 Rain is a good thing, as a Luke Bryan country song says. It makes the beautiful greenery we enjoy in places such as Northern Arizona. It also creates mud, something we try to avoid as the owners of a truck without four-wheel drive. (We intentionally ordered our dually that way from the factory to save on gas mileage and gears to maintain.) After three-and-a-half wonderful sunny days boondocking at a Boondockers Welcome site in Northern Arizona, light rain and drizzle turned into something more substantial, thanks to the remnants of Cyclone Priscilla. We were parked near a gravel drive, so we didn’t think much of the situation — until we loaded into Gulliver in an attempt to go visit our friends Neil and Leanna and got stuck in the mud.  Gulliver needs a tow … again Rain continued to pour as we tried to determine a way out of the muddy mess. Our host heard us revving the truck engine and came over to say hi, as we hadn’t met him yet. He offered to pull us out with his Ford F-350 4x4 truck. Lew went to get his truck, and we retrieved the tow strap we had invested in after another time of getting both Gulliver and Tagalong stuck. Bob attached it to both trucks, and Lew climbed into his vehicle to take out the slack. With that done, Bob crawled into Gulliver.  I stood in the rain to communicate between the two drivers, a difficult chore given the revving engines and the sound of the precipitation. Lew’s truck successfully pulled ours, but our highway tires slipped in the mud, drawing Gulliver closer to the trailer and making Bob and me nervous. The three of us reassessed the situation. We relocated where the tow strap attached on each vehicle, and Bob closed his side mirrors. The second tow drew the truck even closer to Tagalong. Something had to change. We had Lew back up and reposition his truck in another location to tow Gulliver toward the gravel drive and away from the trailer. This time, it worked. With Gulliver out of the mud and on gravel, we thanked Lew and loaded up to visit our friends, an hour later than planned. I peeled off my saturated raincoat only to find my shirt sleeves wet. Apparently, the jacket wasn’t designed for an hour of downpour. After a wonderful time with our friends, we returned in the dark, with hopes of getting the trailer out the next day. Getting the RV out of a sticky situation Not wanting to get the truck stuck again, we took serious measures to prevent that. Bob cut and laid dead Juniper branches in the anticipated path of the truck tires for grip in the sloppy mud mess. He sent me on a hunt to find lava rocks on the property that we could use to provide traction under the truck when starting to tow the trailer. I dragged my bucket around like Igor in “Frankenstein,” watching for young prickly pear cactus along the way and discovering wild mushrooms in the process. After two bucket loads of rocks, we had accumulated enough to provide a good grip for the truck tires. Convinced we were prepared to move the trailer from its dirt perch to the gravel drive, we connected it to Gulliver. Then we went over our plan, wondering aloud if we’d be able to clear a small Juniper tree en route. Our original plan, before the rain had turned dry ground into peanut butter, was to pull forward and then back Gulliver onto the gravel drive to line us up to leave. That was no longer an option.  I was convinced Bob could clear the tree. He wasn’t so sure. We knew momentum would be key and discussed being willing to scratch the side of the trailer to keep from getting stuck. Arizona racing stripes never hurt anything. Equipped with walkie-talkies, Bob climbed into Gulliver and I tried to find a decent place to stand. From my vantage point, I could see the tree — until the trailer blocked my view. Bob pulled out. Everything looked good, so I told him to keep going. He stepped on the gas and succeeded in getting Tagalong onto the gravel driveway. But he heard a loud crunch in the process. I thought we had made it just fine. But as I approached the rear of the trailer, I noticed a tire mark awfully close to the tree. I moved nearer to investigate and found our plastic trailer fender lying on the ground in pieces, along with a light cover that had been ripped off the side of the rig.  Examining the trailer revealed remnants of the tree jammed into every crevice they could fit. The bottom right corner of the entry door had been bent up, as had the bottom right of where the fender had been attached.
As we inspected the damage, we found ourselves grateful that it was mostly cosmetic. It hurt our pride more than anything. The situation could have been much worse. An important debriefing After leaving the property, we conversed about what we did wrong and what we would have done differently. The problem came down to being in a hurry. As full-time RVers, we know that most mistakes happen when we’re either tired or rushing. Our kids were coming up to meet us at our next destination about an hour away, and we wanted to get there before them. We could have waited longer for the ground to dry out, as the sun had cleared the clouds and was working its magic. Or we could have called our Coach-Net roadside assistance service to tow us out, even though it could have taken an hour or longer for a tech to arrive. It doesn’t pay to rush as RVers. We learned that lesson early on when we first marred the same side of our rig on our very first venture out. It hit home harder after this. Regardless, we had a wonderful time with our kids and granddaughter. Bob was able to clean the mud streaks off the side of the trailer, making the damage less noticeable. He also banged out some dents and fixed the door frame so that we could open the door. We’ll get a new fender and fix the light. And we’ll take our time in the future — and not stay on dirt in Northern Arizona if any rain is in the forecast. You might also like Our top RV lessons in 5 years of RV travel.
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 For more than a year, we had succeeded in not acquiring any stowaways while boondocking. Then one night near Salt Lake City, Utah, while Bob was up late playing a computer game, he saw a little mouse run across our kitchen counter. Bob quickly got up to follow the rodent and observed it underneath our TV televator eating tortilla chips that had dropped there, out of reach. Not wanting to be pestered by the nuisance, or encourage it to invite friends, Bob moved things off the counter to where (hopefully) the mouse couldn’t get to them and set a trap. We were getting ready to leave the country for nearly two weeks and didn’t want to return to a mess of destruction. The next morning, we awoke to a dead fieldmouse. The greedy little thing had died trying to get to a big piece of cheese. Snake alert The next day, Bob returned from a laundromat trip and told me I needed to see the truck. “Oh no!” I thought. “What now?” Bob pointed to my sandals, wanting me to put them on to go look at the truck, but something caught my eye. “Why is there a snake in here?” I asked. Knowing that Bob is a prankster, I thought he had intentionally put the small tan snake there to trick me. He hadn’t. He grabbed a towel to try to capture the creature to throw outside, but it slithered into the mechanism that allows us to stow our RV stairs for travel and disappeared out of sight. We lifted the stairs into the trailer, hoping that would knock the snake loose. No such luck. So, we put the stairs back down, and Bob grabbed a flashlight. From my vantage point outside the rig, I could see a tiny part of the snake’s body, but there appeared to be no easy way to knock it loose. Bob got a brilliant idea to fetch a lighter. With it, he literally lit a fire right under the snake, and it eagerly left its perch. Bob was able to throw the snake out of the trailer, but it landed on our top step. That was still too close for comfort. Finally, it dropped from the stairs and slithered toward our tires. I didn’t want it anywhere near our living quarters. Bob handed me our fly swatter, and I used that to move the snake farther away from our home. Then Bob came out, scooped up the ready-to-strike (but not rattling) reptile, and flung it over the ridge next to our trailer. Free at last. Safety nets Despite those unpleasant encounters, we had a lovely time at our stop in Utah. Every morning and evening, paragliders and hang gliders graced us with alluring views as they flew into the wind over a ridge. We set up our chairs and watched in amazement while relishing the temperate air and the panorama of the Rocky Mountains and Utah Lake.  Fellow RVers Joe and Andrea joined us, and we all agreed we lead an extraordinary life full of incredible experiences, even if some are less desirable than others.
You might also like Close coon encounter in critter country.  En route from Eutaw, Alabama, to Nashville, we encountered the first Buc-ee’s of our 2025 travel season. Since we needed fuel and a potty break, we decided to stop. That turned out not to be such a good idea. Here’s why we should have avoided the Buc-ee’s stop. Darkening clouds We pulled off the freeway and onto the Buc-ee’s property in Athens, Alabama. Seeing the first set of fuel pumps open, we took advantage of it, dodging our plan to go to the less-popular end of the line. This would allow us an easy out when we were ready to leave. After about 10 minutes of quenching our thirsty Gulliver on our first Buc-ee’s visit with Tagalong, we walked to the store to use the restrooms. Thanks to Buc-ee’s’ abundance of facilities, neither of us had to wait. Impressively, we got in and out of the restrooms, grabbed some snacks, paid, and were out of the store in about seven minutes.  Dark, mean-looking clouds greeted us as we emerged. Not liking to drive our RV in rain, we knew we needed to hurry and get on the road. As we re-entered the freeway, the clouds burst. We had waited too long. Bob maneuvered our rig to the shoulder of the on-ramp so that we could determine a game plan. The weather radar showed brightly colored red, yellow, and green cells plaguing the area for up to five hours. We couldn’t park on the on-ramp that long, so we decided to move on. Weathering the storms The clouds grew darker, the rain came down faster and heavier, and visibility decreased greatly. We slowed to a seeming crawl, our wiper blades moving furiously to try to stay ahead of the deluge.  I kept checking the weather radar to glean our chances at escaping the worst of the storms on our way up Interstate 65. It looked like we might make it. But then it didn’t. We pulled off an exit and sat on the off-ramp shoulder this time while Bob revisited the radar. He seemed to think the worst of the weather might be behind us. So we pressed on.
Dark, dripping clouds gave way to lighter-colored, dry clouds. After a little while, the sun peeked out. It appeared we truly had made it past the worst and would steer clear of rain the rest of the way to Nashville. And we did. Learning lessons I should have examined the weather radar while Bob was fueling, as soon as I first noticed the dark clouds. I thought they wouldn’t affect us in the direction we were headed. I didn’t realize thunderstorm cells surrounded our route. If we hadn’t stopped or had left after discovering that, there’s a good chance we could have avoided the storms. When we reached our destination, we found a sopping door mat and carpeting inside our rig. I used a towel to absorb as much of the excess moisture as possible and put the mat outside to dry in the sun. We learned an important lesson about checking the weather radar anytime we see dark clouds before embarking on a drive, especially when towing. We also discovered it is possible to get in and out of Buc-ee’s quickly. And we found that sometimes it’s best to keep going to stay ahead of weather. You might also like Our top RV lessons in 5 years of RV travel.  A wonderful couple we met on our Mexican Riviera cruise in January invited us to park our rig on their property in Southeastern Oklahoma if we were passing through. When Norm and Susan extended that offer, we didn’t know how much the stay would be needed. A week and a half on bright green farmland surrounded by pine, oak, hickory, and maple trees provided a much-needed respite for us to grieve our son’s tragic death in quiet solitude. Refuge or rendezvous? One night early into our stay, I awoke at about 2:20 a.m. overheated. After lying in bed with my mind racing for about 10 minutes, I heard a light scratching at the fifth-wheel door. It didn’t sound like a knock. I knew we hadn’t parked close to any trees, so it couldn’t be a branch being blown in the wind. What was it? I wondered. We hadn’t seen any creatures but rabbits, squirrels, birds, cows, and horses. On heightened alert, I strained to hear any additional noise. Then I detected moving metal, as if someone or something tried to open the door latch. I breathed a small sigh of relief at the recognition that I had locked the door, but I awakened Bob to warn him about the would-be intruder. “Something’s trying to get in our trailer,” I said. “Where are we?” he asked, a common question given our full-time RV life. It’s often difficult to keep track of where we are and where we’ve been. “At Norm’s,” I replied. “Who’s Norm?” he asked. I reminded him, and we quieted to listen for more sounds. Silence. Bob crawled out of bed and tiptoed toward the door. He peeled up the window blind and peeked out, seeing nothing. Maybe the gentle movement of the trailer had scared away whatever it was. Emboldened by Bob’s assessment, I peered out the window myself, seeing very little but darkness. We returned to bed and tried to identify what could have attempted to enter. A bear? Do they have bears in this area? A person? We were surrounded by farmland with friendly neighbors toward the end of a dirt road. It was unlikely that a person had tried to wander in. I assured Bob I had indeed heard the door latch move. Convinced the invader had moved on, we drifted back to sleep. Critter calling card The next morning, I opened the shade covering the window that overlooks our door and saw no signs of attempted entry. When I went outside, however, I discovered mud all over the stair railing.  Then I noticed three fingerprints on the door and bare metal on the edge of the door latch. “I was right,” I told Bob. Something had indeed tried to get in. Norm saw the evidence and confirmed it had been a raccoon. I could only imagine the results if the door had not been locked and the critter had entered our rig. I’m glad that didn’t happen.  I left the prints on the door that night as a deterrent to other critters that might want to get in, and we had no disturbances. The next day, I washed away the marks. Thankfully, we had no encounters that night either — although we almost forgot to lock the door. I remembered an hour or so after we went to bed and quickly got up to secure the door.
Earlier the night of the coon encounter, Bob had made steak and gravy for dinner, an amazing-smelling Cajun staple. The raccoon must have followed its nose to our rig, wanting to feast on any leftovers. You might also like Unwanted RV guest.  We started our sixth year of full-time RV living in slow motion. We only moved 5 miles away for our first stop, and we didn’t leave that spot until 10 a.m. on our departure day. After emptying our wastewater tanks and stopping for coffee, we finally merged onto the highway at 11 a.m. for a potential five-plus-hour drive from Mesa, Arizona, to Page, Arizona. About an hour later, the congested cityscape gave way to expansive desert landscape, and we breathed sighs of relief. After six busy months in a metropolis, we were ready for a change of pace. The big truck that could Vast deserts turned into mountainous regions, and we enjoyed a leisurely drive. While making the last long ascent into Flagstaff, a ding sounded from our truck dashboard, signaling that the check engine light had come on. “Oh no!” we thought. We had just changed our truck’s turbo after having issues during our last travel season. “Was the root cause something else?” we wondered aloud. Slowing our pace, we kept going. The turbo continued to work all the way to Flagstaff. But while making a small climb just outside the city, and flooring the gas pedal, our speed dropped from 35 mph to 25 mph. We thought it best to find a place to stay in the area, where resources were available. Fortunately, Bob had already identified such a location as a backup plan in case we didn’t want to complete the drive to Page in one day. And that spot happened to be shortly after this hill-climbing challenge. We pulled off the main highway and turned off the truck. Bob rummaged through a bin in our basement to find his vehicle code checker to see why the truck’s check engine light had come on. The results indicated an airflow leak in the intake system. On the level We found a great spot to boondock off a fire road in the Coconino Forest, but Flagstaff is hilly. We couldn’t position our 42-foot fifth wheel to get level. Not knowing if we’d need to be in the area for a week or two to address the truck issue, we wanted to make sure we had a good setup. After two hours of trying multiple angles and parking spots, we finally got our lengthy rig level and set it up. Bob spent many hours researching the truck issue before we called it a night.  The temperature had been forecast to get down to 26 degrees, a drastic change from the 80-degree temps we had left in the Valley of the Sun. Upon waking, I crawled out of bed to turn on our propane heater. The digital thermometer inside the rig read 44 degrees. With the heat on, I clambered back into bed to snuggle under the covers for warmth. Further research indicated our truck would be OK. Our new high-performance turbo has the ability to send more air into the engine than our truck computer expects. When this happens, the computer thinks it’s an error and puts the truck into limp mode, which greatly decreases performance. Just to be sure, we wanted to drive Gulliver around, separated from the trailer. While running a few errands, the truck’s check engine light never came back on. The road less traveled Although we would have been content in Flagstaff, the weather forecast called for snow a few days later. We wanted to avoid that if possible. After a leisurely breakfast that included huevos rancheros and an egg burrito at a homey cafe, we returned to our rig to pack it up for another move. At 1:30 p.m., we hit the road and headed north. Instead of going to Page, we decided to camp on Bureau of Land Management land near Lees Ferry, southwest of Page en route to the north rim of the Grand Canyon, which hadn’t yet opened for the season. Lees Ferry, part of Glen Canyon National Park, is the only place within Glen Canyon where you can drive to the Colorado River, according to the National Park Service.  After setting up our rig for optimal views of the towering red cliffs that line Marble Canyon, we took advantage of our proximity to Lees Ferry to admire God’s beautiful creation there. Of course, we had to dip our hands in the river’s water. The magnificent panorama that comprised our front and back yards for the week cost us the price of relentless wind for a day and a half and a blanket of fine dust on every surface in our trailer. But it was all worth it for the amazing scenery, the peace and quiet, and the slow pace of living.
You might also like Exploring Valley of Fire State Park in Nevada.  The day before our scheduled departure from our winter RV location, we still hadn’t put the fifth-wheel hitch in the bed of the truck or topped off our propane tanks. Nor had we done any packing to speak of — although we had fixed some upholstery issues, defrosted our freezer, cleaned our ceiling fan, and lightened our load by getting rid of some rarely used items. We didn’t feel ready to travel. But the mobile home/RV park we were at had a strict 179-day maximum RV stay. This led to a very unordinary RV travel day. Preparing to hit the road Due to local responsibilities we wanted to complete, including helping our son finish a drywall project and tying off loose ends at the Commemorative Air Force, we decided to stay close. With high temperatures in the forecast, we knew we’d need an electric hookup, but all of the campgrounds in the area were booked, as it was still prime snowbird season. Thankfully, our friends Peter and Janice graciously offered to let us moochdock on their property, 5 miles away — our shortest point-to-point distance ever. The morning of our departure, Bob busied himself with inflating the six tires on Gulliver and the four on Tagalong while I worked on preparing the inside of the trailer for travel. That meant clearing areas to allow the slideouts to come into the rig and securing any loose items for the impending earthquake that would rattle all of our belongings.  I was most excited about the prospect of seeing our table again. It had become a dumping ground for things that needed our attention or we didn’t know what to do with. Normally, I would have started packing the night before to make for a smooth and relatively quick trailer closing so that we could connect it to the truck and get on the road. Our brief travel distance eased our pressure, giving us time to make sure we did everything properly — an important aspect after getting out of the habit. Four hours later, after taking care of a number of other tasks, including resealing the rig’s underbelly, we dusted off our checklists to ensure we wouldn’t forget any steps when closing Tagalong’s slideouts and connecting the truck to the trailer.  Finding a way in Getting situated at Peter and Janice’s required backing in a long distance. But first, we had to turn around to get into position to go in reverse. We had two options:
We attempted the first option, which meant backing down a hill to turn the trailer around. It started off well. Then CLUNK! Bob thought he hit a gate. I assured him he wasn’t close to the gate, and we wrote off the sound as “normal” truck and trailer noises while moving. We were wrong and learned a very important lesson: If the truck and trailer aren’t mostly level, we shouldn’t attempt a 90-degree turn. Trying to make that maneuver on an incline caused the fifth-wheel pin box to hit the edge of the truck bed, bending the frame that holds our tonneau cover. Oops!  On to the second option. Bob backed up the trailer farther to get into position to drive around the neighbor’s U-shaped drive. As he pulled onto the neighbor’s property, he caught the flank of the trailer on a rebar post, ripping the side camera off Tagalong. We didn’t use the side cameras much anyway, so we didn’t think it a big deal.  If at first you don’t succeed After backing up again and re-entering the property, we had no issues. Bob drove the trailer around the drive and got it into position for the lengthy backup procedure, which involved avoiding large rocks, making a turn, and staying out of a pit. It proved a great way to get re-initiated to trailering for our travel season. The process went slow but successfully. Bob avoided all the obstacles and parked the trailer. We disconnected and leveled it and started setting up. That’s when we discovered that our electric cord wasn’t long enough to reach the receptacle — even with an additional 30-foot extension cord. We needed another 3 to 4 feet. We reconnected the truck to the trailer, and Bob scooched Tagalong’s tail closer to the outlet. The electric cord reached, and we were able to disconnect the truck and trailer and set up our home. In our debrief afterward, we realized we still need to work on our communication. Bob thought I was pointing at a bush when I tried to stop him from hitting the rebar. Instead of yelling “Stop!” through the walkie-talkie, my words could have been clearer, such as, “You’re x inches from hitting rebar on the driver side of the trailer.” We did both stay calm through it all, so that’s improvement. Although we didn’t travel far, we appreciated the change of scenery — beautiful mountain views and desert landscape — as well as the quietness of being farther from the city. And the issues we encountered were easy fixes that Bob already repaired. You might also like Our top RV lessons in 5 years of RV travel.  Whether you live in a sticks-and-bricks house, an RV, a mud hut, or something else, inevitably things break or need attention over time. As full-time RVers, our livelihood is literally riding on the structure and integrity of our fifth-wheel home. That means we have to take RV repairs and maintenance extremely seriously. Replacing a Ram 3500 turbo After Gulliver, our Dodge Ram 3500 dually, experienced difficulties climbing in the Black Hills of South Dakota — while towing our RV — we rerouted our planned course to Arizona for the winter to avoid mountainous areas. But we knew we had to address the issue before hitting the road again in the spring. The truck even had trouble accelerating to get onto a freeway, sans Tagalong. Wanting time to work out any kinks before committing to our travel season, we decided to change the turbo in December. Since Bob is handy, he chose to do the work himself. Taking the truck to a dealer to replace the turbo posed a large expense and threatened to affect the performance of our diesel exhaust fluid since a recall was due. Bob ordered the necessary parts for the repair, to the tune of nearly $3,500. Then he got busy watching YouTube videos to see exactly how to tackle the job. It looked to be a full-day commitment of six to eight hours — if everything went according to plan. (How often does that happen?) Wanting a second opinion, Bob reached out to Roy, our diesel mechanic friend. Roy confirmed the two of them could complete the job successfully, but he told Bob it would likely take three days. Not willing to risk that much time investment, Bob searched for a diesel expert in the Mesa, Arizona, area and found Copperhead Diesel Performance in Chandler. Chatting with an employee over the phone gave Bob great confidence that the organization could better handle the job, so he made an appointment to drop off Gulliver, along with the purchased parts.  The techs at the shop were unable to replicate the error we had encountered, so they took us at our word that the turbo was the issue. In addition to replacing it and the air filter, the fix involved changing the oil and coolant, since both of those had to be drained. Three days bled into five business days before the truck was ready to be picked up — for another $3,100. Cha-ching! The costly investment was worth it for the assurance it gave us that Gulliver will have no trouble towing Tagalong on our next travel season and beyond. Patching a tire After setting up the RV for the winter, I went to cover the fifth-wheel tires to protect them from the harsh Arizona sun. Something shiny in one of the tires caught my eye. Closer inspection revealed it to be a screw. Had we picked it up on the side of the freeway after our fire mishap?  Since we were situated for a long-term stay and the tire wasn’t losing any air, it appeared to be a non-issue. We certainly didn’t want to close the trailer and connect it to the truck to take it to a tire shop. Nor did we want to jack up the rig to put on the spare tire and take the problem tire to be fixed. Bob remembered that the G-rated tires we had purchased were designed to be regrooved after being worn down. In theory, that meant they had plenty of tread depth to absorb a screw or nail without puncturing the tire itself. With this in mind, Bob took a pair of needle-nose pliers to test his suspicion that the screw was bent over. He succeeded in prying the screw up and confirmed his hypothesis. The screw didn’t go very deep into the tire. After removing the screw completely, he filled the hole with tire repair glue* (paid link) to seal it from dirt and debris. And voila! No tire issue and no trip to a tire shop. Letting off steam As the Arizona temperatures started to warm, we took advantage of the moderate weather and opened our RV windows to let in some fresh air. We also opened our roof vent in the main living area, which operates electronically.  Normally when activating the switch, the vent would reach a certain point and stop. Instead, the motor continued whirring. We couldn’t let that go on, so we closed the vent. Thankfully, it had no trouble finding the closing stop point.
A day or so later, I ascended the fifth-wheel ladder to investigate the unit while Bob opened the vent. The whirring continued once again, and I couldn’t identify anything clearly wrong. Bob put his excellent research skills to use and discovered that a piece on these units was prone to failure after about five years. It looked like that’s what had happened to ours, so he ordered a replacement part. When the part arrived, Bob took his turn climbing the ladder to address the unit while I activated the switch. Replacing the part didn’t immediately fix the issue. He had to retrain the vent where to stop. This took a lot of opening and closing — and a small crack — before getting it right. But we succeeded and are happy to have a working roof vent once again. You might also like Hole in the roof. * As Amazon associates, we earn from qualifying purchases.  Setting out on an RV journey can provide many learning opportunities. When you’re transitioning from sticks and bricks to living full time in an RV, the lessons can be that much more important. We’ve grown a lot since embracing this RV lifestyle five years ago. Here are our top RV lessons. 1. Communication is paramount Communication affects every single aspect of RV living. If we’re not communicating well, we’re not living well. It’s important that we share our thoughts and expectations about travel days, setups, plans, etc. Otherwise, it’s easy to assume that what’s in my head is also in Bob’s head and vice versa — which is hardly ever the truth. We had to come up with recognizable terms when parking our 42-foot fifth wheel. For example, instead of saying “straighten out” to mean five different things, like on our very first trip, I’ve learned to give more helpful advice, such as “get your truck in front of your trailer.” That may sound ridiculous because, of course, the truck is in front of the trailer when we’re towing. But we’ve come to understand that to mean the truck needs to be aligned with the trailer. 2. Leveling doesn’t have to be complicated  We’ve had more issues with leveling our rig than we ever thought we would, especially considering it has a Lippert auto-leveling system. After much trial and error throughout our first couple of years on the road, we gleaned a few tips and tricks that have helped us streamline the leveling process. We don’t push the auto-level button until our unit is above level. We determine that status using a LevelMatePRO wireless RV leveling device (paid link) we added to the rig. We also stack rubber and Camco leveling blocks (paid link) under our six stabilizer jacks before pushing the auto-level button to help prevent stroke errors. In addition, Bob learned how to reset the Lippert system using the digital display screen inside the RV. In conjunction with the LevelMatePRO unit, he retrains the Lippert system to what level is when the unit unexpectedly loses its memory. 3. Adaptability is the name of the game Nothing is set in stone when you live in a vehicle. It moves. The things inside it move. Sometimes its parts fail. Tires go flat. Weather shifts. Plans change. You have to be able to roll with the punches and adapt. Having been a perfectionist most of my life, it’s taken me many years to get to the point where I can go with the flow — and even enjoy doing so. I attribute much of my success in this area to my husband, who has helped round my edges and make me a better person. If it weren’t for his efforts, I might not be able to survive and thrive in the RV lifestyle, something I really enjoy. 4. Preventive maintenance is beneficial  Benjamin Franklin is credited with saying, “An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.” Nearly 300 years later, that adage couldn’t be more apt for RV life. Making a point to keep up with vehicle maintenance — on both our truck and trailer — can go a long way toward preventing issues literally down the road. Keeping tabs on tire pressure, performing oil and transmission fluid changes, greasing joints, and doing similar tasks are well worth the effort and the time they take. We can’t help but wonder if preventive maintenance could have avoided our freeway mishap at the end of our last travel season. 5. A TPMS is invaluable  With 10 tires between our truck and fifth wheel, we’ve had our share of tire issues. In fact, in one year, we experienced four flat tires — all on the RV. Thankfully, they didn’t all happen at the same time. Before we first set out on the road, we invested in an EEZTire tire pressure monitoring system (TPMS; paid link) and are super grateful we did. As soon as a tire starts losing pressure, we get alerted. On more than one occasion after safely pulling to the side of the road, we’ve gotten out of the truck and heard air rushing out of the faulty tire. Thanks to early notification, the TPMS has saved our rig from damage. 6. Pleather doesn’t last  Our 2018 Jayco Pinnacle came with a three-person couch and a reclining loveseat. This furniture is wonderful for hosting family and friends who want to visit — or at least it was. Because the pieces are finished with pleather, or plastic leather, they started to peel after five years of use, making them quite unattractive.
We found a temporary fix with a self-adhesive leather repair kit (paid link). That lasted for a year. It’s still holding at the time of this writing, but it’s starting to detach at the edges. On top of that, our furniture began peeling in other areas. We’ll probably bandage it with the temporary fix as well, but eventually we’ll need to replace our furniture with fabric pieces. You might also like Our biggest RV mistakes. * As Amazon associates, we earn from qualifying purchases.  While camping at my brother’s farm in the middle of Michigan, we noticed some dark brown spots on the exterior of our fifth wheel that we hadn’t seen before. I was able to rub some off, so we didn’t think much about them. But we were curious as to their origin. We hadn’t painted or diffused anything nearby. Had my brother sprayed some pesticide or mosquito repellant? A quick browser search indicated we were dealing with fly defecation. Situated across the street from a cow farm, we had observed a number of flies in the area, so we quickly dismissed the dots as that. Shooting Spores Fast-forward two months. After setting up our rig for a long-term winter stay in the Southwest, we paid someone to power-wash it. He finished cleaning the coach’s exterior, but the spots remained. It appeared we had wasted $250. Further research revealed we were actually facing a case of artillery fungus, which is commonly found on rotting wood in moist environments. Having been established in 1893, the Michigan farm had its fair share of decaying wood piles, especially after a heavy windstorm wreaked havoc on the property earlier in the year. The name of the fungus is derived from its ability to release, or shoot, sticky spores into the air that attach to things such as vehicles up to 10 feet away. Those spores, if left untreated, can become permanent fixtures. Not wanting Tagalong to be speckled with brown spots for the rest of his life, we decided we’d better do something about them. But what? They clearly didn’t come off with power washing, which included soap and water. We needed a stronger substance. Finding a Heavy-Duty Solution Having spent a decade working on WWII airplanes, Bob is familiar with a variety of heavy-duty cleansers. His favorite is called Awesome, an all-purpose cleaner we’ve only been able to find at Dollar Tree. Evidently, it’s also available on Amazon (paid link). Knowing Awesome did a good job of removing grease and grime from airplane exteriors, Bob decided to try it on the RV spots. Simple rubbing of the cleanser didn’t immediately erase them. So, he invested in a polisher and put that to work with the Awesome. That extra power did the trick, allowing Bob to scrub the dots away. The only problem with this heavy-duty cleaner is that it can strip away wax and protective coatings. And that’s exactly what it did to our rig. In addition to removing the brown spots from Tagalong, we effectively rubbed away any protectant, a must-have in the harsh Arizona sun. Investing Elbow Grease and Time That meant we had twice the job we thought we did. With rain in the forecast, we spent our free time dousing, rubbing, and scrubbing Tagalong’s exterior to clean all the spots and Awesome off and reseal it with Turtle Wax ceramic spray coating (paid link). On a 42-foot trailer that stands more than 13 feet tall, that’s no easy feat. It involved a lot of early mornings to beat the heat and a lot of ascending and descending our telescoping ladder, moving it, and repeating the process — for the better part of a week.  Afterward, we discovered a few spores we missed. Those will have to linger — and maybe even become permanent. But we’re confident our rig is clean and protected. And maybe next year, we’ll do the full job ourselves and not waste money on a middleman.
You might also like Storm-Ready: Battening Down the RV Hatches. As Amazon associates, we may earn from qualifying purchases.  Following a successful climb to a remote spot in the Black Hills of South Dakota, the turbo on our truck continued to give us problems. It became obvious that our desire to stay in higher elevations and cooler temperatures as we worked our way southwest would be risky. Not feeling confident our truck could get Tagalong up mountainous roads, we rerouted our course to stay on interstates in lower elevations. That took us to Albuquerque, where high temperatures were in the 80s in mid-September, definitely tolerable. While there, however, the air conditioner (A/C) in our main living area started making strange vibrating noises that rattled the whole rig. The unit continued to work, so we didn’t think much of it. To give it a break, we shut it off in the evenings and relied on the bedroom A/C or opened windows to keep cool. We normally wouldn’t have ventured into the Southwest until October, but it appeared our first grandchild wasn’t going to wait until her Oct. 10 due date to make her entrance into the world. For that reason, we thought it best to keep making progress toward Arizona to help ensure we didn’t miss the special arrival. Warming Up That decision took us to a remote campground in the desert near Deming, New Mexico, where high temperatures hovered around 90 degrees, giving us a very warm welcome to the Southwest.  Despite running both A/Cs, we didn’t feel cool air in our fifth wheel. With sweat beading on his forehead, Bob turned off the main A/C and restarted it. It blew cold air for about 5 minutes, but that was it. With Arizona — and 100-degree temperatures — in our near future, we needed working A/C. After doing some research, Bob climbed onto the roof and took our main A/C apart to troubleshoot. He checked all the simple-solution items. None of those repaired the problem. It didn’t appear the issue would be an easy fix. Meanwhile, we reverted to leaving the windows open and toughing it out, running fans to circulate the warm air and opening our awnings to minimize sun hitting the windows and heating the rig. On hot afternoons, we’d drive a half mile to Dairy Queen for a cool, refreshing treat. But this stop gap could only last so long. It became clear we needed to replace the A/C. Hitting Snags Bob ordered a new Coleman Mach unit from Camping World in Mesa, Arizona, and made arrangements for us to do the work ourselves at an organization we’re affiliated with to save on labor costs. This would also give us access to tools and equipment to help us get the old unit off the roof and the new one on. Our trip to Arizona went smoothly — until Tagalong sent smoke signals on the freeway about an hour from our destination. That incident and the ensuing damage derailed us for five days. When we finally picked up our fifth wheel from Cliff’s Welding, with practically a completely new underside, we drove straight to the location where we had permission to change out the A/C unit so we could get to work. We wanted to have a working A/C before parking and setting up for a monthslong stay. Bob opened the box the new A/C came in and discovered it was not the low-profile one we thought we had ordered. The closest Camping World that had the size we needed in stock was an hour away. Bob loaded the unit into Gulliver and headed out to trade it for the right one. Replacing the A/C After returning more than two hours later, Bob ascended the ladder to our RV roof to disassemble the existing A/C so he could remove it. He took off the shroud and traced around the edge of the unit so we could easily line up the new one in the right place. Then he removed four lag bolts and unplugged the wire harness, setting the factory-installed unit free. Years of dirt had accumulated in the thin space under the A/C. Bob took time to clean the area before installing the new one. We hoisted the new unit onto a scissor lift, only to discover the lift didn’t have enough juice to do the job. It needed to be charged.  Our friend Tim hopped on a forklift and raised the forks up to the roof height of our RV. Bob and I loaded the old unit onto the forks, and Tim lowered it to the ground. Then he reversed the operation and lifted the new unit to our roof.  Bob and I unloaded it and positioned it in place. Reinserting the four lag bolts into the original holes on the roof proved challenging. After struggling for a bit, Bob got three of them to line up correctly. Aligning the fourth required drilling a new hole to ensure the unit would be secure when traveling 70 mph down the freeway.  After straightening the unit’s fins and plugging in the wire harness, Bob had me turn on the A/C from inside the trailer to see that it operated properly. With that confirmation, he installed the cover, cleaned up, and descended the ladder. We relocated, got both A/C’s cranking, and completed our setup in the nick of time. Our granddaughter, Chloe Elizabeth, entered the world about 33 hours later. We couldn’t be happier. You might also like Removing an RV Antenna.  |
AuthorThis is the travel blog of full-time RVers Bob and Lana Gates and our truck, Gulliver, and fifth wheel, Tagalong. Categories
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