I said someday
I'm putting off talking about the days in Bowling Green, not because it was the worst, but because it was the best and worst. I met the nicest people, under some wild circumstances. And I ran into someone I've known. For a day or two. He's peaceful waters. It's remarkable when you meet someone who is a deep, deep river. Maybe there's some turbulance, down deep, I'd think there is.
I went towards Mammoth Cave National Park, and found myself at Lake Nolin. Needing a spot to camp the night, I walked into a restaurant/gas station. Everyone who walks in says, "Hi Nadine!" and everyone who walks out says, "Bye, Nadine!" So I ordered a couple of sandwiches and asked Nadine if there was a place around there. "It's your lucky day. I've been trying to give my daughter's spot away for a week; she can't go now." I offered to pay her for the spot, but she said no. I bought some extra stuff, a bag of dried bananas, a few glass bottle pops to up my tab. "Bye, Nadine, thank you soooo much."
That afternoon I booked a cave tour for early the next morning. So the dogs could hopefully hang out in the camper before it got too hot. I did the gothic tour, though Mammoth, appropriately named, has many tours. It's over 400 miles of caves and they're still digging, still finding more of it. It's incredible.
Leaving Mammoth, heading towards Paducah, to see Land Between the Lakes and meet up with peaceful waters, but just outside Bowling Green, the camper started smelling like oil and making a clicking noise. I slammed off the highway to Cabela's parking lot. They'll let you stay overnight if you need to. That was Mother's Day and a Sunday. I knew I didn't have a chance of finding anyone to work on it that day, so found a KOA not too far and decided to hedge my bets about making it. And I did make it--- to the entrance. I had to pause to make a left on a busy two lane highway, and all that waiting overheated Jesse. A cloud of smoke, some black, some white and she just quit on me. An officer pulled up almost right away, and a man dumping his sewer ran out, telling me he could get a wrecker to get me into the parking lot. It sat there, and sat there. The officer got aggro, directing traffic around it, when an off duty fireman stopped, walked towards me and said, "I see the problem; you're letting the dog drive!" I turned and Dude was propped up in the driver's seat, something she does everytime I get out, tongue hanging out, obviously panting. I said, "Yeah, she's a shitty driver!" and he laughed. State P wasn't amused: "I'm authorized to get this out of the highway by any means necessary! I'm calling a tow truck." I'm not sure where all these tow trucks are, because I couldn't find one a few days later; everyone I called said no to a motorhome.
I jumped back in fueled by this thought that it only had to make it 30 feet or so, so I jacked it way up, my foot down on the pedal, after two false starts, it finally turned over and I waved wildly at the fireman. If I were a person into calendar-types, I'd have had my tongue out like the dog.
Got up to the KOA building and everyone in the park turned to look. They have NICE campers, the 200,000 variety fifth wheel with six tv's and probably a masseuse. A lot of people seem to travel this way. Some even pull a second camper for cars and toys behind a huge motorhome. I don't know how they do it; driving a 27 footer feels often inconvenient and hard to park. But to each his own.
I posted to facebook about looking for a mechanic, and this is where a woman I've never met YET AGAIN came to my aid. She'd let me stay at her house when a bunch of us from the fan club went to see Todd Snider play the Ryman in Nashville. She'd planned on attending, but her father had fallen sick, so she just let us stay, a bunch of weirdos she'd never met, in her beautiful Nashville home. I got a message from her, she knew someone in a small town nearby, and an hour later, Chuck showed up. He looked all through the camper, at fuses and trying to find leaks. We put five gallons of water in the radiator before it was finally full. And the fans that blew onto the engine, those weren't coming on. I called this guy, who said, "No, I don't do chassis work," and that guy, and another guy, and another. They refer me to each other, and I wonder if it's a joke. I wonder why they don't know who will work on a motorhome. I wonder if it's my voice; I wonder if it's because I'm a woman. Lots of women are huge pains in the ass. I bet, probably if I'd had a man make that call I'd have had better luck. A young man had helped me the day before, a 19 year old who worked and lived at the KOA. We looked at the cloud of smoke, the fans, the radiator... and we talked about meditating and chakras.
I had a realization that I didn't want to keep doing this this way. I needed a truck and a camper. I wanted to pull up to my campsite, unhook the cumbersome thing and drive around in a modern vehicle. I'd lost faith in motorhomes. "It's always something with those," everyone says.
the old one:
the new one:
So Chuck took me to two camper dealers, both said they'd take mine, sight unseen. I told them what was wrong with it (everything) and they still said they'd take it. The second place had exactly the right thing, a year old, short enough to be pulled by a half ton and long enough to not have to crap in your kitchen. It was an instant YES for me, so we played the little game where I try not to seem desperate and I left there knowing tomorrow I'd have a camper. A much nicer one than I'd anticipated being able to get on my budget.
The next day was truck shopping day, and it did not go well. Just bad, bad, bad. I was completely defeated, then got a message from Chuck-- you need anything else, let me know. I thought to myself that I wouldn't ask him; he'd already done SO MUCH for a complete stranger, but in the morning all I could think was, I have to call him. So I did. Two hours later, I'd found the truck I wanted, basically exactly the same truck from the dealership across the street, same year, same mileage, but 7 THOUSAND DOLLARS less. Because men get discounts. He also knew some people there, and that didn't hurt either. They rolled out the red carpet for us, including new tires, rotors, brakes. I couldn't believe it. In a way, I was angry I'd been treated so poorly before-- is it me? the way I dress? The way I've given up on make up? That I pulled in in a 87 Winnebago and they just thought I was a dumbass wasting their time? Is it that I'm a woman? Who knows. Who cares now, I have a TRUCK AND A CAMPER and both of them are way neater than I thought they'd be. I just want to give myself many, many high fives.
I went towards Mammoth Cave National Park, and found myself at Lake Nolin. Needing a spot to camp the night, I walked into a restaurant/gas station. Everyone who walks in says, "Hi Nadine!" and everyone who walks out says, "Bye, Nadine!" So I ordered a couple of sandwiches and asked Nadine if there was a place around there. "It's your lucky day. I've been trying to give my daughter's spot away for a week; she can't go now." I offered to pay her for the spot, but she said no. I bought some extra stuff, a bag of dried bananas, a few glass bottle pops to up my tab. "Bye, Nadine, thank you soooo much."
That afternoon I booked a cave tour for early the next morning. So the dogs could hopefully hang out in the camper before it got too hot. I did the gothic tour, though Mammoth, appropriately named, has many tours. It's over 400 miles of caves and they're still digging, still finding more of it. It's incredible.
Leaving Mammoth, heading towards Paducah, to see Land Between the Lakes and meet up with peaceful waters, but just outside Bowling Green, the camper started smelling like oil and making a clicking noise. I slammed off the highway to Cabela's parking lot. They'll let you stay overnight if you need to. That was Mother's Day and a Sunday. I knew I didn't have a chance of finding anyone to work on it that day, so found a KOA not too far and decided to hedge my bets about making it. And I did make it--- to the entrance. I had to pause to make a left on a busy two lane highway, and all that waiting overheated Jesse. A cloud of smoke, some black, some white and she just quit on me. An officer pulled up almost right away, and a man dumping his sewer ran out, telling me he could get a wrecker to get me into the parking lot. It sat there, and sat there. The officer got aggro, directing traffic around it, when an off duty fireman stopped, walked towards me and said, "I see the problem; you're letting the dog drive!" I turned and Dude was propped up in the driver's seat, something she does everytime I get out, tongue hanging out, obviously panting. I said, "Yeah, she's a shitty driver!" and he laughed. State P wasn't amused: "I'm authorized to get this out of the highway by any means necessary! I'm calling a tow truck." I'm not sure where all these tow trucks are, because I couldn't find one a few days later; everyone I called said no to a motorhome.
I jumped back in fueled by this thought that it only had to make it 30 feet or so, so I jacked it way up, my foot down on the pedal, after two false starts, it finally turned over and I waved wildly at the fireman. If I were a person into calendar-types, I'd have had my tongue out like the dog.
Got up to the KOA building and everyone in the park turned to look. They have NICE campers, the 200,000 variety fifth wheel with six tv's and probably a masseuse. A lot of people seem to travel this way. Some even pull a second camper for cars and toys behind a huge motorhome. I don't know how they do it; driving a 27 footer feels often inconvenient and hard to park. But to each his own.
I posted to facebook about looking for a mechanic, and this is where a woman I've never met YET AGAIN came to my aid. She'd let me stay at her house when a bunch of us from the fan club went to see Todd Snider play the Ryman in Nashville. She'd planned on attending, but her father had fallen sick, so she just let us stay, a bunch of weirdos she'd never met, in her beautiful Nashville home. I got a message from her, she knew someone in a small town nearby, and an hour later, Chuck showed up. He looked all through the camper, at fuses and trying to find leaks. We put five gallons of water in the radiator before it was finally full. And the fans that blew onto the engine, those weren't coming on. I called this guy, who said, "No, I don't do chassis work," and that guy, and another guy, and another. They refer me to each other, and I wonder if it's a joke. I wonder why they don't know who will work on a motorhome. I wonder if it's my voice; I wonder if it's because I'm a woman. Lots of women are huge pains in the ass. I bet, probably if I'd had a man make that call I'd have had better luck. A young man had helped me the day before, a 19 year old who worked and lived at the KOA. We looked at the cloud of smoke, the fans, the radiator... and we talked about meditating and chakras.
I had a realization that I didn't want to keep doing this this way. I needed a truck and a camper. I wanted to pull up to my campsite, unhook the cumbersome thing and drive around in a modern vehicle. I'd lost faith in motorhomes. "It's always something with those," everyone says.
the old one:
the new one:
So Chuck took me to two camper dealers, both said they'd take mine, sight unseen. I told them what was wrong with it (everything) and they still said they'd take it. The second place had exactly the right thing, a year old, short enough to be pulled by a half ton and long enough to not have to crap in your kitchen. It was an instant YES for me, so we played the little game where I try not to seem desperate and I left there knowing tomorrow I'd have a camper. A much nicer one than I'd anticipated being able to get on my budget.
The next day was truck shopping day, and it did not go well. Just bad, bad, bad. I was completely defeated, then got a message from Chuck-- you need anything else, let me know. I thought to myself that I wouldn't ask him; he'd already done SO MUCH for a complete stranger, but in the morning all I could think was, I have to call him. So I did. Two hours later, I'd found the truck I wanted, basically exactly the same truck from the dealership across the street, same year, same mileage, but 7 THOUSAND DOLLARS less. Because men get discounts. He also knew some people there, and that didn't hurt either. They rolled out the red carpet for us, including new tires, rotors, brakes. I couldn't believe it. In a way, I was angry I'd been treated so poorly before-- is it me? the way I dress? The way I've given up on make up? That I pulled in in a 87 Winnebago and they just thought I was a dumbass wasting their time? Is it that I'm a woman? Who knows. Who cares now, I have a TRUCK AND A CAMPER and both of them are way neater than I thought they'd be. I just want to give myself many, many high fives.
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