Yesterday's Adventure

My husband and I had talked about going camping this week and decided yesterday would be a good day. The weather has been teasing us; it's supposed to be mid-July, yet it's been mostly overcast, breezy and cool here on the Oregon Coast. After doing grocery shopping yesterday we came home to put things away. I made a few piles of stuff to take to the motor home and before I knew it my husband was rushing us along. We didn't really have an agenda, but he seemed to be in a hurry to go somewhere.

One of the reasons we decided to go camping was so that I could drive The Boat, the 25-ft American motor home we purchased last summer. I'd never driven the RV and part of the plan for our move is for me to drive the RV and my husband to drive the U-Haul, or at least alternate back and forth. But before I could get behind the wheel, my husband decided he would back the RV down the driveway and into the street. He usually backs into the driveway and now we know why. All of a sudden there was a monstrous crunch like somebody tucking into the biggest bowl of cornflakes in the world. My husband said something I won't repeat and we got out to look at the damage. That bloody tree in the neighbor's yard had neatly punched the aluminum ladder on the back of the motor home INTO our "bedroom." There were several ugly holes in the fiberglass and on the inside a piece of the fake paneling, Styrofoam stuffing included, was hanging by a thread over the bed.

I felt terrible because I knew how truly terrible my husband felt. Several days after we brought the RV home, I smacked the driver's side and tore the mirror off my car. Seeing our brand new (to us) baby with a big ol' gash made me feel sick and sad all at once. So, after yesterday's disaster, I just gave my hubby a big hug and told him I understood how he felt. Besides, it wasn't anything he couldn't fix. My husband can fix anything. Really. You're talking about a carpenter/auto tech/construction worker/welder/woodworker, here. The only thing I know about that he doesn't do well is play Scrabble.

Then, watching for lurking trees, I got behind the wheel. Driving the motor home is an experience akin to steering a large boat through a narrow passage. With excellent directions from my passenger, I motored down Highway 101, trying to keep the white fog line in my right mirror and the front wheel, under my butt, hugging the yellow center line. It turned out to be a fine day, after all. The clouds were clearing and we floated along down to Washburne State Park, our destination for the evening. The brake pedal felt a little squishy. My husband said I had to press it down hard, then release and coast, building up speed, then press it again. Enough of this and I'll never need a Thighmaster. We found a shady spot and I let him do the honors of backing in. After setting up the water, electric and sewer connections, we took a short walk around the park, spying on our fellow campers. It's always interesting to see the rigs -- old and new, fancy and functional -- at a campground. Always encouraging to see that families still go camping with small kids, pitching tents and setting up the hibachi. I have fond memories of camping as a kid and appreciate the fact that my parents were willing to put up with three kids in the car just to show us the wonders of nature.

My husband made a fire so we could roast our wienies and have Smores for dessert, our usual camping cuisine. A combination of testy winds and the wood we brought along made for a smoky little fire. No matter where I stood, the smoke found me like an evil wraith bent on permeating my clothes and making my eyes water. In our rush to get on the road, we'd forgotten the fixings for the dogs; we had naked wienies in squishy white buns and we were hungry enough to think it tasted pretty good. We made a new variation of Smores, with dark chocolate, and that was definitely good. As the sun set and the big trees turned into shadows around us, we slipped into the motor home and set up the TV and VCR to watch a movie. In the distance, we could hear the sound of the Pacific. I commented that this will be the last time we camp in cool weather for a while. I tried to soak it all in and squelch sad feelings about leaving the beautiful Northwest.

Snuggled under the quilt my mom and I put together a few years ago, I wondered what it will be like living in the motor home with two cats. Dinah is outgoing and will eventually adjust to the cramped and mobile environment. We'll have to closely monitor the door, however. After several successful escape attempts, she has earned the nickname "Catdini." Angel is another story, a scaredy cat if there ever was one, with a heart murmur and a history of having "accidents." We talked about taking Angel to an animal shelter, but when I called the no-kill shelter in Florence the lady very firmly told me that the stress of Angel being separated from her family would be far harder than traveling with us. I hope she's right. Angel adopted me when I lived in California and she made the trip up to Oregon with me in her carrier, blissed out on kitty Valium. I've bought a homeopathic remedy I'll try on this trip, an elixir that promises to help not only with nerves, but with motion sickness. I may be tempted to try it myself before we reach Florida.

I've finished the itinerary for our trip, no small feat, and made reservations at campgrounds along the way. The people I talked to were friendly, and that bodes well. One lady said she made a cross country move from New Jersey to Oregon years ago, staying at campgrounds, and she'll never make a long move any other way. We need to find a kennel large enough for our Rott-Golden Lab Brody. Actually, we did find one today, but went into sticker shock when we saw the price, $175-something. I told my husband I'd make a trip into the valley next week and check PetSmart. We're buying a kennel, after all, not paying for a condo.

Time to get dinner ready. I'll keep you posted.

P.S. Here's an update to let you know things really do happen for a purpose. This morning, as my husband was repairing the recent damage to the RV, he noticed several other "punctures" in the fiberglass, holes neither of us had seen before. One of them had been covered with tape and painted over; it was hidden behind the rear canopy support. If we hadn't run into that tree, we probably wouldn't have found these other holes until we had a big problem with The Boat "taking on water," i.e. water leaking in to wreak havoc on the insulation and paneling. So, this story has a happy ending, after all :)