed dental work done for each of us. That trip was going to occur in the fall. Because of my dental emergency, however, we decided to cut our Florida vacation short (only four days), return home, and head out to Arizona in a couple of weeks.

Although the vacation would be short, we still looked forward to it. Early this morning, we drove down to the RV lot to retrieve Baby. Jim attached all the cables and we tested the brake lights and turn signals. Then Jim slowly pulled out of the lot. As I watched the car being towed, I almost panicked! The right front wheel wasn’t turning! When Jim stopped to let me in, I told him. He pulled forward again, but this time the wheel turned. “Hmmm,” I said, “Maybe I was mistaken.”

I wasn’t.

About five miles later, as Jim turned a corner, a motorcyclist motioned to us, indicating something was wrong. A minute later, a woman pulled up next to our bus and yelled to Jim that we had lost a wheel cover. We pulled off the road to look for the cover, wondering how it could come off.

We never did find the cover, which came off the right front wheel, but when Jim walked around the car, he saw that the left front wheel cover was about to come off! The seatings had melted. A few minutes later he discovered the cause: The breaks were locked. I had not been seeing things when I thought the wheel wasn’t turning!

My husband-who-can-fix-anything managed to find the cause of the locked-up breaks, and within 15 minutes we were on our way home.

Our troubles weren’t over.

Jim had to adjust the break cable (which had pulled the breaks into a locked position). To fix the problem, he had to unhitch the tow bar. That’s when he discovered that the hydraulics on one of the bars were not working. Three calls to the manufacturer, a disassembly of the tow hydraulics, and a refitting of a part later, Jim solved the problem.

We had intended to be on the road by 11 a.m. We finally left Jacksonville about 3 p.m.

If all this weren’t enough, there is one more thing: It is raining. The launch will probably be postponed.

Oh, well. We’re on vacation. And even though our plans won’t pan out, we’re having a good time. I hope you are, too.

Until next time,

Safe haven

I’ve owned residences in eight different cities: Hobart, Ind.; Indianapolis; Taylor, Texas; Muncie, Ind.; Marshall, Mich.; Chicago; Palm Beach Gardens, Fla.; and Jacksonville, Fla. The house in Hobart and the co-op apartment in Chicago did not have garages; the rest did. And my car took safe haven in the garage in every single residence—except Jacksonville. That is, until yesterday.

When we moved to Jacksonville in January 2003, we combined not two, but three households: Jim retired and moved up here with me, bringing with him his things. Then a few months after we got settled, his mother expressed a wish to move in with us. Although Jim disposed of most of her furniture, she still brought a lot of “stuff” with her. (And she had a lot.) The excesses of our three households found their way into the attic and onto the floor of the garage.

None of the cars I have owned since moving up here—two Honda sedans, a Murano crossover, and our current vehicle, a Chevy HHR—had never been able to take cover in the garage. It was too full.

Our plan (which may or may not happen, depending upon the housing market) is to put our house up for sale, travel in Baby around the country, and eventually find a new place to live, most likely not in Florida. To follow that plan, the house has to be ready for sale—and that has meant culling through our possessions.

Jim has done a great job of this. He brought everything down from the attic, and we participated in the community yard sale in April. (We’ll have another in the future.) And yesterday he cleaned out the garage enough for the car to find a place of its own. Finally.

It won’t last long. The back bedroom (formerly his mother’s) is full of stuff that will have to be stored in the garage eventually.

But until that time, I plan to enjoy seeing our little HHR rest in a safe haven.

Until next time,

Linda