We managed to make it home without any more serious disasters. I can’t remember if I wrote since we had the latest little electrical fire; yes, Ronny got to use the fire extinguisher again (and this time it actually worked!). It was funny; when all the electrical stuff died and we saw the smoke coming out of the engine, we pulled over and immediately went into emergency mode as if it were just another run-of-the-mill routine. Luckily, AAA came in handy again, but we actually had a competent tow truck guy who was able to fix us up and send us on our way in about an hour. We stayed in Kanab, Utah that night, and headed for Zion National Park in the morning.

Okay, in case you’ve never been there, Zion is absolutely beautiful. Aside from the fact that you have to pay 15 bucks for a “tunnel escort” when you’re in an RV, in addition to the $25 it costs to get in to the park, everything there was awesome. On the east side of the park there’s a pretty gnarly set of switchbacks where the grades are too steep and the curves too tight for the vulnerable state of our RV. At one point Ronny seriously asked if Kodi and I could hike down the mountain because, “there’s no point in all of us dying here today.” Needless to say, we made it, but not without plenty of stress (still fun though!). We were able to find a campsite with electrical plug-ins so that Kodi could keep cool in the AC while Ronny and I explored the park. Ronny’s back was killing him, and no dogs are allowed on the trails, so I did all the hiking alone. It was hot, sweaty and fun, and I took a ton of pictures, though none of them come even close to doing justice.

After Zion we headed toward Vegas where we had to pay another visit to the brake shop before settling into the amazingly elegant Motel 6 and then heading to see the Blue Man Group while Kodi chilled and watched cable. Usually Vegas is pretty exciting, but after this much time on the road, we were pretty exhausted, so we didn’t do much partying. We just saw the show and then played poker at the Venetian. I, of course, lost, but not too badly. Ronny ended up cleaning house and winning enough to make us feel pretty happy. One night in Vegas was enough, as always, so in the morning, after we picked up our RV, we hit the road on the final stretch.

Vegas to Victorville would normally be a pretty short drive, but this stretch seemed to take FOREVER. Just before Primm, we laughed as the roof started coming apart at the seams and threatening to peel off the camper like a sardine can. At this point, all we cared about was getting home. And that’s just what we did. We made it back to Mom and Dad’s house safely, and now, here we are, scratching our heads and wondering how the heck we’re going to transition back to the real world. Believe it or not, I could keep rolling around the country for a while longer. That is, if we were in a camper that wasn’t about to fall apart!

Well, I guess this is it. Thanks for reading about our adventures along the way! 

Oh, and by the way, in case you’re wondering, we drove 10,790 miles.

Love,

Nikki, Ronny, Kodi, and the newest member of our family, Claude

It’s hard to believe that our trip is nearing its end. Honestly, now that we’re out of the horrible heat, I’m not really ready to go home and get back to the real world. From Albuquerque, we went up to Santa Fe, then to Taos, where the camper started making really weird noises. We were all but ready to head back to the guys who fixed the camper in Albuquerque, but decided to just take our chances and head over to the Grand Canyon. But when we realized that the canyon was completely booked, we decided to head all the way to Lake Havasu, and then we figured we’d kindof backtrack over to Grand Canyon and then up around to Zion, down through Vegas, and then on to Mom and Dad’s house. Well, we made it to Lake Havasu, but had I known how hot it would have been I would have skipped it entirely. It was 115 degrees, way too hot to be in this clunky old camper, and the radio was announcing extreme heat warnings. Ugh. We did find ourselves a crappy old RV park right on the lake where we were able to plug in and get the a/c working, but it was miserable outside. On Friday we rented a jet ski and went up to the sandbar, where I expected us to find a little beachside bar where we might have lunch. I was surprised to find a bunch of people just hanging out in the water, where the sandbar caused the water to be as shallow as six inches or so. The people just hung out on their boats, drinking beer, and, to my surprise, the 50-plus female crowd seemed thrilled to be topless dancing on the backs of shiny speed boats with men either casually ignoring them or, like Ronny and me, staring, mouth agape, unable to tear ourselves away from the train wreck. I’d post pictures of the spectacle, but, alas, I didn’t have my camera with me.

I will, however post a few photos of our other bits of fun…

Seemingly the only music in New Orleans during our visit which was not related to the Essence Festival

The airboat swamp tour in New Orleans.

Kodi gives salty kisses at the Gulf of Mexico in Galveston, TX

Ronny looked for his bicycle in the basement of the Alamo in San Antonio.

Overlooking the Rio Grande Gorge from the bridge

NOTE: If you don’t want to read about our car troubles, skip down to where you see the *****, okay?

Apparently the RV doesn’t take well to the heat because ever since we’ve been in the south half of the country she’s given us plenty of trouble. Just before Austin the brakes started making a ridiculous grinding noise and stopped working well. We took it into a brake place, hoping that it was just the pads that needed to be replaced, but suspecting it would be the rotors needing to be shaved. We were surprised to find that the rotors had completely cracked and, the guys were surprised we could even stop at all. It’s hard to explain what this looked like, but if you’ve ever spun pottery on a wheel, built up a nice vase, and then taken the pointy tool and slowly stuck it into the side so that as the thing spins it slices off the top so you have two pieces. That’s what our rotor did. And since we drove like that for a few days, we made it worse and had to replace the calipers, too.

Then, we make it the rest of the way through Texas, into New Mexico, and up toward Albuquerque. About 75 miles or so out of town, as I’m driving, enjoying the New Mexico desert sunset, rocking out to the good ol’ Big Head Todd album I loved in high school,  the radio stops working. Hmm, either my voice is bad enough for the forces of the universe to cause our stereo to spontaneously combust, or this is yet another little glitch we have to deal with, par for the course with Coachie.

But then, we pull into a gas station, and Ronny’s checking the oil, and we notice that the headlights are very, very dim. And then, the car won’t start. Crap. We get someone to jump start us, which obviously annoyed him completely, and we headed back out. Ten minutes later, the headlights are so dim that we can hardly see, the blinkers don’t work (which means no flashers), so we decided to exit and pull into the gas station that happened to be right there. Perfect timing, because just as we took the exit and turned toward the gas station, the RV started sputtering, we lost all electrical power – keep in mind it’s dark and we’re driving a big old heap with no horn to warn anyone coming toward us. (The brakes work splendidly, though!) We made it to the gas station and plugged in our battery charger for a couple of hours. After a little Family Guy, we thought we had enough juice to make it to Albuquerque, so we started her up and hit the road, lasting about a half an hour. I was sitting in the back reading when I heard Ronny say, “Oh, crap” and felt the lurching.

Luckily, just as the lights faded to a dim glow, an exit opened up for us. Unfortunately, it was the kind of single-lane, roundabout exit that goes up hill before joining another road which leads over the freeway and to the gas station. So we’re veering right, going around the vertical incline exit ramp, “I think I can, I think I can,” and the electric dies completely and the engine starts failing. Because there are now streetlamps and no light in the sky at all, I’m holding the flashlight out the window, attempting to light the way. The camper is choking and sputtering, making all kinds of crazy noises, going about 3 or 4 mph, and just as we come to the top of the hill and onto the road which crosses over the highway, the engine dies completely. Fortunately, there are no other cars on the road, and we make it to the top of the hill, just in time.

You know that feeling when you’re on a rollercoaster, after you’ve climbed a big hill and you’re sitting at the apex, awaiting the point where you start going down a big fast hill? Well, we had that same anticipation, only it wasn’t really exciting, it was more scary. Had anyone come up behind us, well…anyways.

So, the impetus of the RV kept us rolling just long enough to make it over the hill to the point that we could actually coast down hill, and, thankfully, there were no other cars on the road so we ran a stop sign and tumbled into the TA truck stop, where we somehow managed to coast to the other side of the parking lot and right into a parking space between two semis. Our momentum carried us just as far as we needed to go, and the wheels came to a stop about three feet from the wall at the edge of the lot. Our disaster could not have been any more perfectly orchestrated. Ronny and I looked at each other, relieved, and sighed, laughing. High Five? Ronny plugged the battery and charger into the gas stations outlet, right behind the ATM, and we charged it over night while we slept.

Needless to say, the following day (yesterday), was not one of our most fun days. For some reason, mechanics who want to work on a 1985 RV are few and far between, and those who will work on them, charge an arm and a leg, just because they can. So, the next few hours, when we should have been seeing the sights of Albuquerque, were spent in stress and the realization that we were going to drop another huge chunk of change into this huge (though lovable) hunk of junk.

Let it be known that I am entirely endeared to this camper of ours. I’ve never really been the type to see the silver lining in every cloud, but, even through all of the automotive crap we’ve dealt with along the way, I love our little Coachie. I think her problems are all part of her character. I mean, we bought a cheap, 25 year old camper, so I figured we’d be dealing with problems all along the way. Ronny, on the other hand, couldn’t be more frustrated with the thing. Oh well.

*            *            *            *             *            *

So, anyways, enough about the camper. Here’s what we’ve been up to since I last wrote:

Wait, now I can’t really remember when I last updated this…was it in Savannah? New Orleans? Ever since we hit the south it has been so hot I can hardly stand it. New Orleans would have been cool if it were anything like I had expected New Orleans to be – Jazzy, eclectic, eccentric, amusing, interesting, cultural. But everything in the French Quarter had adapted to the Essence Festival that was in town, so every bar blasted hip-hop. I seriously felt like I was in a hot, humid, oceanless Spring Break 2009 music video. It sucked. And it was so hot and crowded, and the streets smelled like a combination of garbage, sewage and stale puke that walking the streets and peoplewatching wasn’t even really fun. At one point we decided to go to a gay nightclub just to get out of the crowd and into some air conditioning. The only thing that I really, truly enjoyed about New Orleans was watching big, fat, whooping African-American mamas trying to ride the mechanical bull at the Bourbon Cowboy bar. Wow…check that one off the bucket list!

Oh yeah, and we watched the 4th of July fireworks over the Mississippi River, off of the ‘dueling barges’. It was actually a very good show.

So, nothing monumental happened between New Orleans and Austin, unless you count crossing through hell, er, I mean Texas, in 110 degree heat with no air conditioning. We stopped in New Braunfels for a couple of days to ‘float the river’, which cooled us off for a couple of hours, and play in the free poker tournaments. This was funny – 50-60 people play in these tournaments. Free buy-ins and a guaranteed $50 bar tab to the winner! We checked out Greune and ate at the Gristmill – yummy – but couldn’t stay long because the generator no longer (temporarily) worked, and we had to leave the stinkpot panting and slobbering in the RV.

We headed north to Austin, where we had the aforementioned brake issues. This is where my brilliant husband hooked us up with a room at the Marriott two blocks from the center of nightlife, 6th street. Now, this is a suite-only hotel, with rooms starting going for $200-$400 a night, and a $100 “cleaning fee” for dogs. My dear, conniving husband, who can always talk his way out of any pickle and into a good deal, got us the $39 employee rate, plus, saved us the hundred dog bucks by saying the stinkpot was a service dog. So we stayed there two nights and checked out Austin.

I hate to say it, because Austin is one of the places we are/were considering moving to, but I was disappointed with the Live Music Capital of the World. (it’s not capitol, right?) Sixth Street, which is where everyone we had talked to had recommended, felt like another Rosarito. The street was lined with bar after bar after bar, which seemed great at first, but it seemed that all of the live music was played by cheesy cover bands. I had been expecting to see a lot of local bands who wrote their own music, playing out of dive bars and cafes with unique ambiance. I guess I was expecting more of the artsy type of stuff, with adults who love live music. Instead, where the has-been cover song playing bands played, there were few people hanging out. When we found the more crowded places, we realized that we were the oldest people in the bar, and we felt like we were watching an 8th grade dance where awkward and gawky 21-year olds attempted to dance as they sucked down their “$4 Big Boy Bud Lights”. We checked out a lot of different places, each with the subtle, though unmistakable odor of leftover barf, and wondered if this was the Austin that everyone’s always so excited about. Our second night we went to the Warehouse District where the crowd was a little more mature, and we had an awesome dinner before trying to see the bats that supposedly fly every night. Standing on the bridge we saw them swirl a little, but they by now means covered the sky like I had expected. Ronny went out to some cowboy bar with his friend Josh (who used to live in Temecula but now lives in New Braunfels) and I hunted down some live music, determined to find an original, indie rock band with some creative energy and talent. Stubbs, which was recommended to us had a $28 cover charge, so I decided to pass, and Emo’s had a $12 cover charge, which, just before I decided to pay it, sold out. Everywhere else that had no cover was either washed-out blues, cover bands, or electronica, which, according to a guy with heavy-lidded eyes and a nasal voice, “you had to be invited to and have already RSVP’d to even get in.” So I ended up paying 5 bucks to see some young 20-somethings in a punk/alternative/rock/cover band play semi-good music. To my relief, I wasn’t the oldest person in the bar; the band’s  parents were there to support their kids!

In the morning, while we waited for the brakes to be finished, I went to a nice sweaty yoga class…thank goodness. I needed it badly. Though, I could have done without the teacher’s incessant jabbering about conch fritters and jet skis. Sheesh.

Next, figuring we had the time, we headed south to San Antonio, which my brother’s friend had said would be a shame to miss. The Riverwalk was a pleasant surprise; right in the middle of downtown a curvy river snakes, and along its banks restaurants and bars cover every square inch. It was lovely – though still hot – and beautiful, with the colorful lights reflecting off of the blackness of the water. We had some dinner and hit a couple of bars. At the Irish Pub a piano man kept us entertained, and then at the martini bar, Ronny, in an attempt to get something “not too girly”, ended up with a ‘flirtini’ straight out of Sex and the City.

After San Antonio, we were heading west, trying our darndest to get the heck out of the Texas heat. I drove for a while, and we were about 130 or so miles from El Paso. I was panting as hard as the dog, miserable, when, like an oasis, a sign saying “Carlsbad Caverns” with an arrow pointing north caught my eye. We filled the tank and said, Let’s get the F out of Texas!

We had to leave Kodi in the camper with the air conditioning (the generator miraculously started working again) while we went into the cave, because, when we attempted to put him into the kennel, he put up such a stink that Ronny and I together couldn’t force him into a cage. The Caverns were pretty cool, literally; underground was a nice 56 degrees, so we walked around and checked out the formations for an hour or so. We then hopped in the car and made our way to Albuquerque, where all the fun with the alternator began.

So here we are, Kodi and I sitting at a Starbucks, Ronny off somewhere taking a nap, and we’re waiting for the camper to get fixed. We’ll probably head north to Santa Fe this afternoon, and then we’re going to go toward the Grand Canyon for a few days.

It’s hard to believe that this trip is almost over. We’re on day 70-something, and, although it feels like we’ve been on the road forever, I feel like the adventure has just begun. I don’t really want to get back to the ‘real world’, but, it’s probably time to get back to work.

Oh, and by the way, the camera cable is in the car so I’ll have to upload some pictures later….Until next time….

Ah, sweet, sweet electricity. It’s only 97 degrees now, but let me tell you, that’s nothing compared to the drive across Georgia and Alabama. Right now we’re in an RV ‘resort’ in New Orleans, 3 blocks from the French Quarter, plugged in and indulging in air conditioning. While we drive, however, not only do we not have air conditioning, but the hot air coming off the engine keeps us panting almost as hard as the dog. Speaking of Kodi, he’s doing great, considering the heat. The slobber fountain is ceaseless, so everything in the front half of the camper – including Ronny and me – is laced with little dried drool strings. Ick.

Kodi shows us the way to Savannah

We did make our fishing trip up to Canada with Ronny’s dad, brother and brother’s friend. It was 22 hours north to Lake Goeland (I think that’s how you spell it) in Quebec where we fished for several days straight. It was hot and buggy there, but spending the entirety of each day out on the boat with Ronny and his dad, reeling in Northern Pike after Walleye after Northern Pike, and then heading back to camp for a lake bath and dinner, was an awesome way to spend the week. I was the first girl to ever join the guys on their fishing trip, and although I had a heck of a good time, the campground – with its bugs, fish guts and lack of running water – is definitely not for the squeamish.

I'm pretty sure mine is bigger.

He thinks his is bigger...Ha!

Ronny and I also got to drive up to Buffalo, NY, where we spent a few days with Tommy and Elizabeth and their little Thomas, who celebrated his first birthday with a party. What a cute little guy he’s turning out to be. It was so nice to hang out with Tommy and Elizabeth; Ronny got his fill of movie quotes and hysterical laughter, and I got a good chance to get to know Elizabeth a little better. We also drove through an absolutely AMAZING thunder/lightening/hail storm on our way to Niagara Falls. I had seen it last time we visited Buffalo, a few years ago, but it’s still pretty cool to look at. We actually left Canada after fishing, returned to Canada for the falls, and then left Canada again all in the same day.

Hey! Niagara Falls is pretty cool!

After Buffalo we headed back to Cleveland to spend a little more time with the family and get the camper ready to hit the road. Our first destination: Savannah, Georgia. We had heard that Savannah is a beautiful city, so we were not surprised when we ended up at the City Market, the little outdoor plaza where bars, restaurants and live music gave the city a little nightlife. It was a wednesday night, though, so there wasn’t all that much going on, but we still had a good time. We had found a campsite on Skidaway Island, about a 15-20 minute drive from downtown, where we spent the night relishing our air conditioning. The next day it was just too hot to spend driving around in our RV trying to pick our way through downtown Savannah, so we chose to go to Tybee Island in search of the beach. It was a pretty cool, mellow, laid-back place from my first impression, reminiscent of Mission and Ocean Beach, but upon closer inspection, we realized that it was pretty stuffy. RV’s and dogs are as welcome as leprosy, and parking is as difficult as algebra. (For me, algebra was tough and I needed a tutor. For anyone else, it might not be that bad.) And, some guy yelled at us because we used his precious driveway to turn around. We did find a parking spot finally, started the generator, and left Kodi in an air-conditioned palace while we ran and jumped in the Atlantic Ocean for a bit. It was refreshing, to say the least!

After Savannah, we decided to book it to New Orleans. We cruised through Florida, Alabama and Mississippi, stopping only long enough to gas up and take a nap. Now, we’re getting dressed and heading to the French Quarter for a little N’awlins adventure.

Until next time…

Swimming in the Atlantic was worth the hassle!

We’re back in Cleveland now, relaxing. A few days ago we hopped in Ronny’s mom’s car and drove through Pittsburgh to Washington D.C. Pittsburgh was a few miles out of the way, but Ronny thought it would be fun to check it out and have lunch along the way. I’d never even thought of this city as a possible destination, but what the heck, right? I was actually a little surprised by the area; it’s really old and industrial looking, an ample number of brick buildings all compacted and shoved up against one another forming a grid of a city which looked old and poor, but which I suspected wasn’t actually. We drove through the Cultural District which proved to have several theatres and galleries, the Strip District which seemed abustle with businesspeople schlepping through the heat and mugginess for their lunch breaks, and after having lunch in a little Italian joint where the high-volume, crappy foreign music had both of our neck hairs raised, we drove to another area of the city where we stumbled upon the Three Rivers Art Festival. Obviously, we hadn’t planned on this little treat, but when Ronny saw my eyes light up at the sight of all of the white tents touting artisans’ wares, he offered to drop me off while he drove around town. Why he’d rather drive in downtown Pittsburgh traffic than walk around an arts festival eludes me, but that’s Ronny.

I checked out all kinds of cool stuff – the usual art festival paintings, pottery, jewelry, etc. – and visited a few galleries all before Ronny came to pick me up. Now, I know art is subjective, but I visited a really nice gallery with two floors of the most ridiculous “art” I’ve ever seen. I don’t even remember what it was called, but the first floor was one big white room, with a white bench in the middle of the room, and a movie screen showing static. Remember when the Atari would go on the fritz and the screen would get all screwed up so you’d have to pull the game out and blow into the space on the bottom of it and then plug it back in? Well, that was it. I stood and looked at it for a second because the hoity-toity person sitting at the desk, and the girl talking to him, both eyed me like I was someone who couldn’t possibly recognize the value of this “art”. I figured they were right, so I shrugged and headed to the gallery upstairs. I couldn’t believe it – I walked into a huge room painted black, with one  black bench in the middle of the room, and 10-12 TVs along the wall playing static like the old TVs did when the channel was out. Weird.

Anyways, Ronny came to pick me up and we headed toward Washington D.C. (By the way, if anyone is smirking that I wrote ‘toward’ instead of ‘towards’, please note that it’s my personal preference.) It took us a while to get there, but Ronny had secured us a room at the Marriott, so arriving after 9pm wasn’t a problem. We showered and decided to head out on the town for a bit, just to see what D.C. had to offer, and to ring in my birthday at midnight. There wasn’t really all that much going on. Walking down the street we randomly met a girl looking for nightlife, and after chatting for a bit, we discovered that she had gone to my old high school, “Creek”. Small world, huh? Ugh.

So, we went to a little Irish pub around the street where we met some random guy who told us about going over to 18th Ave. to a place called Madam’s Organ where he guaranteed that there would be live music. At about 11:45 we made the hike to get there just in time to celebrate the beginning of my birthday. The live music was pretty good – not great – so we hung out for a bit, and then we walked the streets in search of something a little more exciting. eh, not much to speak of, but we had a good time.

In the morning we got up early (10am) and bought passes for a double-dorker (oops, I mean double-decker) bus tour. You know, those two-story bright red buses that are always packed with camera-weilding tourists taking pictures of even the least exciting things? Yep, that was us. And the sad part was that we didn’t even take advantage of our hop-on-hop-off priviledges. We actually sat up on the top deck of the bus for a three hour tour, which turned out to be more of a 4 1/2 hour tour due to the traffic caused by the shooting at the Holocaust Museum. Yes, we were in D.C. for that, and when it happened, we were two tour stops before it and had to be diverted. It was a little funny, in a way, to hear the canned tour guide continue on with information about the monuments and museums while sirens blare and overhead helicopters circle the area close enough for us to see the guys with guns sitting on the floor with their feet dangling out. As nerdy (and expensive) as the tour was, I definitely recommend it. We got to see a taste of pretty much everything of interest in D.C., and the pass was good for 2 days so we could hop on and off the following day at our leisure. We saw Washington monument, Lincoln monument, Embassy Row (very interesting!), the White House, various Smithsonian and other museums, the I.R.S., and all other big, boxy and important buildings full of important people.

At the end of the tour we were sweat soaked and hungry, and because it was my birthday, Ronny actually agreed to have Indian food with me. Now, we all know that he’s a meat-and-potatoes, cheeseburger and pizza type of guy, but when he tasted his dish, he actually liked it. I couldn’t believe it! After lunch, I had a lovely time shopping around Georgetown while he tried to find us a place to stay for the night. For some reason, the only place available was a crappy Days Inn outside of Arlington, VA. But, it was a place to sleep, and the next day we actually headed out by car and foot and found our way around D.C. without our tour bus. We visited the monuments up close and then got completely overwhelmed by the gargantuan mazes of the Smithsonian Museums. We visited the Ripley Portrait Museum, Natural History, Americon History and Air & Space Museums. Just the vastness of the museums made it tough to even decide which way to turn, and the thousands of school kids in flourescent shirts and hats on their summer field trips, were enough to exhaust us and encourage us to leave the city.

So, we hopped in the car and drove home, arriving back in Cleveland around 2:30 in the morning, completely exhausted. And now, here we are, at Ronny’s family’s home, and we’ve visited Ronny’s family and friends. We’re just chilling out now, enjoying some down time before we head into Canada for a fishing trip out in the boonies. I can’t wait!

We had ourselves a good time out on the town, then woke up early, like 10ish, to go out fishing around noon. Oh, the sweet indulgence of laziness! Sleeping in the cabin of the boat was actually comfortable, believe it or not. We fished for a few hours, hoping for Walleye, (do you capitalize the names of fish? they are proper nouns, right?) but caught nothing but Sheephead, White Bass and Perch. I only know this because Ronny identifies the fish for me.

I don’t know how I got this talent, but I do think I have a way of catching the smallest fish in the entire lake. But heck, at least I didn’t come up empty-handed. Now, because we managed to leave the sunscreen in the camper, I’m sitting here lobstery burnt. And, I think my inner ears are all messed up because I feel like I’m still in the boat, which is a little nauseating.

It’s been so nice to hang out at home and just relax with Ronny’s family. Sometimes it feels great to stop going for a little while. I think from here we might head to Washington, D.C. because neither of us has ever been there. We’ll probably spend my birthday at the White House, maybe lawn bowling or playing horseshoes, girls against boys, with Michelle and Barack. We’ll see.

Anyways, I’m exhausted, and really don’t feel much like writing. I just wanted to put in a quick little update in case anyone out there is waiting with baited breath for news of our adventures. And, I’d upload some photos, but I can’t seem to find the cable I need, so too bad so sad. Until next time…

We had to wait about 90 minutes for the stinking geyser (Old Faithful) to erupt. Ronny wasn't happy about that, so he refused to be photographed. Ha!

Montana is just as beautiful as we expected. Mountainy and vast. This was on the way down the hill, right after horseback riding and right before the brakes went out. Oh, adventure. Hey, check out my new cowboy boots, too!

You know what’s funny? The first night we slept in a truck stop, all of the semi trucks – pulling into the parallel slots slowly and noisily, idling relentlessly for hours, then powering up and pulling away in a wave of noise and exhaust – drove me freaking crazy. I couldn’t figure out why they wouldn’t just turn their engines off while they slept for hours. Now, the sound is actually comforting, Waking up in the middle of the night to hear the rumbling of idling gives me a sense of being grounded and located. Not that I have any idea where we are, but that we’re at least somewhere that other people are.

Last night we left Black Hawk, Colorado, around 6 or 7pm. We didn’t have much luck there, but we did have ourselves a good time. Free drinks help soothe the wound of losing to the same guy with his same stinking full houses. Grrrr… Anyways, Black Hawk’s really cool; casino-lined, hilly streets wrap around each other with each door opening to reveal a mirrored room chock full of slot machines and elderly folks. We could only find two poker rooms, and thanks to the city-wide $5 limit, we could play poker for a while without losing (much).

From Black Hawk, we had to head down the mountains toward Denver. Only problem? The brakes went out again. Not completely, but we were working with very, very loose and unreliable stoppers. Ronny was on the edge of his seat, gripping the wheel intensely and frowning constantly. (Q: Was he upset about poker, or about this RV we’re trying to make it around the country in? A: Both.) As we wound over the rivers and through the woods, inspiration suddenly struck when I remembered Beau Jo’s Pizza. If I know one thing that will cheer Ronny up it’s delicious pizza. I typed the name into Jill, our GPS, and she let us know that we were 11.6 miles away. I “Hmmm’d” and Ronny glanced away from the road to look at me. “Well, we’re only 11. 6 miles from the world’s best pizza.” His face lit up, and we decided to follow Jill’s advice. Then we came to a crossroads. I said to Ronny, “Okay, here you have an important decision to make. You either hop on the highway here and we get on the road, or we take a left and go ten miles out of the way for the world’s best pizza.” “You can’t do that to me! You can’t dangle a carrot like that in front of my nose!” Needless to say, we went for the pizza. We ended up in the Evergreen location, not Idaho Springs, but it was still good. In fact…maybe that’s what I’ll have for breakfast.

After dinner we coasted down the hills and out of the mountains, Ronny with a happy belly but still freaking out about the breaks. I could almost smell his stress, but the second we pulled clear of the hills and were smooth sailing on flat, straight I-70, he was good ol’ cheerful Ronny again, scratching Kodi’s bucket and singing along to the same songs we keep hearing over and over again on his iPod. If I never hear Dave Matthews again for the rest of my life, I think I’ll be okay. He’d be embarrassed if I mentioned his other music, so I’ll refrain, but just because he got us safely up, down, and all around the mountains.

I had told my Aunt Marie that we’d be in Omaha by 6pm today (Saturday) so we decided to make as much of the 500+ mile drive as we could. On the flat ground we got back to 10mpg rather than the offensive 6-7 we were getting in the mountains. All of the recycling I’ve ever done in my life and ever will do will never make up for this RV when I’m facing judgement at the pearly gates of environmental heaven. But I digress.

So we popped in a book on tape as we passed Denver and headed into the long, straight, monotonous night. I had downloaded The Reader onto my iPod, somehow got the chapters out of order, and we didn’t realize that we had missed more than half of the novel until the thing was over. Somehow, as we listened to the middle of the book, I dozed off. At about 2:30am I woke up with a crick in my neck and Ronny was still listening to the book, and very intently. I set up camp and went to bed, and at 3:45 when I woke up because he had pulled off the highway for gas, he was STILL listening to the freaking book!

Now, he’s sleeping, and sitting here in this truck resting area, and my first view of Nebraska is grass, grass, trees, grass, a windmill, more grass, and a Burger King. It’s just like I remember. We should be in Omaha this afternoon. I’m so excited to see the family!

XOXO!

So, the last drama that I promised to write about happened just as we were heading out of Portland. Everything was perfect – the camper was cleaned and vacuumed, it was actually running without problems, it seemed, and we were back in high spirits. We had a sense of tentative relief and encouragement. Driving through the mountains, just as the sun was going down, I suddenly felt nauseous. A dreadful pit in my stomach made me ask Ronny to pull over. “I smell something burning.” “We’ve been smelling burning for 2 weeks now.” “It’s a different burning. Pull over or I’m gonna puke in the car.” “Seriously?” “Yes, seriously. Now.” So, he pulled over to the side of the road. I had my head hanging out the window and as I got uncontrollably sick, he decided to check the oil. Nice, huh? Good thing my hair’s short enough to not need holding back.

So, as he’s checking the oil, he peeks through the little space between the hood and the engine to check on me. “Holy Sh*t, Nik! We’re on fire!” “Whaaat?” I looked behind us to see an eerie, pumpkin colored glow and the camper filled with thick smoke. Is this a reality? I ran into the back to open the side door – smart, right? Walk through the smoke and fire…I am Polish, after all.

I open the door and Ronny immediately grabs the fire extinguisher, but, ironically, somehow the thing is on fire and he can’t even hold it. We had this battery jumper thing, which we had used so frequently that we didn’t bother to put it back in its case. Apparently we had left it turned on or something, we figured the charger gripper things that you attach on the battery nodes must have been touching the seat belt of the captain’s chair or something because the darned thing had spontaneously combusted. (That means set itself on fire, right?) Ronny somehow grabbed it and threw it out of the car onto the side of the road, but it had been stored behind the captain’s chair, so the chair was actually on fire…from the inside! The smoke was so thick we could hardly see, and we couldn’t find our second fire extinguisher, so we grabbed any water we could find. The dog bowl, my water bottle that I had been drinking, and about 1/4 gallon left in the drinking water. Unfortunately, since we were climbing hills, we had emptied all of the water out of the holding tank, so we were pretty much bone dry. “Ronny, Pour the beer on the chair!” “No, not the beer! Let this baby go down, but save the beer!d” (Just kidding.)

There was a moment there that we both knew that we were in trouble. I had somehow lifted Kodi out of the car – in his panic he froze like the proverbial deer in the headlights. He had curled up into a little ball and looked at me terrified. The dog’s freaking heavy, but somehow I lifted him up and carried him about 20 feet away where I tied him to a reflector pole. Keep in mind we’re on the side of the highway, right in the little ‘V’ where the exit ramp is.

Ronny’s frantically trying to get the fire extinguisher to work – futilely – and I ran out into the middle of the highway (not the best idea, I know, but I was panicking!), waving my arms in the classic “somebody pull over and save us or this camper’s gonna blow” fashion. I didn’t realize it, but the fire was directly over the propane tank. Somehow Ronny maintained his cool, but he looked at me helplessly as he ripped the flaming curtains out of the window. Just as we were resigned to walk away and watch a good explosion from the hillside, out of nowhere two truckers came running to us with big, functioning fire extinguishers. Ronny grabbed one and sprayed it all over the burning chair and wall. I just stood there dumbly, feeling helpless.

Thank goodness for the helpful truckers. The lady trucker, heavyset and in a tacky tie-die t-shirt, just started chatting with me, as if she puts out fires every day. They said they could hardly see waving because it was dusk and I kindof faded into the lights of the camper, but they saw the flames from the battery jumper so they pulled over.  I was so grateful, shaken up and relieved that I nearly cried. They let us keep their extinguishers – just in case – so we gave them each a bottle of Robert Renzoni’s delicious wine. (Thanks, Robb. Not only is your wine awesome, but it really comes in handy when we’re in trouble!)

The truckers took off, and Ronny and I grabbed wrenches and ratchets and feverishly removed the smoldering chair from it’s base – not an easy task when it’s still smoking and covered in that white, toxic residue from the extinguisher. I felt like a big litterbug, but Ronny convinced me that it was okay to leave what was left of the chair, the battery jumper, the curtains and the melted plastic water jug on the side of the freeway.

We were relieved, but deflated as we pulled away. Kodi started smiling again, like the dopey dog that he is, as if nothing had happened. But I was somehow more tired than I had ever been, and depressed. “Are we okay?” I asked Ronny. He was pensive and said, “Tonight, we’re sleeping in a hotel.”

So that’s our drama, and other than a few glitches with the RV, everything’s going great. We decided to skip Seattle and head straight over to Montana. Montana looks exactly like I had pictured it in my mind – green, hilly and full of horses. We checked “horseback riding in Montana” off of our bucket list. Ronny’s back was bothering him pretty badly, so we had to take it easy, but we had a great time slowly crawling up the mountain on our lazy horses, Ben and Bill.

From there we went to Yellowstone and camped a couple of nights. It’s a beautiful park, but I don’t believe that there are actually bears there. I was on bear spotting patrol for two days straight and all I came up with was a few herds of mule deer and buffalo. Not that that’s not exciting in itself. Kodi gave us a little scare when he decided to jump into the freezing cold rushing river, but we managed to pull him out.

From Yellowstone we drove through the vast, uneventful fields of Wyoming where we got pummeled with a delicious rain storm. We stopped in Cheyenne, saw that there wasn’t much to do there unless you’re interested in old western and train museums. So we hopped back in the car and drove down to Denver where the only place we could find to camp without staying in a seedy dump was actually at Cherry Creek Reservoir, just around the corner from my high school.

Jenny and James came to pick us up and we went to Fiddler’s Green for the AWESOME Jane’s Addiction show. It was so weird being there, at the venue where I have seen so many shows, from New Kids on the Block to ZZ Top to the first Lollapalooza where I saw Jane’s the first time around. Jane’s Addiction was better than I expected this time – after all of these years they haven’t lost any of their magic for me. Jenny, who is 8 months pregnant, was a trooper, and made it through the whole show.

We woke up and took a bike ride around the park, and then headed into town to hang out with Jenny, James and Lisa. We did the “Colfax Crawl” last night, and now Lisa and I are going to go to lunch while Ronny tries to find affordable propane. He’s on a mission to get this camper in tip top shape and then we’re going to drive up to Boulder and maybe Blackhawk or Central City.

After that, we don’t have much of a plan, but we’re heading to Omaha next, hopefully to see some of the Swierczek clan.

Until next time…. I’ll upload pictures a little later…Lisa just came to pick me up for lunch!

From Portland to here has been an adventure, to say the least. Our original plan was to go west from Portland to Cannon Beach and Manzanita, two beaches that were recommended to us from multiple people, and then north to Astoria where we would cross a long and scenic bridge into Washington, then head to Seattle for a couple of days. To get back to the coast from Portland you have to take Hwy 26, which proved to be a little too challenging for the rusty-not-so-trusty RV. Although the drive was beautiful – trees, trees, trees – the smoke spewing from our engine forewarned us of what was to come. We religiously checked and added oil to Coachie, whispered to her words of encouragement, and Ronny said a few prayers. We did manage to make it to the coastline to Seaside, Oregon, to get gas and talk to a gas station cashier who gave us the number for Aamco in Astoria, 20 or so miles north. We called, but the guy who answered said they were closed for the night, but that we could bring her in and they’d check on her first thing in the morning. We decided it wouldn’t kill us to go just a little out of our way to see what had been described as a must-see, don’t-miss, Oregon’s most beautiful beach, so we decided to take our chances and head south.

Just as we were about to pull off into Cannon Beach, a loud pop in the right side of the engine, just below my feet on the dash, had us nervous. We decided to postpone the beach trip and head directly to Astoria to camp out in front of Aamco. Now, don’t get me wrong – if you’re going to break down at all, it might as well be in somewhere as beautiful as Astoria. It’s gorgeous there. But there’s not much to do, so we went to see Angels & Demons, which proved to be a great movie that both of us enjoyed – a miracle in itself.

In the morning, we took Coachie in to the shop for a check-up. The guy told us it would take some time to figure out what the heck was wrong with her, so we waited at a little coffee shop on Pier 39, which is apparently the original coffee shop that served all of the guys at the (tuna? anchovie?) cannery back in the 20s and 30s (I think). The amazing view kept me happy, but Ronny frowned the whole time, as I mentioned in my last post). Finally, we got the verdict: With these old beasts, though, you can’t do a computerized diagnostic. You have to do something called a compression test, which checks all of the cylinders and pistons or something to figure out what’s really wrong, but we knew that we definitely needed a new starter, new spark plugs, we might just have an oil leak, but it might be a blown gasket and valve, and unfortunately, we probably need a whole new engine. Whaaaat! That’ll cost more than the ol’ heap is even worth! Ronny tried to explain it all to me, but he may as well have been speaking another language. All I really understood was that we were in trouble.

A minor miracle was that Dad has a really good friend in Portland who owns the Ford dealership. He agreed to do the best he could with us if we could make it there, so after just getting new spark plugs to try to get us 100 miles back to Portland – a task that Ronny had to negotiate since Aamco didn’t want to do a half-assed job and send us on our way – we hopped back on the road.

Now, here’s where we probably made a stupid mistake, but we were told that the drive down to Cannon Beach wasn’t that bad, and this was Saturday morning, and Ford wouldn’t be able to help us until Monday morning, so we decided to take our chances and head back to the beach. The drive ended up being longer than anticipated, but with the new spark plugs, we were driving along fine, and taking it easy on the hills.

Cannon Beach is amazingly beautiful. It’s a wide expanse of clean beach, no waves for surfing (at least on this day), but dogs are allowed. Ronny was very frustrated about our situation, so he took a nap in the camper. I was frustrated, too, but I figured it wouldn’t do us any good to worry until Monday morning, so I went down to the beach with a blanket and a book for a peaceful and satisfying hour of reading. I think the seagulls are bigger here than in San Diego, by the way, but I’m not sure. They seemed huge to me, though. I sent Ronny a text and invited him to bring Kodi and a poo bag down to join me. I hated to see him sleep this perfectly gorgeous day away, in the camper at least. He came down with the dog, and we made a deal that he’d nap there on the beach while Kodi and I took a walk.

Now, here’s where I achieved a very pure and childlike sense of joy. Kodi and I found the perfect stick and fetched and frolicked for a good 45 minutes up and down the beach. He may be 12 years old, but a game of fetch at the beach brings out the frisky little puppy in him. His contagious excitement had me running with him in the water, laughing at his wet, pleading face when I held the stick to give him a break, and absolutely in harmony with everything around us.

Later, Ronny and I took a bike ride to a little restaurant which ended up being a huffer-puffer of a hilly ride. We discovered, though, that we could ride back on the hard sand of the beach, so we experienced a sunset like no other. It’s exhilarating to ride along the beach, a bit chilly, but the amazing colors in the sky behind the silhouetted Haystack Rock, the people watching with a sense of wonder, the birds settling in for the night…what a sight to see. We exhausted ourselves (bikes in sand = sore thighs!), and enjoyed a lovely campfire back at our campsite (we decided that after our day we needed to have a little electricity, water, and comfort).

The morning trek to Portland proved to be an impossible challenge. It’s a hundred miles, give or take, but with the new spark plugs we thought we could make it. Ronny listened to every sound from the engine scrupulously, like a detective searching for clues, and, because Ronny’s allergies have had his nose stuffed for days, I reported every suspicious odor I smelled – even from the dog . We were popping, sputtering, losing oomph, and because every time we turned the engine off we had to jump it with our little battery jumper, Ronny decided that we had limited starts left in the starter.

Right about in St. Helens, about 30 miles out of Portland, I was sick and tired of our dirty windows, needed to pee, and we needed gas, so we pulled over into the Chevron station. Ronny turned off the engine to get gas, and it ended up being our fall. Coachie adamantly refused to start. Several guys brought us cables, even though we found ours, and we tried to jump her using one of the guys’ trucks. No luck. She was dead. Thank goodness for AAA! Phew!

We got towed to Portland. Ask me sometime to tell you about Chris M., our tow truck driver. He was one helluva character, that’s for sure. His enthusiasm about fishing and hunting had me in stitches, and Ronny encouraged his conversation by keeping up with him. Again, they spoke another language, talking about buck points, archery huntin’, sturgeon, and who knows what else. But we finally got to Portland (er, very northeast area with nothing but dealerships around), pulled into the shop, and waited for morning to come.

Thank goodness, Ford hooked us up with a rental car. So, we spent the next NINE HOURS (!!!) in agonizing apprehension, waiting expecting the worst, but hoping for a miracle. It was a stressful day. We drove to the Multnomah (?) Falls, apparently one of Oregon’s biggest tourist attractions. While Ronny napped (again, sheesh!) Kodi and I hiked a mile up the mountain to the top of the water falls. It was steep, exhausting and beautiful. Kodi and I drank fresh mountain water together out of the river at the top – who’s afraid of waterborne illness? – and then made our way back down the mountain to meet Ronny. My joy from the previous day with Kodi was overshadowed by his eagerness to attack every single other dog on the mountain, so by the time we met up with Ronny I was ready to hand him off and get back on the road.

It was hard to enjoy the rest of the day in Portland. We were both really grumpy, trying to face the fact that we might need to drop a few thousand dollars to fix our engine or buy a whole new RV and start from scratch. My high from the hike faded as we drove through town frustrated and without direction. We didn’t really want to do too much, since it would be hard to enjoy it, so all I wanted to do was go to the Riverfront and hang out at a park. No such luck there was so much traffic, everything seemed to be closed…Let’s just say that finally, when, at about 4:45 the guys called us from the shop, we were ready for the news.

We had been sitting at a little bar, just waiting, for a while. We were depressed. And then Ronny comes back in and says, “It’s fixed.”

“What? What do you mean it’s fixed?”

“They fixed it!”

A wave of confused relief passed over me. They had put in our new starter, and the compression test indicated that the problem was with the choke – I have no idea what that means, except that at this point we don’t need a new engine. There were a few issues that I didn’t understand, of course, but for now, we were in good shape. So we went and picked her up, and that’s when another little miracle happened – the bill was only $160. Dad’s buddy came through and waved 9 hours of labor, so we just had to pay for the starter and 30 minutes of labor. Thank goodness!

So, we paid our bill and decided to get the heck out of Oregon. We were thanking our lucky stars and thinking the worst was behind us. But, it wasn’t.

To be continued…

I’d continue it now, but I’ve already babbled too long (sorry!)…

Coachie’s in the shop down the street. She had a huge backfire yesterday as we climbed the hilly, tree-covered mountain. She’s happy as long as we’re heading down hill. Once there’s an incline, though, she huffs and puffs and threatens to blow our house down. We’re crossing our fingers for a distributor cap, but it’s looking like a valve deep inside the belly of the engine is blown; a repair that might cost up to $4 grand and at least a week in the shop. My fingers are crossed, but it’s not looking good.

We spent the day yesterday driving from Portland to Astoria, worried the whole time. Highway 26 is a beautiful drive swathed in hundreds of thousands of trees along the way. Ronny’s mood fluctuated along with Coachie’s, so it was an up-and-downhill journey both figuratively and literally.

So now we’re in limbo; it all depends on the diagnosis. If it’s bad, I mean, really bad, do we try to trade her in for parts? My dad’s old buddy owns a dealership back in Portland. He said he’d fix the RV for the best deal possible, whatever that means. It’s probably our best bet.

Ronny’s not happy. “Great. Stranded in Astoria,” he says from the bench next to me. He has his feet crossed on a chair and a heavy frown on his face. I think he’s thinking of all of the crap wrong with the truck, but then he says, “Do you think this is salt water?” Apparently he’s doing all right.

I ask if  he’d like to mention anything in our blog? He gives me the stink-eye and says, “I don’t know if this is a good time for me to mention anything.” Uh-oh. I haven’t seen him this silently pissed since 3 days before our wedding when the boat guy told us that the boat we were planning to take us on the ocean to the reception.

Well, David the Mechanic is calling….All I hear out of Ronny is “ok…ok…ok…” His expression hasn’t changed and I can’t read him, but at least he’s not shaking his head, a sure sign of discontent.

Keep your fingers crossed. We want this journey to go on.

…to be continued…