Part two of the 2007 RV Challenge Tadventure© relates the mundane but necessary tasks undertaken by your highly skilled author and his brother-in-law as we worked diligently to overcome what my brother considered to be a proper maintenance plan. Others may disagree but the surprise appearance by a well-known celebrity made this episode a real thrill.
Narrowly escaping embarrassment (and incarceration) after dumping raw sewage in the parking area of my brother’s RV storage facility, we moved the “rig” to the friendlier confines of property owned by my brother and his wife (she’ll be referred to as “Rhonda” to mask her real identity); our intention was to briefly review the operational characteristics of the vehicle, ensure that everything worked, and to prepare for the journey ahead.
Led by my brother (“Tom”), my brother-in-law (“Phil”) and I nipped closely at his heels as he went over the various systems that made a Class A Recreational Vehicle a thing of wonder and comfort. “Phil,” no slouch when it comes to “stuff” and I, someone who lives on a boat and has a modicum of familiarity with plumbing, electrical systems, and diesel engines, soon discerned a “pattern” to my brother’s responses to each of our inquiries. The conversations usually went something like this:
Me: “How many amp hours do you have in the house bank?”
“Tom”: “I just spent $1,100 for new batteries.”
Me: “Yes, I got that. But how big are they?”
“Tom”: “Hell, I don’t know. Call my RV guy, Ron.”
“Phil”: “This water system has a setting to allow you to flush the sewage tank. Have you ever done that?”
“Tom”: “Ron said to dump a 20 lb. bag of ice in the toilet before you leave. That will break up anything inside the tank.”
“Phil”: “Yes, but there’s a flush attachment right here. Couldn’t you just connect the hose here and flush the tank?”
“Tom”: “Hell, I don’t know. Call my RV guy, Ron.”
Me: “’Phil’ says the engine oil is black and hasn’t been changed. Did Ron say he changed the oil?”
“Tom”: “He said I didn’t need to change it.”
Me: “This has been stored for three years without an oil change? You know there are acids and bad things that form in oil and will eat your engine?”
“Tom”: “He said it would be fine until you get to Florida.”
Me: “Changing oil is pretty important. You sure you don’t want to change it before I leave?”
“Tom”: “Hell, I don’t know. Call my RV guy, Ron.”
“Phil”: “These tires don’t look too good. Has this been sitting in storage for three years without moving?”
“Tom”: “The tires are fine.”
“Phil”: “They might be cracked or damaged.”
“Tom”: “Hell, I don’t know. Call my RV guy, Ron.”
During the course of each give and take, “Phil” and I confirmed our suspicions in re the maintenance of the RV that we had surmised initially as we watched effluent spill upon my brother and his shoes back at the RV storage locale; my brother’s idea of “maintenance” was to call Ron and then to assume everything was OK. “Phil” and I formed immediately a plan to go over each and every system with a fine toothed comb. “Phil” started with the water system while I endeavored to make sure the satellite TV system was in fine form.
The water system was comprised of an elaborate and confusing series of valves, diagrams, and connections, none of which made any sense. The three of us gathered around and tried to figure out how to: fill the water tank, connect “city” water to the system (when parked, you can hook up a hose and you don’t have to use a water pump; the pressure is supplied just like in your house), and to flush the gray and black water tanks (deemed necessary, post-poo). I thought, “Monkeys, footballs.”
The upshot of the water system maintenance was that “Phil” finally figured it out and, in the process, discovered a cracked pipe connection and a broken faucet assembly (both, it seemed, deemed inoperable due to improper winterization; they had frozen during one of the frigid, Colorado winters, the RV being stored in an unheated garage). My brother, throughout the assessment phase continued to embrace and espouse the wonders of Ron, RV guru and maintenance maven. “Phil” and I harbored a different opinion.
Me: “You think we can give Ron a call and have him stop by?”
“Tom”: “Sure. But we checked out all these systems and everything worked fine a week ago.”
Me: “What’s his number?”
[The 2007 RV Challenge had been proposed nearly a year before, its purpose to attend the Virginia Tech/LSU football game in Baton Rouge, LA. Finally convincing my brother that it would be easier to sell/trade his RV in Florida rather that Colorado, I explained the importance of having the rig fully checked before my arrival; he claimed that had been accomplished. As you have seen, astute reader, the results were varied.]
I called Ron.
Me: “We’re having some difficulty with the water system. We found one cracked connection and a broken faucet. Do you know where we can find a replacement?”
Ron: “Oh, we never checked that.”
I went on.
Me: “The engine oil looks really black. Did you guys change that?”
Ron: “I told your brother to have the oil changed.”
Something was amiss in the translation between Ron and “Tom.”
Leaving “Phil” to solve the intricacies of the fresh, not so fresh, and even less fresh than that water system, I focused my attention on the really important things like the satellite TV.
The RV is equipped with a fancy-pants, auto-deploying, auto-locating satellite dish some 14 feet up on top of the bus. Depressing a single button (“View”) within the entertainment center, I was welcomed by, well, nothing. The dish did not deploy, ESPN did not display, hopes were dashed. Further investigation revealed that the satellite receiver box (“Sony”) was dead (no power). [Later, I reported my findings to “Phil” and stepped outside to speak with my brother. Returning just moments later, I discovered “Phil” with the receiver box on his lap, poking screwdrivers around in the “guts” of the internal circuit board. “The power supply has failed,” he said. “Phil” fixes radars and electronics on US Navy ships…he does not accept “It won’t power on” as a viable reason for inoperability; “Phil” wants to know WHY something is broken. “Phil” is a very handy fellow as you’ll soon see.]
I put “new satellite receiver box” on my shopping list and moved on to check out the VCR and the myriad, Medusa-like cables running to and fro within the entertainment center confines. Quickly overwhelmed by the lack of cable labels, I disconnected the VCR, pulled its power cord through a tiny bulkhead aperture, and tossed the entire mess in a nearby garbage receptacle.
I put “new DVD player” on my shopping list and moved on to check out the CD player.
The CD player, a manly 10-disc unit, worked as advertised. I installed my XM radio and cranked up “Freebird” over the rig’s sound system (Bose speakers everywhere; truly a nice touch).
[By the way, during all this activity on the “unit,” my lovely and delightful sister (nom-de-plume: “Malia”) was flitting about Colorado Springs, visiting various and sundry boutiques offering sundries and various things that I had placed on a shopping list for her to procure. We had to find dishes, eating implements, paper towels, cleaning fluids, and wipey-dipes; all the stuff that you need to survive on a three week trip. She was aces and harbored no ill-will (or restraint) as she spent my money.]
In the meantime, “Phil” had completed his work on the water system (including a dash downtown, there to meet Ron who, unfortunately, could not match the faucet with a new, undamaged replacement; no matter, “Phil” affected a repair with some plumbing tape and “goop” of unknown origin) and turned his attention to the satellite TV auto-dish-deployment system, a new receiver by that time having been purchased by me.
We hooked up the new receiver and energized the dish deployment switch. It rose majestically towards the heavens and began to pirouette about its axis in search of an elusive signal from one of DirecTV’s geo-synchronized satellites. With each movement, my brother said, “There, that’s exactly how it should work. It’s about to lock on” to be followed instanter by another spin indicating his assessment was pure folly. Each time it slowed to sniff a bit, he uttered the same upbeat (and completely inaccurate) prognostication. After about an hour of this, “Phil” decided some more drastic action was required and he repaired to the rig roof to repair the device. Joining him there, I scratched myself rudely and said, “So?” as I reached down and pulled the satellite dish into an upright position. “Phil” said, “Uh. You probably shouldn’t have done that.”
It seemed the motor that moved the dish was still engaged and, after “Phil” removed the many cover plates, we discovered that I had managed to destroy the belt that connected the motor to the dish (a little geared belt, rubber, about 7” in diameter). “Shit,” I mumbled. “Phil” said, “I’ll be right back,” and headed into my brother’s office building. Returning two minutes later he said, “Give me the car keys. I’ll be right back.”
Twenty minutes later “Phil” drove up, a replacement belt in hand. [Did I mention that the satellite system was about 8 years old, the manufacturer had gone out of business two years after that, and that “Phil” had made only two phone calls before leaving?] The belt fit perfectly and we once again hit the “View” button. The dish once again began to move, only this time, it did not stop; it just kept going until it was pointing almost straight up, a place I knew that no self-respecting geo-synchronous satellite would be caught other than dead. “Shit,” I mumbled as “Phil” scampered up on top of the RV.
Removing another cover plate, “Phil” provided the unwelcome news – it seems we (read: I) had managed to crush a tiny electrical switch that served, ostensibly, to inform the deployment system’s brain when the dish was in a certain position. “Shit,” I mumbled. “Radio Shack,” said “Phil.”
[This next part is a bit tough to believe but I SWEAR it is ALL true!]
We drove to Radio Shack, “Phil” strode confidently inside and made his way to a wall of cabinets, stacked one on top of another, their number exceeding forty. Without hesitation, he pulled open a drawer revealing about twenty more small compartments filled with bits and pieces of esoteric electrical “things,” plunged his hand into one, and extracted a tiny device exclaiming as he did so, “This should work.” Frankly, I was skeptical. Then again, as I had presented each new challenge to “Phil” during our maintenance activities, he had not yet failed. Given a screwdriver, a rubber band, and a mango, it seemed “Phil” could fix anything; he was MacGyver personified. “Grab a soldering iron and let’s go,” he said. “Shit,” I exclaimed in wonder.
Well, he was right. We returned to the RV and after what seemed no more than two minutes, he had soldered something (what, I still do not know) and installed it on something (don’t ask me what), and said, “Hit ‘View’.” Son of a bitch if it didn’t work; the dish went up, the satellite was located, and ESPN appeared on the TV screen. “Shit,” I murmured in awe (and made a mental note to include this as part of your story).
Disaster narrowly averted (three weeks without satellite TV), I hooked up the DVD player to test it (basically, I plugged in the power cord and put batteries in the remote, leaving the wiring to “Phil”). As with all “Phil” things, it worked perfectly. We opened a couple beers and watched some CNN as I began to rue my decision to take “Malia” on the initial stages of the journey rather than “Phil,” due to head back to Virginia the next day. Naturally, I didn’t share this sentiment with her.
My brother joined us, the fridge having been filled with beer, and we discussed the delicate matter of driving lessons, fuel, and propane. Plans were laid to visit a nearby truck stop two days later.
Stay Tuned.
