Trailer Trash II

In a previous post (Trailer Trash) I mentioned that we bought a ‘Camping Machine,’ a 27-foot travel trailer, a couple of weeks ago. We planned a shakedown cruise over Memorial Day weekend.

As it would turn out, I went from vacation mode to crisis mode in about 15 minutes. But we were still able to go camping, and right up until the end we had a great time.

The first adventure was pulling the CM out from the RV pad on the side of the house. I nearly took out the side of the vehicle as well as half of the fence. You could not slide a human hair in between the two as I pulled forward. Yet somehow neither had so much as a scratch when I finally cleared the driveway.

Chris and Tommy actually cheered.

On the road I was concerned the trailer would pull like a beached whale. In fact, it towed rather smoothly. And we went up a significant mountain pass. No land speed records were set, but we weren’t passed by anyone walking up the road either.

Upon arrival at the camp site we backed in smoothly. The CM set up very nicely, the power and water went in with no trouble. Once we were situated I took the boys over to the stream next to the campsite and we had great fun ‘fishing’ with some sticks we had found nearby, throwing rocks in the water and making roads in the gravel for the trucks the boys brought. When it was time to clean up for dinner, we washed our hands with hot water from the kitchen sink in the CM. That’s when I knew we’d actually go camping a second time.

“I’m liking this kind of camping,” my wife said.

The camping purists reading this are apoplectic. I can hear you now – “That’s not camping!” you say. “You’re not sleeping in a lumpy sleeping bag, tossing about uncomfortably in your tent, wet and cold from the rain. You’re not shivering next to a dying fire. You’re not squatting in the forest over hole in the ground. How can you be camping?”

I’ll tell you. We slept eight feet from a babbling stream that lulled us to sleep. We cooked hot dogs and smores over a campfire. We watched deer cross a meadow 500 yards from our campsite.

We also had hot water on demand, soft mattresses to sleep on and electricity.

But we did rough it a little bit. I refused, out of principle, to use the electric blanket.

Chris and Tommy had a great time in their bunk beds. They played, giggled and kept telling each other there were bears outside the window. They took forever to fall asleep, they were having so much fun. “We like camping, Dad,” they said.

We slept in a bit the next morning, had breakfast, played around the camp site for awhile. When it was time to go I hooked the CM back up to the truck and pulled out. Dumping the tanks was actually less disgusting than I had anticipated.

The shit, so to speak, would hit the fan in about an hour.

Going back down the mountain pass was a bit more tricky than going up. The CM is heavy and wanted to push us down the mountain. Big trucks were barreling past us and we rocked in their wake. Near the bottom I could smell overheated brakes. I don’t think they were ours.

Backing the CM into the RV pad was actually easier than pulling out.

We were nearly done unloading our gear when my cell phone rang. It was my sister, calling from North Carolina. She was trying to hold back tears.

“You have to get to New Hampshire as soon as possible,” she said. “Mom’s had a seizure and they can’t stop it. The doctors are trying everything they can. I can’t get there until 11:00 tonight!”

She paused, choked back a sob.

“They say she is dying. She may not make it through the night.”

At that time of day you simply cannot get to the East Coast from where I am at any decent time. I spent nearly an hour on the phone with various airlines. The best I could do was a red-eye with one connection and a 90 minute drive.

I arrived at the hospital at 11:00 a.m. the next morning.

My mother died at 1:30 p.m. that afternoon.

I’m pretty sure she knew I made the trip.

I cried many times over the next three days as I cleaned out her apartment.

A part of The Family Man is missing.