From the Desert to the Lift

In the winter, people visit the desert to play or to relax. I see lots of retired folks camping and living life in slow-time out here. I also see others, younger, rushing in on the weekends with their dirt bikes and ATVs, ready to play hard and be back at work on Monday morning.

I'm out here to do a little of both. During the week, I'm productive at my desk. I wear many hats in this new job, but the biggest right now are marketing director, HR administrator, and web developer. The desert provides a perfect backdrop to ensure the kind of focus I need as I move forward with projects in each department.

On the weekend, I take care of life's laundry list. With a little good luck, I might find a chance to hike.

The only thing is that vehicle appointments can't be done on the weekends, so on Monday, I take the RV to its appointments.

First, we stop at London Bridge RV. This is one of the most reasonable, honest shops that I've found in my several years of RVing. They are willing to do the work it requires to get the job done, even if the rig is older. I'm in and out of there in ten minutes. Before they open, the service manager is outside opening up. I go outside. We talk for a few minutes, and he comes inside to get measurements for the oven.

"Ever since that little explosive kerfuffle under the burners, I'm not too keen on this stove. And the oven doesn't regulate temperature too well," I add, thinking also about how dangerous it felt to manually ignite the propane burners, particularly in the oven because the propane in the oven has to build up a little before it ignites.

Next, I point to the ceiling. "I'm getting AC, too." I don't really want AC, but there are no trees where I'll be living this summer. Buena is going to have to be inside the RV all day if I have to do a shuttle run. I can't risk her overheating.

The man takes the measurements and looks at the electric. The front desk guy shows up, and we discuss options.

"Speaking of options," I say. "Is it an option to get a new propane tank."

The two look at me sideways...in askance.

Feeling the need to explain myself, I point to the rust and say, "It's old. Sometimes the valve doesn't close right when it gets propane. I can't read the gauge too well. And ... sometimes the whole thing feels like a ticking time bomb."

"Oh, we can get anything," the service manager says, squatting down by the propane tank to read the label. He takes a picture of it.

The young guy tells me to stop by later to pick out the stove. He just needs a chance to go through the books and look at the options.

Having time between this appointment and the next, I stop by another shop (the one that put in the fuel pump and rebuilt carburetor back in 2021). The Godspeed needs an oil change, and I'm thinking about those valve covers...or maybe a whole new engine. A new engine might be the only way to finally fix the rear main seal leak.

The woman behind the desk types into her computer. Without looking up, she says, "Be right with you. I've got to finish putting this in before I forget."

I don't envy her position. I've been there before. Trying to remember the last important thing your boss or a customer said, in the middle of doing some difficult brain-work puzzle, and then being interrupted by a customer who MustBeHelpedNow. While she works, I watch her fake black eyelashes. They look like caterpillars clinging to her eyelids. I'm starting to get grossed out thinking about the glue that might be close to the eyeballs and what it takes to pull them off.

"Can I help you?" she turns suddenly to me and asks in a flat tone.

"Yeah, um, I want to price out an oil change and some other work. You did some work for me in 21."

"Let me see if we have you in our system," she says, turning her attention back to the computer. As I give her my information, she types it in. "Yes, we have you. A 1987 E-350? I don't have a VIN on your vehicle, so I can't price out an oil change."

"It's an RV," I explain, "but the engine is an E-350, just a standard '87 E-350 van. Do you have a ballpark figure for an oil change?"

"I can't give you an estimate."

"Well, if I was to ballpark it, do you think I'd be spending about a hundred dollars," I ask, wondering why the woman can't give information.

"Oh, honey, the RV we just did one on was $160."

"But the oil filter is right there in the front. It's just an easy turn of the wrench," I say, immediately knowing that I should do this next oil change myself. I've watched oil get changed on my rig. I even have the oil-filter tool and handwritten instructions from Saint Stan of Salida himself. (To be honest, the instructions were dictated. I wrote them down carefully in the sacred RV text.)

So I ask her about the valve covers, about replacing the engine.

"No offense, honey, but you should really think about getting a newer model," she says. Then she says engine replacements start at $9,000.

I leave feeling somewhat dejected. I really do love my RV and can't see getting out of it any time soon.

My motorhome goal--now that I'm no longer putting out emergency maintenance RV issues--is to make a house update and a vehicle update every winter. Seth always talked about the two separate entities you have when you own a motorhome: the house and the vehicle. So my winter goals are to address the two areas. This winter, the house repairs included the heater blower fan, new thermostat, new hose inlet, and some other minor replacements for broken parts.

Now it's time to face the mechanical side: the vehicle repair.

After living with fumes inside the RV while the engine runs, I decided it is time to address the problem. (In addition, I'm hoping it will help minimize backfiring. I don't know if it will, but maybe it's one of those 2-for-1 repairs. Fix this, and now this suddenly works again.)

So I drop off the vehicle with a young guy and leave, hoping the young man knows what he's doing. My friend picks me up and takes me to my van at Brenda's house, which I take to the Starbucks so I can get some work-work done. I'd already worked a little bit over the weekend, so I'm allowing myself some grace on these Monday morning hours.

Later, I'm about to refill my iced tea when I get a phone call from the exhaust place.

It's ready.

When I go to pick it up, he tells me he has to create two new parts and some brackets to hold the whole thing up. He shows me a screw that's rusted. "I had to cut that off," he says. "That's the trouble with these old rusty parts." He's clearly disgusted by the work he's had to perform, but he adds, "Newer vehicles have a gasket where the pieces connect. Fortunately, this one is metal on metal, so I all I had to do was saw the rusty part off and make a new one.

On the drive back to the desert, the absence of noise and fumes becomes a welcome presence.

The beast has been tamed...for now.

The steering wheel turns easy. It almost feels like I'm driving a normal car. Still, I wonder if the young guy did it right. I wonder about how all the fumes are getting out. I wonder about whether or not fumes are getting caught in the engine or if they will go back up into the carburetor and start a fire.

I worry. Like I told the service guy at the start of the day: sometimes this whole rig feels like a ticking timebomb. I just try to stay on the front end of things before they get too bad.