by
Lance K. Pugh
Lucy deployed along the Rogue River
Awning reflections turn Lucy into a tent
Having most recently come by a 1966 Airstream trailer I have been most keen to test my
mettle and aluminum by venturing into the outback, pulling my silver sanctuary (Lucy)
behind the old 1992 Surburban.
This was to be a shakedown outing, a chance to ensure that all systems, appliances and
amenities were both operational and trustworthy.
I was thinking of a half-dozen places that might fit the bill: Hart Mountain, Face Rock,
Summer Lake, Steens Mountain...all remote treasures to capture and reflect the rugged
spirit of American individualism. These destinations in Eastern Oregon are all within a
few hours of my house, which means hours away from help if I can't make something work.
It was a tough decision, but in a rare moment of acuity, after reflecting deeply into the
reality of all things trailer, I chose to modify my adventure to closer climes and spend
the night 5 miles from my house at a local recreational lake campsite.
For those of you who are seasoned trailer travelers skilled at the vagaries of the road,
please simply skip to the classifieds, where you might encounter my trailer. Just kidding,
it's not for sale and I'm not impressed by how quickly you dropped this missive in search
for a deal at my expense. Just remember, I'm always watching.
For my diehard loyalists, whose ranks swell into loyal legions, I offer the following
advise: Keep reading.
We arrived at the aforementioned campsite, eager to test the trailer. The following pretty
much outlines the areas of concern that a sharp-eyed trailer-traveler must observe and
remedy, if the trip is intended to be closer to paradise than purgatory:
1. Level Parking Surface: This is a mandatory to Happy Camping. I managed
to park in the only non-level campsite and paid the price by having my refrigerator refuse
subservience for lack of leveling blocks, which I left at home. In addition, stabilizer
jacks are very useful, a factor I didn't notice until I undertook a midnight refrigerator
visit that caused the trailer to pitch, yaw and roll like the Wreck of the Hesperus.
2. Water Hook Ups: The first thing I did while hooking up to the water
was to un-furl the hose. Unfortunately the only washer I had launched itself into the star
thistles, clearly an alien life form. Subsequently, my connection geysered, though not
immediately. It was only in the morning that I learned that the lake had lowered a foot
and that downhill from my campsite looked like the aftermath of a late night tsunami. All
this took place under the backdrop of a sign urging water conservation.
3. Hot Water: To obtain this state of grace one must ignite the pilot and
flame of the hot water heater. Unfortunately, I waited until much too late to initiate
ignition. I needed a flashlight in my teeth to attempt to read the instructions, which
though printed on a metal surface, had not aged well and were undecipherable. Using my
best guess and a lot of luck, it only took me an hour to fire things up.
4. The Oven: Hey, what's a campout in a trailer without using everything
that's there? Disregarding the fact that the oven had apparently been used only once since
1966, I waited until the garlic bread was prepared before thinking about how to light yet
another other propane wonder. It only took me about 45 minutes to figure the process out,
the passage of time reflected in the nearly resigned face of my wife, Annette, who was
contemplating throwing out dinner and reading a book. I was really in a bind. Cook or
book.
5. Sewer Connection: If you are faint of heart, you may put down this
article and watch a re-run of "I Love Lucy." I won't blame or disparage you.
But, if you think you'll be getting on my Pre-release Email List, you might just as well
flush your chances down the toilet. After hooking up the sewer connection I noticed a
zephyr of septic smell ricochet in, around and through my silver hideaway. I'm not exactly
sure what I did to stem the tide, but after only a half hour of prodding and grasping, the
wind changed and my nose uncrinkled, no longer responding to the previous fetor.
I will spare you the details regarding air in the propane system, the importance of having
a log lighter instead of book matches and how crucial it is to stow things properly away
before heading down the road...unless you like arriving at a campsite with the inside of
your trailer looking like leftovers at a yard sale.
I will, however, urge you to completely inspect everything before departing. We spent an
hour making sure every little thing was securely tied down, as well as checking all around
for anything that might be inadvertently left behind. The general rule is to drive for 50
feet, then park and go back one last time to pick up the barbecue grill that you just ran
over.
Overflowing with confidence I slipped into gear and pulled ahead the requisite yardage.
When I got out I made a mental note to always make sure the trailer is reconnected to the
tow vehicle, as the Airstream was still back at the campsite. After backing up and locking
onto the trailer, we headed home, there to reflect on all that we had learned. No sooner
had I walked in the door than I heard the phone ringing. It was my parents, who were eager
to find out how we had done on our maiden voyage.
"It went off without a hitch," I said with all the authority I could muster.
(Lance was last spotted walking with his dog, Spooky, through the alleys of the Railroad
District. He had a map of Death Valley under his arm, a vacant stare in his eyes and
supercilious smile on his face. He had finally made an ice cube in the trailer and was
beyond words. You may hitch up to him by emailing: lance@journalist.com).