RV Magic: Take Two
We knew that an RV trip this summer was inevitable. Zack, still dreaming of a retirement traveling the country in our personal bus solving crimes with our collection of Goldendoodles while I make sandwiches in the back, was determined to find redemption for this dream after the debacle that was last year’s rental. If you missed it, the basic summary is that we rented a trash heap from a bloodthirsty Irishmen fresh from a Renaissance Fair. We found ourselves in a trailer on Boulder Highway watching him threaten vagrants with his skull rings and revolver while his henchman duct taped our jalopy together out back.
Zack was adamant that we could do better this summer. Any hesitation that I might have had about putting myself through another week of spontaneous fun that I had to meticulously plan to his standards flew out the window when the pandemic essentially ensured that RV travel was the only travel that was safe and allowed this year. Besides, our best friends are joining in on the fun with their own RV. They have known us well for years, have seen our family dynamic at play, have traveled with us before, and also are well aware of how last year’s adventures went. Zack has been ominously warning them for months that if they do this with us they will be open game for any blog posts and histrionic storytelling. I believe the word “emasculated” has been bandied about a bit. So, basically, they are masochists.
I was in a meeting at work about a month ago, in my office but over Zoom, dealing with all of the fun topics that go along with trying to navigate education in “unprecedented times”. (When this is all over I want to get the Chinese symbols for “unprecedented times” tattooed on my neck. It seems like an appropriate move). Zack started frantically alternately calling my cell and my office while also simultaneously texting and emailing me. As a guy that can go two to three weeks without replying to a text, I figured either someone we knew had fallen into a well or he had found something he liked on RV Share.
No. No, we did not learn our lesson about RV Share last year. We are back at it. This time Zack is taking over the searching and the renting because I lost all credibility in the Irishman fiasco of 2019.
“COURT. COURT. I have found the mothership. This has to be a typo. COURT. You have to respond because I think I need to act fast.”
I stared at the text for a few minutes and decided to just let it sit. This seemed like appropriate passive aggressive payback for all the times I had to wait two hours for him to confirm if he had picked the kids up.
“COURT. I just did it. I rented it. Check your email. The kids are going to lose their minds.”
Lose their minds? This was a concerning turn of events.
One of the great things about Zoom is that after four months of living on it we have all developed remarkable forearm muscles and can surreptitiously pull up third and fourth screens to surf while keeping our upper bodies entirely motionless on camera and still appearing completely engaged in the meeting at hand. Don’t lie. You’ve done, too.
When I pulled up my email I was greeted with what appeared to be the Metallica tour bus. It had the bus door that opened on the side, actual bedrooms, a walk in steam shower, and a fully functioning gourmet kitchen. There were flat screen TVs inside and out. At 45 feet long, this 2021 diesel pusher was not much smaller than our house. Tensing my forearms for a quick google search I learned that this beast came in around 2.8 million dollars. And was going to be all ours for the low low price of $200 a night. Roughly about what we had paid for the Looney Tunes jalopy last summer.
And that my friends, is how my husband was catfished on the internet.
The next text pinged in, this one worrying that an actual bus this size might require a special license and what if the DMV never opened again?
A few days later our request to rent that RV was canceled without giving a reason and the Metallica bus disappeared from RV share altogether. A friend of ours who rents his RV through RV Share said that it is a common scam, lowballing a rental and then pulling it, so that the customer will contact the owner directly and a rental outside of the regulations and fees of RV Share can be arranged.
Or so he could somehow steal our identities. Whatevs. We are ready to start a new life over somewhere anyhow.
I should note that Zack is wickedly intelligent and not one to fall for random scams. He was genuinely and adorably delighted at the thought of surprising the kids with the ride of a lifetime. We have also been blessed quite a few times with the magic travel touch, like the time I scored flights to St. Thomas for less than $100 each or the water side villa I negotiated down to less than the cost per night of a Motel 6. Finding the RV unicorn didn’t seem entirely impossible, even if my social security number may currently be in use by a drug cartel lord.
This put us back to the drawing board. Zack scored another RV, this one a 35 foot 2007 Winnebago that appeared to be owned by the nicest man on earth. This is the gold standard of early 2000s RV cruising Zack assured me.
We met the man in a Wal-Mart parking lot (see last year’s blog about RVs and Wal-Mart. RVs and Walmart are peanut butter and jelly. They are Danny DeVito and Rhea Pherlman. They are my mom and cats. They will just find each other.) I am willing to admit that we might have gone into the experience a little jaded and more aggressive than necessary, still gun shy (literally) after last summer. Zack started flicking all of the lights off and on and testing the window screens while the kids slammed cabinets open and closed to try to gauge the likelihood of another round of steak knives being launched at them. The owner was baffled.
“Why wouldn’t the lights work? I don’t understand? Everything works. You use all of the towels and bedding that you want. My wife will wash them when you’re done. We don’t want you to worry about a thing. Just enjoy yourselves, for Pete’s sake.”
“Midwestern?” Zack mouthed questioningly at me from behind the guy’s back as he showed us all of supplies in the carefully stocked cabinets.
“I don’t you to want to worry about the miles or generator. I know RV share has its policies, but what’s a few hundred miles? And that generator can run forever, you don’t want the kids getting hot. This is family time and it’s important.”
“Mormon?” Zack was still trying to catch my eye and make sense of the guy’s sheer niceness as he showed us all of the chairs, shade structures, toys, and outdoor cooking amenities he kept stocked in the under storage.
“You really can’t hurt it. And it you do, don’t worry. I can fix just about anything and I enjoy a challenge. I have road side assistance. Don’t be afraid to use it. And call me anytime. I’ve already saved you in my phone. I can’t wait to hear all about the fun you will have!”
We were both dumbfounded. This man is either a recreational vehicle angel on earth or he has wired this entire RV with cameras and we are going to wind up being live streamed onto some fetish site for people aroused by chaos. We shook on it, waved goodbye to our new friend Ned Flanders, and Zack carefully steered away in our temporary home while I followed behind listening to a murder podcast.
After situating the RV in front of our house I left for a six hour rage filled trip to the grocery store where I bought so much random junk food that a man actually stopped me to ask exactly how many kids do I really have. After hauling my bounty home, it was time to start packing.
This rousing game is also known as “how many times can two people bump into each other carrying stuff before one snaps.”
OR
“For the fifth time, the fridge isn’t cold yet. Stop trying to hand me eggs and cheese.”
OR
“What are we forgetting what are we forgetting what are we forgetting.”
If you are really lucky you can move into a bonus round of “If you don’t check that propane tank before nightfall I am leaving you.” This game usually segues into my personal favorite “which YouTube instructional video about checking propane levels appears the most trustworthy?”
Plot twist, it’s not the one where the guy looks suspiciously like an American Pie actor.
Once the RV was reasonably packed, Zack decided that we should move it closer to the curb in front of the house for the night, which required taking it around the block to line it up. I hopped in the passenger’s seat for my inaugural ride. Once moving, we discovered a problem.
“Herrrrrgggggghhhhhhhmehhhhhhgaaaaaaaaaa…..I’m going to throw up…….” I cannot handle riding in this RV. The entire front of it is bus windows allowing me an almost 360 degree view of all of the imminent disasters around us. We are a million feet off of the ground, rocking side to side, and I cannot get my sea legs. Because my brain never developed any form of spatial awareness I am convinced that everything is right next to us and we are about to either run it over or tip ourselves over on impact. Or both.
After our singular trip around the block, I noticed Zack discreetly packing Zofran, Xanax, and a healthy amount of Benadryl into his backpack. While I am normally a very delightful travel companion, I accept that he may need to roophie me for a good part of the week.
As I type this we are hurtling down the highway at our top speed of 45 miles per hour with our friends following behind us. The dog sitters are camped out at our house with our zoo and I am doing my very best to not look up or acknowledge my surroundings. I have much sandwich making ahead of me. Our travel itinerary is way less ambitious than last year and may not provide as good of fodder. But as my friend Jill put it, we are the Burns and so there is always a good chance things will take a turn.