The Trio of Doom: Walkabouts and Wanderlust
If you think that RV life is extraordinarily social, you may be surprised to hear that it’s often solitary. It makes sense, if you think about it. People in RVs are frequently on the move, and your neighbors may be here today and gone tomorrow. Or, you may be the one here today and gone tomorrow. Or, you may not have any neighbors at all. It happens.
Fellow travelers often share cursory nods, greetings, or acknowledgements when they see each other. These are generally polite interactions and not a gateway for further communication. But there are situations where substantial conversation becomes more likely. Namely, someone needs help, or someone is curious. It was a combination of these two circumstances that led me to meet the Trio of Doom.
I was camped at an RV park in northern New Mexico, where I planned to work on my next book and see the mountains. Crash and I were out for our morning constitutional when one of my neighbors approached me, a man who wanted to borrow one of my several cans of WD-40. I couldn’t tell whether the man was frazzled or frustrated as he explained that he couldn’t get his fifth wheel camper unhitched from his truck. He thought that maybe the hitch lock was rusty, thus his search for WD-40.
This seemed a strange problem to me, especially since he’d only hitched the camper to the truck the day before. The hitch lock wasn’t rusty then. And if there was a problem with his hitch, how did he get it connected in the first place? Normally, if you can hitch it, you can unhitch it. However, I know that when it comes to RVs, anything is possible. I acknowledged his statement with my best concerned look and told him it sounded stressful.
“Sure,” he said, “but that’s not the worst part. When I pulled it up from Texas yesterday, the fresh water tank fell off.”
“Excuse me? Did you say it fell off? When you were driving down the road?”
“Yes, it fell off when we were driving down the road.” He studied my face as he nodded silently, apparently realizing that I needed time to integrate this information into my world view.
If you aren’t familiar with RVs, the fresh water tank holds clean water to supply your sink, shower, and toilet when you aren’t connected to a continuous water supply. It is an integral part of the RV, connected to your plumbing with an array of tubes, valves, and a water pump. The tank itself is likely to be installed on the underside of your RV close to the front of the camper. These tanks are prone to leak or crack, but they aren’t generally prone to fall off when you are going down the road.
But while it’s unlikely, it’s not impossible. It can’t be, because it happened to my neighbor. He was driving down the highway, at highway speeds, when the fresh water tank fell off, hit the pavement, and rolled down the underbelly of his camper, smashing into the other tanks, water lines, propane lines, sewage lines, both axles, and everything else on the underside of his camper. All I could do was shake my head in sympathetic dismay as he told me that he had no idea how much damage his camper sustained, but in the spirit of tackling one problem at a time, he was focusing on getting it unhitched first. I watched him set off with my can of WD-40, and I went about my day.
Hours later, Crash and I walked over to his campsite, to collect our WD-40 and check on his progress. The camper was unhitched, but apparently, my WD-40 was not part of the solution. No, this man had bigger problems than a little rust. It seems that the lever on his hitch that locked the camper to the truck was installed backwards. Thus, he couldn’t unhitch the camper because when he thought he was unlocking the connection, he was actually locking it.
Now, if you follow the logic here, you might guess that the inverse was also true—when he thought he was locking his camper to the truck to safely pull it down the road, he was actually unlocking it. I don’t know if my neighbor was lucky or unlucky that it was merely his water tank that fell off instead of the entire camper, but at this point I’d like to remind you, dear reader, that it is never a good idea to tailgate anyone pulling a trailer.
My neighbor explained that he’d spent the last several hours disassembling the entire hitch, piece by piece until he could finally disconnect his camper. That was how he discovered that the locking lever was installed backwards.
“It wasn’t me,” he assured me quickly, apparently concerned that I might judge his competence. “No, I’m not nearly foolish enough to do something like this. I lent this hitch to a friend of mine three years ago, and when I told him I needed it back, he installed it in my truck. He must have put the lever on backwards.”
“I see,” I said. “So, it’s your first time out in three years?”
“No,” he says, “we go camping all the time. I was using a different hitch. I liked the other one better, but it wouldn’t fit in my new truck.”
“I see,” I said again, trying to focus on the positive. “Congratulations on your new truck!”
“Thanks,” he said, with forlorn hesitation. “I liked my old truck better, but I had to get a new one when it got struck by lightning.”
“Lightning?” I ask.
“Yes,” he replies, “it was totaled.”
I was lost for words. While I tried to conjure a response, I could feel my eyes darting right and left, instinctively scanning the horizons for any signs of swarming locusts, or perhaps a freak avalanche coming down from the mountain. I wondered if lightning could strike when the sky was perfectly clear, and then I realized I had more pertinent questions.
“What did you say your name was again?” I asked. “And exactly where and when do you think you’ll be traveling?”
That’s how I met Stan and his wife Ann. They have a son named… Wait for it… Dan. What are the odds of all three of their names rhyming? Well, I suppose they’re better than the odds of a fresh water tank falling off an RV while it’s going down the road, so why not? I said a little prayer over my can of WD-40 as Crash and I returned to our own camper, hoping to free it from any bad luck that may have rubbed off throughout the day.
Early the next morning, the Trio of Doom pulled their camper into the storage area of the RV park and took off in their new truck. As the day passed, and I began to believe I might be out of the blast radius of their bad luck, all seemed right with world once more. I silently wished them better fortune, and I haven’t crossed paths with them since. I’m okay with that.
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