Day One: Plastic Bins, An Irish Mugging, a Pool Biting, and a Window Break In
In all things Burns you can be sure of one thing: there willalways be a hiccup. Sometimes it will be major, like the time we didn’t realizethat we did not have the correct passports to fly into Canada until 48 hours beforeour Alaskan cruise was set to leave from Vancouver. More often they are minor,like the time I left the country with no pajamas or the time that I almostaccidentally killed Zack on a goat farmstay vacation when I forgot he isallergic to hay.
This trip is no different. Our Friday afternoon RV pick upwas delayed until a few hours before we were scheduled to leave on Saturday(let’s all refer to the binder itinerary to get an idea of what kind of crisisthis creates). This left us to try tostage packing at home as efficiently as possible to expedite loading thingsinto the RV when it finally arrived.
Having never done this before, non-expedited packing was anoverwhelming idea. I’m not sure how to become extra efficient at something Ihaven’t even attempted. Deciding what to pack was also a point of contention. Ibecame super obsessed with the idea of picking up a Frisbee, which Zack wasadamantly against which made me more obsessive. Finally he snapped. “You can’tget the kids a Frisbee, Courtney. They will throw it into the desert and gochasing after it and get bit by rattlesnakes.”
If you can predict it, you can prevent it.
But how to organize this hot mess? Plastic bins. This was what everyone told me was the secret to successful RV trips. I looked it up on Pinterest and the genius was confirmed. Smug and well groomed mothers displayed picture after picture of neatly organized snacks and supplies.
BINS. Unshowered and not well groomed, Petey and I thunderedover to the dollar story to buy all of the bins.
***Sidebar nation: thedollar store! I forgot this was a thing. You can get basically anything there.The last time I remembered the dollar store I decided to see what $1 wine wasall about. Nothing good. It is not about anything good, I promise. But thistime? We filled two entire carts and the grand total was $42. I tried to makethe clerk high five me, but she wasn’t at a place to share in my victory.
Heading home, we started….putting stuff in bins. It took ona Marie Condo vibe as I just tried to group like things together. Hey therelemon lyson, lemons, and Neutrogena sunscreen, you guys need to get in the binof yellow things! As of midnight, things were ambiguously sorted and no one hadclothes out for the trip yet.
This morning I was ready to just get the stupid RV and putall of the stupid things in it. Zack and I drove to a terrifying part ofBoulder Highway, which is where things got weird.
I rented the RV through RVshare, which I believed was entirely made up of the general public trying to rent their personal RVs. What we discovered on the seediest block of Boulder Highway, was that we had actually rented from a start up company that owned a tiny fleet of campers. The guy I had been emailing with who I had pictured as a kind dad, maybe wearing a nice cardigan and having a cup of coffee before taking his kids to the park, turned out to be a round Irish guy fresh from Missouri and furious about finding himself in the desert. His open carry gun hung on his hip, his Amish brim hat perched on top of his doo rag, the skull rings on each finger sparkled, and his bushy red beard quivered as he assured us in a thick brogue of the fury he had rained down upon the mechanics who caused the delay in pick up.
As he tried to explain the million parts of the rental toZack and I tried to not melt into the 120 degree asphalt, a large man appearedaround a dumpster and asked us for money.
“Git!” Our new Irishfriend shooed him off and then told us about how he’d been in this same spot onhis second day in Vegas.
“He jumped out and told me to give him my wallet. Pulled aknife on me, but was shakin’ from the meth. I slapped t’knife outta of his handand then quick punched him in the ‘troat. He hit the groun and I pulled my gunand told him t’stay there.”
Rarely do I simultaneously love and fear someone so much. I’ve also never wanted to get out of a parkinglot so badly. This RV has SEEN things, you guys.
We hustled home after he explained everything from the sewerline (don’t spill that on yerself, there ain’t enough lava soap in the world)to the travel mug with the company logo he had given me (you’re going to wantto wash that with soap and water. Dry it. Then it will keep yer hot drinks hotand yer cold drinks cold.) Once home, I packed that RV in record time. Likeunder two hours. I have no idea what is in here or what I have forgotten, but everythingthat was in the house is now somewhere in this vehicle.
Wanting to ease into this whole thing, the first stop of the trip is….KINGMAN. Yes, Kingman, Arizona. A turnaround day trip from Vegas sure, but home to a Carl’s Jr and a Route 66 museum that the kids were relieved to hear would be closed by the time we arrived.
We are at Fort Beale RV Park, which is oddly delightful although I’ve never actually been in an RV park before and have no basis for comparison. It’s close to the Carl’s Jr. There’s a pool. And everyone is terrifyingly nice. Like Midwestern-want to get to know you- hey can I help you set that up NICE. Maybe possibly this is just how the RV community at large is, but I’ve lived in Vegas for too long and I’ve watched too many murder documentaries to fall for this. I’m especially watching you, guy who checked us in and then followed me over to make sure we could get everything hooked up.
But they are all SO STINKING FRIENDLY AND EAGER TO TALK.
Case in point: upon arriving I hauled the kids to the pool.One excited and one furious. Once in the freezing water Petey attacked me likea baby piranha, grabbing onto my muffin top and loudly apologizing for ruiningme. Evan followed up by asking if they were getting a little brother or sisterand gesturing at my stomach (It’s ROAD TRIP BLOAT). They cackled wildly at me,splashing around, while I tried to shush them and pointed to the lady sittingon the side of the pool trying to talk on her phone.
“Shhhhhh……you guys….don’t be those kids…..”
“SHE’S FINE!” Petey punctuated this by lunging at me and biting me in the clavicle. Specific, but it was a very specific attack. I howled and sank under water. When I came up, the lady was off the phone and concerned for my well being. In the span of five minutes I learned she is from Louisiana, just came from Pebble Beach, watched the golf tournament there which she doesn’t love but her husband does, and who she was talking to on the phone. I also learned that they are headed to Colorado next and would I like a good list of Colorado parks?
I don’t have room to take this many new people into my life.I really don’t. She’s walked by and waved three times since.
Back at our spot (site? plot? campground? parking space?) Imade dinner, just as I knew would be my nightly fate. It was a lukewarmreception for hot dogs, veggies, and grilled corn which made me happy that thekids are nothing if not consistent at disapproving of all of my culinaryefforts. While we were eating, a new couple pulled into the spot next to ustowing a trailer. They promptly somehow locked themselves out of the trailerand spent the next twenty minutes circling it helplessly while we watched.
And that, my friends, is how we found ourselves shoving our12 year old through the open window of a stranger’s trailer in Kingman,Arizona.
Needless to say, this couple are also now our new bestfriends.
As I type this, the RV is shaking side to side as the kidsapparently cage fight in the upper bunk and Zack hides in the back. Theystarted with an Uno game, which was adorable but quickly escalated. I’m goingto haul them up to the Carl’s Jr for ice cream that I will most likely lacewith Benadryl.
Happy Trails…...
Number of dogs pet so far: 1