I Can Do This! (eBook)

Chapter 2

Northbound

The promise of cooler weather as we travelled north spurred us to action early the next day. We turned the RV sharply left at Effingham and spent the day with the dash A/C running full blast. For our second night on the road, we stopped at a pleasant rest stop operated by the Michigan Department of Highways just inside the state border. We came to love these big rest areas as we travelled. Generally we shared them with 18-wheelers, so we felt quite safe and secure. The only downside was the noise of idling trucks or, worse, the racket from refrigerated trailers.The upside was they were free, had clean restrooms, and featured parking spaces designed for rigs even longer than our 60 feet.

Feeling considerably more refreshed and with some of our aches and pains beginning to ease, we were eager to pick a good sightseeing route. After putting our heads together over morning coffee at a Mickey D’s (with the necessary big parking lot), we decided we would most enjoy the scenic route around Michigan’s thumb. We hoped that we would reach a specific (and uncrowded) state park that night. I used my cell phone to make a quick reservation, so we wouldn’t feel we had to push too hard. And here came an interesting tidbit of new self-knowledge - I am far more likely than my wife to be stressed if we don’t have a place lined up for the evening.

I had wondered why I had this vague sense of unease when we would set out in the morning and gradually it dawned on me that I am a creature of too-much regularity. As much as I would like to shed that concern for stability and control, it continues to haunt me. Of course, to make myself feel better about this character defect, I tell myself that the motor home is actually so big, especially with the tow, that one can’t simply pull in just anywhere. Every turn in to, or out of, a parking lot has to be thought out in advance. Not thinking a few moves ahead can result in having to remove the tow car, a bothersome process.

That said, I began to realize that here was another personal issue that I was going to have to work on if I were to get maximum fun out of this adventure. And so I began trying not to worry about what the end of the day would bring. Rather like Sandra, I started to live more in the moment. She has a much more profound sense than I do of the “right now”. It is a mindset she gained while single-handing in the Pacific and one I hoped to acquire on this journey.

The drive through Central Michigan and on to “The Thumb” was routine. The RV was running smoothly and I did my share of the driving on this stretch, but a new adventure soon awaited. Some things about a big diesel pusher take getting used to. For one, since they require diesel (a lot of diesel) truck stops are the preferred fill-up venues. I have always loved truck stops and truckers (even with a PhD, my secret job choice has always been over-the-road, long-haul trucker) but as a car driver, I had always been looking in on the world of huge trucks and their mahouts. With a diesel-powered motor coach, I suddenly acquired a passport to enter that magic kingdom.

There are, however, things to learn about truck stops. The first is that diesel fuel is inherently messy and filling the rig is best done in old hobby clothes (the kind that smell permanently of turpentine or fish or wet dog). It also helps to wear gloves (most truckers do) since diesel aroma has about the same half-life as plutonium. After a few embarrassing tries at pumping fuel, I learned that it is a good idea to go into the fuel-pay area before you begin. The pumps, particularly those in the huge truck plazas along the interstates, are often programmed to ask trick questions involving obscure meter-readings and ICC identifiers, none of which RV owners have. Trying the pump first can result in considerable confusion as you shout questions to whichever trucker is nearest to you, usually over the rumble of about a dozen huge engines all idling at once. Some truckers pretend acute deafness, others shake their heads, and a few will patiently suggest that, since you are not driving a truck, you should probably go inside to sort it all out.

When you do go inside, you will often be asked the same questions as the inanimate pump asked, but with less patience. However, once the pump-side miracle of video technology shows your RV, the questions abruptly stop and your money (usually a large sum of it) is cheerfully taken in advance of filling. Then you are allowed to go back out, stick the huge nozzle in and begin the filling process. Actually, this doesn’t take nearly as long as one might think as most truck stop pumps could easily fill a jumbo jet in about five minutes flat. Plus, our RV, just like the big 18-wheelers, can be filled from both sides at once, making topping off the 100 gallon tank even quicker. Once full, you can go back into the pay area and retrieve your credit card or get (a tiny amount of) change back. Since there is usually a queue, this is also the time to observe your fellow diesel jockeys.

These knights, and often ladies, of the road come in a complex variety of shapes and sizes. Some are classically burly and look as though they could easily dispense with such silly add-ons as power-steering. Others are short, wiry, wear glasses and look as if they would be at home in academia (like me, some of them probably were….I suspect trucking pays better). And then there are the ladies…more of them than I had realized are driving professionally. They, too, are an interesting amalgam. Many drive with hubbies or boyfriends, a few drive solo and some with another woman. They generally appear to be no-nonsense pros and are usually treated that way as well. Plus, they often have a better selection of decorative and informative tattoos, more attractively displayed, than their male counterparts.

One of the bonuses of driving a diesel RV is that sometimes you buy enough fuel to get a great perk…a free shower. With the shower comes a washcloth, a clean towel, plenty of hot water and a little cubicle that you get to call your very own. Having just bought about 90 gallons of best-quality diesel, I found out at my second truck stop that I was entitled to one of those free showers. I decided I would pass at this point as I was not yet really gamey. Sandra wouldn’t be able to take one as well and I was blocking a line of trucks at the pump. If I left and wanted to come back in to shower, I wasn’t certain I would be able to find a place to park the rig since you DO NOT back up a motorhome with a car in flat-tow mode (all four wheels on the ground).

This is another major lesson to be learned and it took some getting used to. Unlike anything else I have ever driven, a motor home dragging a car behind on its own wheels does not know reverse. Before we started our trip it was darkly hinted by our local RV specialist (with much muttering and squinting at our expensive new tow bar) that extremely dire things would occur if we so much as thought of putting the big Allyson transmission into the “R” position. I came away feeling that lots of mechanics were making a good living from older duffers like me who suddenly panic and stab the gear selector’s reverse setting. One positive … RV drivers become adept quite rapidly at selecting “best path” solutions to pull in/pull out problems. Those who fail to plan properly (guilty, as charged, on more than one occasion) will have the chance to enjoy the healthy outdoor exercise that comes with removing the tow car, backing it away from the RV, maneuvering the big motorhome out of the dead-end it is in, and then re-attaching the tow car.

This can be highly entertaining to locals anywhere and especially so at small-town service stations where a ubiquitous row of local retirees, sitting in chairs at the front of the garage, will watch you hook and re-hook with the intensity of Bobby Fisher on Move 26. The reason you are providing this amusing local entertainment? You failed to realize that the large lot behind the station you had planned to use as your way out is, in actuality, a field of very small soybeans. Driving through them would greatly upset the owner, a respected and (usually) kindly gentleman sitting squarely in the middle of the station’s front porch.

Piloting the RV around the top of Michigan began to make all three of us feel as though we had finally entered fully into our trip. The waters of Lake Huron were sparkling bright and U.S. 23 is simply a delightful road with almost constant vistas of the lake shore. For Sandra and me, it meant that we were once again in close contact with a large body of water. I had discovered (although Sandra already knew it) that we are what she terms “water people”. Her years of Pacific sailing have made being on or near water an essential for her. And I have found that I am happiest when I can see, hear, and – importantly – smell water. This is something of a mystery to me, because I am not blessed with a particularly discriminating sense of smell. I nonetheless seem capable of discerning all sorts of aromas associated with oceans and lakes.

Smells are also an important part of my travel memories. I can recall much about my favorite European city, Barcelona, if I but think of how the water around the big marina smells. Those sensory impressions open a catalogue of other aromas that can take me around the city from the statue of Columbus at the water end of the Ramblas (popcorn, corndogs, calamari) to Park Guell with its commanding view of the city...