Life On The Road Parts 1 and 2

This page is still under construction...bear with me...

Part 1

Hold on to your hats, folks, we're off for a ride and it's a long one!

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Never did I ever imagine myself living in an RV, oftentimes in what I consider the 'middle of nowhere'. But that's exactly what happened a few years ago. I should've known...when I met the man who became my husband, he often rhapsodized about his younger years when he'd lived in a converted bus and drove here, there and everywhere, exploring, hiking and having adventures. Being über traditional in my living habits, these tales left me staring at him in consternation. He definitely has a wide streak of the unconventional in him. However, he eventually built a nearly normal house (powered by wind machine, solar panels and the occasional fire-up of the generator) and he seemingly left his gypsy leanings behind. Often accusing me of 'luring him back onto the grid', his reminiscences were so infused with enthusiasm and notes of longing for those 'good 'ol days', I would find myself alternately shaking off a frisson of alarm, assuring myself that those days were over for him or fantasizing about what that kind of life might be like.

A few years after I met Patrick, he was diagnosed with severe COPD. If you're not familiar with it, Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease is an umbrella term for a group of progressive respiratory ailments, including emphysema, that make it increasingly hard to breathe. It's incurable, but manageable with medications.  By 2010, though, he was unable to work any longer and we had to face the future, which was looking pretty grim without his income. He also said he didn't think he could live through one more northern Indiana winter. As we cast around for some livable solutions, one kept coming back to us repeatedly and looked better and better the longer we looked at it.

Now let me describe northern Indiana to you. We were located a couple of miles south of the Michigan-Indiana border and about 90 miles due east of Chicago. This area is subject to the infamous 'lake-effect' snow in winter. If you've never heard that term it means 'snow falling on the lee side of a lake, generated by cold dry air passing over warmer water, especially in the Great Lakes region'. The counties lying in the path of the lake-effected fronts can expect to be freezing by Halloween (I vividly remember making my kids' Halloween costumes big enough to pull them on over down coats), and getting progressively colder as the winter months wear on. It was not unusual to wake up to two feet of snow at least once each winter. I remember someone once giving us a roof rake so Patrick wouldn't have to climb up on the roof to shovel the accumulated snow off. (Thank you, Cindy S.)

But mostly the snow just keeps coming periodically until the piles at the sides of the roads are high and filthy by March. At the very least, we'd wake up to freezing fogs. And the ice storms! I remember an ice storm one year that had me looking out the door to try to figure out what the loud bangs were I was hearing. Instead of the shotgun toting lunatic I expected, it turned out to be electrical transformers on the power poles bursting from the weight of the thick ice forming on them. In northern Indiana, the sun disappears in November and doesn't return until April. There is rampant vitamin D deficiency in 'Michiana' due to the lack of sunshine for so many months along with Seasonal Affective Disorder. It's gray and depressing five to six months out of the year. 

By January and February, it is bitter. The insult to the injury here is the heavy humidity prevalent to the area. In summer, it's hot and steamy and winters are cold and wet--an ideal breeding ground for illness. People get sick very frequently, as did we when we lived there. There always seems to be some bug or virus making the rounds at everyone's workplaces with great regularity. We could no longer afford the exposure to the constant colds and flu going around as any such malady went immediately to my husband's lungs and we have an inordinate fear of him getting pneumonia. He's had it at least 12 times over his lifetime and he feels certain one more bout will be the final one for him. We had to get away from what felt like to us a dangerous climate for someone with a compromised immune system and weak, impaired lungs.  The wild, wild west with its low, low humidity beckoned with a hypnotic and seductive finger. Climate-wise, it was where my husband needed to be if he were to have very many more years before succumbing to the end stages of his illness.

We don't have tons of money, so the best solution seemed to be to take up the fulltime RV lifestyle. Having been enamored of the notion for years, my husband poured himself into research about the lifestyle. Several times a week, he'd regale me with his online discoveries about seniors on the road, RVing clubs, areas to be explored, and so on. I was pretty amazed at what he revealed...there were thousands of graying nomads rolling along our highways and byways. He promised to take me places where I could see firsthand where 'the finger of God carved and painted the earth'.

He talked longingly of parking on BLM land, 'dry-camping', using a generator only when we had to, storing potable water and employing all sorts of thrifty living habits. It was scary as all hell to me...but intriguing at the same time. Could I do it? I'd never even been camping! I'd never set foot in an RV in my life! I'm a town girl! In some ways, I guess I was sort of a princess; an earthy one to be sure, but a princess nevertheless. Well, we weren't really going to have a lot of choice; this was the cheapest way we could find to live. Fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on the perspective, we found we would not be able to live quite as 'rough' as my husband dreamed of. He's dependent on an oxygen concentrator which requires electricity. Thus, we'd have to stay in RV parks. That was fine by me; I didn't have a lot of confidence in my ability to adapt to dry-camping (i.e. no water, electric or sewer hookups). I mean, how would I run my hair-dryer?

So after much preparing, we set off. We headed straight for Rapid City, South Dakota, a state known to be 'fulltimer friendly'. What that means is that when you live on the road full time, like we do, you still have to have a state of residency. Texas and Florida are two other states that many fulltimers use for residency purposes. We chose South Dakota primarily because there is no state income tax. We hooked up with America's Mailbox, a business that offers mail forwarding, vehicle plate handling, and they also have an RV park where you can stay while you're in the state obtaining your driver's licenses and establishing residency. All that's required for that is that you provide proof that you've been in the state for 24 hours and return every five years to renew your license. Your hotel, motel or RV park rental receipt is sufficient proof. The state sends us our voting ballots and we even got a plate for my vintage mini-camper (acquired in 2012) long distance. When my husband got called for jury duty, he called and told them we were full-timers and the state said 'Oh, ok. We'll take you off the list." They are so laid back about this unconventional lifestyle. 

Thus began our journey. In South Dakota, we saw the Badlands, Wall Drugstore of countless billboard fame, Custer State Park, the Black Hills and Mount Rushmore. After driving through the Badlands in the passenger seat of an RV my intense fear of heights was sent into a fever pitch. Nothing like being perched up high in the front of a rig on a road built on the edge of a cliff and seeing the earth drop away below your right shoulder. Our plans were to go from South Dakota to Yellowstone in Wyoming but my acrophobia had escalated to the point of nausea and terror. I begged him not to take us there. Things got very chilly for a few days between us, but he capitulated and after South Dakota, we headed south for the Grand Canyon. 

South of Rapid City, we began to have trouble with the RV. We had our second (our first happened as we crossed the Mississippi) flat tire on a lonely highway where there was nothing as far as the eye could see. Nothing! After five hours, a sweet Navajo man sent by our road service plan showed up with a replacement tire for us and we were on the road again. As we crossed the state line into Nebraska, the rig began losing power. We could barely make it up any hills, our speed often dropping down to 35 mph. We crept from small town to small town looking for someone, anyone who could help. Nothing. We made it to Scott's Bluff where we spent a week taking the RV to several different places in search of repair. No one could even say with any certainty what was wrong with the thing, but we sure got charged for all the tinkering around. The last place we'd tried seemed like they'd found the problem and away we went, still heading south. Not fifty miles out of Scott's Bluff, the issue returned. We decided to soldier on, so we unhooked the car we were towing to relieve the rig of its weight, which I then drove, following the RV as we limped to Cheyenne, WY. By the time we reached the city limits, Patrick could not get the thing to go faster than 25 mph. The repair place wanted us to spend a ridiculous amount of money getting things replaced that didn't really need it on top of fixing the actual problem which turned out to be one of the fuel pumps. Hubby stood fast, refusing to cave to the up-selling. In retaliation, they made us wait for days before putting the thing up on a hoist and getting down to business. 

But FINALLY it was fixed! We pulled out of Cheyenne, and thanks to the rude repair place, the very name of that town left a bad taste in my mouth. From Wyoming, we drove through Colorado, spending a couple of nights, then on to Utah, where we visited Arches Nat'l Park, spending a couple of nights there, too. Then we headed to Arizona. 

In our initial planning stage, we'd decided the Sedona, AZ area was where we wanted to end up. Artsy-fartsy as I am, this place seemed to be calling me. But research also showed that Sedona had become a major tourist trap, thus very expensive, even at RV parks. Cottonwood, however, was only 17 miles from Sedona and much more reasonable. We would go there.

But first, we had to stop at the Grand Canyon. I'd only seen pictures so I was wholly unprepared when my husband escorted me to the rim and I looked out over Desert View for the first time. I was so overcome by the sheer vastness of it and the splendid array of color, I was moved to tears. I had to turn away so the other tourists didn't see me standing there crying. Indeed, the finger of God had been there working away for millennia and I could feel Him standing next to me, showing me His artwork.

We spent nearly a week there, taking the trams every day visiting this viewpoint and that viewpoint, drinking in the glory that is the Grand Canyon. By about the fourth or fifth day, neither of us felt very well at all and soon realized we had a touch of altitude sickness. We were, after all, at around 7000 feet. It's much more common at 8000 feet plus, but it was an elevation I'd never experienced and that Patrick had not been at for decades. Considering his wonky lungs, it was no surprise he was ill. We decided it was time to pack up and head south to our first winter destination, Cottonwood. 

Researching RV parks online, we found a charming park that featured plenty of trees and was situated right on the Verde River. The price seemed reasonable, so we called and booked a week. We planned to try the place and see how we liked it. The photos online were very attractive and I couldn't wait to arrive. This was our first lesson in taking the online images posted on RV park websites with a BIG grain of salt.  The 'charming' park turned out to be an worn out old fifties era trailer park that had been converted into an RV park.  The first night we were there, after we settled everything into place, Patrick stepped out to have a cigarette. I finished up a few things and stepped out after him...to find a police car parked smack in front of our rig, several more off to our right, lights flashing and cops galore. Wait, what?!?! There was much yelling and scuffling going on a couple of sites over. Turned out the fellow in that site, thereafter known to us as 'The Criminal', had a fondness for getting drunk on Friday nights, bringing home a girl he'd picked up in the bar, then beating the crap out of her. Well, that night's girl wasn't putting up with it, ran off and called the law. All the yelling was 'The Criminal' being pulled out from underneath his rig where he'd hidden, crying "Ow, ow, you're hurting me, you're hurting me!" Patrick and I turned to each other, eyes big as saucers and said simultaneously, "Think this might have been a mistake..." (referring to the park we'd chosen.)

It actually quieted down after that, but that was not a good first impression. Sadly, this was one of the better parks in town, so we tried to stick it out there. It didn't take long for me to get bored out of my mind, despite our little day trips to sightsee. In addition, I was very depressed, thinking of the family I'd left behind, the job I hadn't been quite emotionally ready to leave and a myriad of other things. One of those things included the news of my daughter's pregnancy and I wasn't there to be with her! Wasn't quite sure what to do with myself. 

When December rolled around and my previous employer needed some help with some reorganization, I couldn't return to northern Indiana fast enough. So in January, after the holidays, my husband drove me to Flagstaff and put me on the train (because I'm too afraid of flying). In 36 hours, my sister and my son were picking me up. Home again, home again!

Stay tuned for Part 2...

Till next time,

"The Road goes ever on and on, Down from the door where it began. Now far ahead the Road has gone, and I must follow, if I can..." ~ J.R.R. Tolkien, from The Fellowship of the Ring

Part 2 

We left off with me having returned to Indiana to fulfill a short-term employment agreement made with my former company. It was strange getting off that train in downtown Elkhart--though I'd only been gone for four and half months, it felt like years! And there I was...smack dab in snow everywhere and that gray gloom again! But I felt some relief to be back with what was familiar and near my family again.  I also felt guilt at having left Patrick behind. But I had a job I'd agreed to do so I needed to get on with it. My daughter came by my sister's place later, where I was staying. It was such a strange experience to see her quite pregnant!  She wasn't even due for at least three more months!

In April, after gushing about what a wonderful time I'd had on the train, I saw my sister off on the same train, except heading west. She was going out to meet my husband and drive back in the RV with him, so he wouldn't have to make the trip alone. He wanted to be there when my daughter had her baby. They made a good trip out of it, visiting Antelope Canyon, Canyon de Chelly, and Mesa Verde...with a stop in Taos for my sister, who'd always wanted to go there. By the time, they got to Checotah, OK my husband got word that his oldest brother was gravely ill and in a coma. He floored the gas pedal and took off but Mike died just a few hours later. Patrick made it from Checotah to Elkhart in about a day and a half! Scary! He got set up at an RV park east of town, I moved my belongings back into the RV and he took off by car to Michigan to be with his other brother and sister-in-law while they settled things for her in the wake of Mike's death.

We were getting anxious by the end of April waiting for my grandson to be born. Originally due the last week of that month, time came and went and no baby; we were now into May. The doctor decided to induce the birth, so I went to the hospital with my daughter, they hooked her up and we waited. And waited. And WAITED. On the third day, they gave her a choice to keep trying or to give it a week and start all over. She decided to go home, rest and try again. On May 10th, 2012, my phone rang about 4 a.m. and she said, "Mom, if you're going to be here for this, you better get down here now." I leapt out of bed, throwing on clothes, grabbing purse, etc. and jumped in the car. I flew to the hospital, hyperventilating, talking myself down and got there about 20 or 30 minutes later.

Leo Dorien was born shortly before 9 a.m. I'd never seen a live birth (and honestly not sure I ever care to again). But the doctor caught that 9 lb. 4 oz. blob of humanity and it suddenly threw out its arms and legs and began to cry. I felt something reach into my heart and twist steadily and firmly. I went over to the bassinet where he'd been laid and patted his sticky little back and said, "It's ok, Granny's here. It's ok." Pat, pat, pat. I felt the same exact way as when I saw the Grand Canyon for the first time.

Ah. The next four months were such a great gift. I will always treasure that little bit of time I got to spend with the two of them and to see my son so often, as well as my beloved sister. Then in September, we packed up the RV and got on the road once again.

This time we headed south to Kentucky. This is because my husband loves to eat. You'd never know it from how thin he is, but that man can pack away the chow! (And of course, I've never in my life turned down a meal; a fact I attribute to the maintenance of my girlish figure.) Being the foodie that he is, Patrick loves to watch food shows. It doesn't have to be fine cuisine; oh no, not at all! Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives is high on his list of great entertainment. It was on that show he heard about the Moonlite Bar-B-Que Inn in Owensboro, KY. And that was our first stop.

After some inadvertent meandering through the hills, thanks to Siri, we finally got to Owensboro just at dinnertime. Unfortunately, we hadn't researched enough to find out that the place closed at 3 p.m. on Sundays, and it was Sunday. So back online we went looking for a place to spend the night and found the Diamond Lake Resort not too far away. We arrived just as the office was about to close. So we asked the lady who checked us in where another good place to eat might be and told her the story of missing out on the Moonlite. There was a grill there and she kindly offered to open it back up and fix us a burger! And it was pretty darn good, too. But nothing could compare to the Kentucky sweet tea she had a ready supply of. It was so delish, I took a quart back to the RV with me when we were done eating. The lady also asked if I planned to feed the fish; when I gave her a quizzical look, she handed me a little brown paper bag full of what look like chunks of dry dog food. She told me how to find the pond and bid us goodnight.

The next day we did make it to the Moonlite. If you are ever anywhere near that town, you must go there! It's definitely a barbeque lover's dream. Served buffet style, one room holds a myriad of bbq entrees and sides while across the way is another room with all the salads and desserts. All you can eat--you'll wish you had two stomachs!

Diamond Lake park was nice too; a bit on the older side but nicely kept; big sites and plenty of room. It was here we met Anita and Larry, a super nice couple from Florida. We still keep in touch on Facebook. Before we left, we went looking for the fish. There was a sort of creek/pond with a good sized footbridge and it was full of huge carp. The very second we tossed in the first bit of food, the water below us began boiling and thrashing with hundreds of the great, fat fish! Better yet, a troop of ducks came rushing over to get their share, walking across the top of the fish! I never saw anything like that before! With so many greedy gluttons in that pond, the food lasted about two nano-seconds!

I want to digress for a couple of paragraphs because of all this talk of food. In Part 1, I wholly neglected to mention a couple of eateries we encountered on our first trip out west in 2011 and this story is incomplete without acknowledging them. The first hidden gem was in a little town called Murdo in South Dakota called the Star Family Restaurant. It was sort of scary visually--rather run down and the booths looked like original fifties vintage, complete with the requisite silver duct tape. The reviews online are quite mixed, but we found the place very quaint, very clean (even though old) and the food was surprisingly good and all homemade. I'd give the salad bar alone 5 stars for freshness and the most delicious bean soup I'd had in quite a while.

The second secret treasure we found when we were forced to stop in Parachute, CO late one afternoon to straighten the car on the toad (tow dolly). By the time Patrick nearly killed himself with that job, we were hot, sweaty, exhausted, parched and starving. Too tired to go looking around, we saw a little Chinese place within a short walking distance and headed for it. When we stepped inside, it was dark and cramped with maybe eight tables. But when you're desperate and as thirsty as we were, you don't care. I don't remember what we ordered but in about 15 minutes, the girl brought us two of the most beautifully plated dinners we'd seen. And delicious! We couldn't believe our luck! So if you're ever passing through Parachute, CO stop at Hong's Garden. We thought it was outstanding, even though it looks like a hole in the wall. I couldn't find websites for Hong's or the Star but there are plenty of reviews on Yelp and TripAdvisor.

Back to Kentucky 2012...we stayed 2 nights at Diamond Lake and before leaving, we were perusing the map of the state. Patrick said, "Ever been to Mammoth Caves?" "Nope." said I. So the next day, instead of turning west, we went east heading for Mammoth Cave Nat'l Park. We only planned to spend one night there as my husband was pretty sure it was not full-hookup camping. Much to our surprise, when we pulled in, the park ranger asked if we needed full hookups! "How much?" Patrick asked. "$20.00 a night," she said. "We'll take two!" was his gleeful response. With his Golden Age pass, it was half price and free to visit the park. Thus, between the Moonlite and  the Mammoth, we enjoyed Kentucky thoroughly.

Then it was off to Tennessee. We hoped to not stop in Tennessee at all. We left Mammoth Cave, hit I-40 and headed to East Memphis, AR to an interesting-sounding park called Tom Sawyer's RV Park. Though it was mid-September, it was still pretty hot and it was kind of a boring drive. Till BANG! Just east of Jackson, noonish, we had our third flat tire. (Remember, we had the first two in 2011.) We hobbled along a couple of miles and just on the outskirts found a big tire place, so Patrick pulled in. They had every tire on the planet...except the one we needed. Out came the cell phone and soon my husband had Coach-Net, our road service, asking where we were, etc. About an hour later, a fellow showed up with our tire, put it on and we were back on the road heading to East Memphis.

We hit the eastern outskirts of Memphis around 4 p.m.; the start of rush hour. If we hadn't had that dang flat, we'd have been looking at the Home of the Blues in our rear view mirror at least an hour and a half earlier. Oh, well. The highway spread into four lanes, filled up with people trying to get home from work and traffic slowed to a crawl. We could see the city skyline up ahead. Out of nowhere...BANG!  Oh, no! It just couldn't be! Not AGAIN! Two in one day?!?! Un-flipping-believable. Yes, ANOTHER flat. And in this horrible bumper-to-bumper traffic. Traffic was so tight, it took us a good fifteen minutes to be able to edge over to the right and get off the road. "Hello, Coach-Net?" They arranged for a tire replacement...and advised us that just maybe we needed to replace all our old tires. (Mind you, when we bought the RV in 2011, the tires had been replaced but we didn't realize they were supremely cheap Asian ones.)

We waited. And waited. And waited. Soon a cop creeping along in the traffic pulled in behind us, got out and came over to see what the problem was. He informed us that traffic was worse than usual because there'd been an accident in the eastbound lane that had that side of the highway at nearly a standstill. He shot the breeze for a few minutes then left us...waiting. Finally, around eight o'clock p.m. a man showed up to rescue us. We had to stand there with flashlights shining on the wheel so the poor devil could see what he was doing. It took him at least 45 minutes to get that tire changed. Back on the road again. In the dark. Had I mentioned that we don't drive this rig in the dark? Patrick's night vision is not that great and we don't like taking unnecessary risks.

Luckily, I'd called Tom Sawyer's right after the flat occurred and told them what happened and that we were running late. They told me they'd leave the paperwork on the office door, to just come in, park and pay in the morning. So we made our way through Memphis and finally we hit the bridge and crossed the Mississippi. Siri guided us to Tom Sawyer's, which ended up a little surprising as we'd gotten the idea it was just off the highway. Well, it was only a mile or so off the freeway. But we had to get there via a twisting little two lane unlighted road lined with live oaks and cypress, dripping with Spanish moss. Did I say it was pitch-dark? Spooky? Heck, yeah!

We got there. I ran up to the little office building, grabbed the paperwork they'd left us and was back up in the RV. Then we tried finding the site in that dark. Ended up with me wandering ahead of the RV with a flashlight looking for number whatever-it-was. We got parked, hooked up and collapsed for the night. Before we passed out, Patrick said he kept seeing odd lights moving back and forth next to the park property. When we got up in the morning, made our coffee and headed outside to take a look, we realized those lights were tugs and barges moving up and down the river. We were smack on the Mississippi! We stayed long enough to take care of laundry; we couldn't not use the park laundry as this is the only place we'd ever heard of that provided free use of the facilities. Interestingly, all the utility buildings at this park are up on wheeled stilts. When the river floods as it often does, if the stilts aren't tall enough they just pull the buildings up to high ground!

Stay tuned for Part 3!

Till next time,

"People take different roads seeking fulfillment and happiness. Just because they're not on your road doesn't mean they've gotten lost." ~ H. Jackson Brown, Jr.