FIRST TIME R.V.’errrrr – Trip #1
Our son-in-law from the Tahoe, Nevada area called and told Danny he had a friend with a wonderful R.V. for sale at a great price. That started the ball rolling. Danny had been “in the fever” looking for an R.V. for our upcoming retirement. Our daughter, Carol, went through the older R.V. our son-in-law had told us about with a fine tooth comb, declaring it fit and fine for her parents to buy. (Shes very-very picky) It was 34 feet long, clean as a whistle, nice bathroom, queen-sized bed, three-slides, microwave, fridge, yada, yada, yada.
So we set out the first of August, eager to retrieve and take a vacation in the R.V. We left home in the mighty/shiny Dodge Ram with its diesel engine and double cab, heading toward Nevada, along with a newly placed backseat (down-filled) bed for Cubby Bear and Lady Bug. We left on our great venture the first of August, planning to return Labor Day weekend to Arizona, R.V. in tow. Three weeks of bliss and vacation in the new R.V. Yah! I couldn’t even begin to fathom it! Danny was psyched and in his male testosterone camping element. I went along with the plan, making sure we took the necessary equipment- cameras, tools, dishes, bedding, towels, etc. with us from home. (I was in the nurturing mode.) In other words, I packed up the incidental stuff I felt we absolutely needed to take with us for the dogs and our comfort. Danny unpacked my absolute necessities and packed what he felt we’d need.
We were going to stay at a hotel on the way over to Tahoe, but with a full pickup bed of R.V. camping necessities, boxes of stuff our granddaughter needed that shed left behind at our home, and things I thought Carol might like to have or need, Danny made the decision we’d drive straight on through to Nevada from Arizona. Seven hundred miles or so to R.V. camping touch down.
Cubby and Lady had been panting for about a hundred miles, when I insisted Danny stop and let them go to the bathroom. (They pant when they need to go potty.) Have you ever traveled with a guy for whom the right place never seems to be just the perfect place to stop and go pee? Well . . . it was getting mighty desperate in our Dodge Ram, so Danny finally found a pull-off spot. He leashed the dogs separately and handed them both to me at once, then went to fetch a couple of bottles of water to refill our thirst and the dogs dish from the cooler on the back of the truck bed.
I placed the dogs on the ground in the pull-off, and that’s when the nightmare began. They ran around me, winding me tightly around my legs with the leash rope, so I couldn’t move at all. They were acting strangely, jumping, running, yipping . . . then it dawned on me what was wrong. I struggled to free myself from the tightening rope. Then, I noticed that Cubby had frantically climbed on top of Lady Bug, flattening her to the ground like a furry pancake. He was struggling, trying to get her to stay still so he could stay on top of her back, and she was yelping and crying. I was struggling with the leashes, trying to free myself, when Danny rounded the corner of the pickup with the water bottles in his hands. “What to hell?” he yelled. Cubby was whining, Lady was yelping, I was trying to free myself from the wrap around, and I managed to scream, “The ground’s too hot! Their feet are burning.”
Danny scooped the two little ones up, released me, and we put the little guys into their soft-cold haven in the pickup. I put some salve on their little footpads, and we tried to make up with them by talking and soothing them with cool water and kisses and ear scratches. No dice. They weren’t ready to forgive or forget the hot pavement and rocks. We had tortured them, and they were mad at us. The worst part of the nightmare wasn’t over. They still had to pee. Fortunately, a rest area aways down the road made them very happy, and Danny and I were able to forgive one another for the pain they endured.
Lesson # 1: One hundred & eight plus degrees is way too hot for a doggy pee stop, unless . . . it’s grassy and some shade trees are visible to the naked eye.
We arrived at Carol and Walt’s late that evening, and slept like the road warriors we were. The dogs both snored at our feet all night. The next day Danny went to see the R.V. and fell in love with it, purchased it, readied the hitch for hauling. With the paperwork accomplished, he brought it home to Walt and Carol’s neighborhood. He and I, along with Carol, began the process of “pissing in the R.V.’s corners”, making it our second home. Carol and I purchased comfy bedding, fit for a king and queen, matching pillows and warm couch throws for the living room, new pots, and pans and assorted dishes to fit in the smaller cabinet areas (all plastic or mini-sized) and tons of food for the fridge. We were set!
The first day of actual traveling arrived, with the R.V. outfitted and readied behind the big Dodge Ram. We set our sights on a place called Eagle Lake, California. The lake was supposed to be around 2 hours from Carol and Walt’s Tahoe home, near a place called Susanville, California. We took our sweet time leaving the kid’s house, finally departing in the early afternoon, around two o’clock. We arrived in Susanville, California three hours later, around five. It was then that we discovered that Eagle Lake was another 30 or 40 miles (or so) north. Oh Joy! We had paid for two nights parking space on our credit card. Thirty or forty miles can’t be all that bad, I assured Danny. We’ll be there before it gets dark. Yeah, Right!
Off we headed to find Eagle Lakes R.V. camping place. Up hill and dale, down valleys and steep inclines, around corners, and pitchfork curves we went. A two lane road (not a highway by any stretch) with only space for 2 small vehicles to pass by one another, and in my humble opinion, not enough room for a big truck, hauling a 34 foot R.V. behind, and . . . fingers of darkness creeping into the whole camping mix. A roaring campside fire, a good meal, soft sheets and sleeping dogs, were the only fantasy that kept me going at that point.
Finally, almost two and a half hours more, I spotted the road that would take us to the Eagle Lake R.V. campground, but too late. We had passed it before Danny could get the “big diesel engines that couldn’t” stopped in its tracks. Picture this, if you will? We were on a narrow road, with pitch-dark night skies descending, and a non-familiarity of the area engulfing us, with big ol’ piney trees looming over the roadway. We were smack dab in the middle of Big Foot territory.
“OK, so” . . . Danny muttered, staring down at the map . . . “We’ll just turn this long train around and go back down the road and find the narrow turn-off road we passed in the dark.”
Me, on the other hand figured . . . maybe, and eventually, with lots of patience, this camping adventure would take us toward our (paid in advance) R.V. spot on the lake . . . 11 miles . . . give or take down a side road we’d just passed! Or . . . so the map said.
We proceeded a bit further down the road until we found a narrow dirt road off to the right. We would turn the rig around. No problem. Danny laughed at my horror and concerns. “I’ll just release the slider on the hitch and it’ll give me all the turning abilities we need. No problem!” Unless of course . . . as he discovered upon inspection . . . the cotter pins had not been installed in the new slider hitch by the mechanics who’d installed the fifth wheel hitch. The bar that would normally release the slider fell off onto the truck bed with a thud. So now what? Danny needed to turn around and go back the way we had come from. “OK, not a big problem,” he announced. “You just watch the fifth wheel at the right corner, where the window and the fifth wheel might possibly come together in the sharp turn, and also watch the road in back of us, and make sure the tires stay onto the dirt road. Watch that the tires don’t go too near the grass or the ditch area. We’ll just turn this big buggy around.”
He began the turning process and I watched the narrow dirt road (which he seemed to find in the dark) and the fifth wheel made a slow backward swing onto the side road . . . well . . . almost anyway. Then, disaster struck. I guess I forgot to watch the fifth wheel and the pickup in the right corner, as well as the road, the grass and the ditch, because as the pickup turned sharply to the right, the corner of the fifth wheel smussshed into the back corner of the pickup near the back window. Steel met fiberglass . . . and, groans could be heard in the night . . . like a scary . . . horror movie, or whatever! Horrifying sounds of something gone dreadfully wrong with the perfect turn was emitting into the dark night Sad!
On inspection, the big ol’ camper struck a major blow and big boo-boo to the shiny Dodge Ram’s trim, right next to the back window of the truck. Not a scratch on the fifth wheel could be seen. The glass window on the truck remained intact, thankfully. We discovered the two shih tzus looking horrified and frightened, where they’d clamored into the front seat, hiding on the floor. Danny never said anything, just sighed a huge big sigh, shaking his head while inspecting the damage, then taking the time to comfort the horrified dogs. That was enough! I felt terrible and told them all that I was soooo sorry. On a good note, (there were some good notes) the truck and fifth wheel had backed up onto the side road, and we were able to get back onto the main road, and then swing onto the road going toward the lake.
We arrived at the R.V. site at close to eleven o’clock at night. Everything went fine upon checking in, and I assured the dogs that the day was almost over. They could eat soon and go to bed. Alas, the site where we had reserved a drive through . . . or (pull through) for the fifth wheel, had huge tall pine trees lining the space on both sides of the site.
This time, Danny wasn’t making any more mistakes. After inspecting the site, he handed me a walkie-talkie, and said, “flag me in.” I jumped from the truck, eager to “flag him” into the space (whatever that meant) and atone for my previous sin to the Dodge Ram. But, then . . . I discovered . . . I didnt know how to make the walkie-talkie work. Did I click this button? Nope! That one? No, that was the volume. His voice was coming through loud and clear, but I had yet to find the release button and talk back to him. I could hear him loudly proclaiming, “Can you hear me?”
Finally, in frustration and tired from the long trip, I stormed to the truck, opened the door, and threw the walkie-talkie onto the passenger seat, and screamed at him. I’ve never talked anyone into backing around. I’ve never talked anyone into or outta a parking space. I’ve never done any of that in this lifetime! And” . . . I added . . . “I’ve never used this walkie-talkie before, and I have no idea how to talk to you on it or how to flag anyone into . . . anywhere . . . so there!”
So much for co-pilot wives. I left him staring at me in shock, as I managed to huff off with as much dignity as I could muster, walking quickly to the campsite picnic tables, and plunking myself down. Back in, front in . . . turn in! I was done for the day! He finally backed the truck back out and managed to find a smooth way to deliver the R.V into the parking space, parking the big old thing perfectly beside the big trees, never saying a word to me about my little tantrum.
Later that night, after we all ate and everyone was more relaxed, he laughed so hard at me, he was holding his stomach, mimicking my anger and frustration at him for thinking I knew things I didn’t know, and of our turning and parking events of the evening. He thoroughly enjoyed making fun of me in a good natured way. The next morning he took a marker pen and wrote OOPS on the creased boo-boo on the window trim of his truck.
The Eagle Lake R.V. Park was peaceful and wonderful, with a large buck and mommy deer and their fawns roaming freely. The weather was perfect. The dogs were in doggy heaven. The lake and surrounding areas were majestic. The other campers were friendly and kind. We stayed three days and adjusted to the R.V. and the R.V. camping experience. It was a delightful time . . . all in all.