2023: Go East, Old Folks

How Does This Work Again?

February 11-12


Six years?!? SIX YEARS?!!? Yes, Gentle Reader, that's how long poor Behemoth, our 40-foot motor home, has been languishing in storage. (Very PRICEY storage, I might add.) I decided if I didn't get off my butt now, I never would.

The only areas that we haven't already thoroughly explored are on the other side of the country. So between driving distance and forgotten road-living skills, this would be one honkin' big undertaking. I began working on a detailed trip plan and Mike began tinkering with the RV.

After months of planning, D-Day (Driving Day) was February 11. The last week before takeoff was a frantic scramble to load the RV with clothes, food, cat paraphenalia. Also a last-minute scare when when our little Penny stopped eating. Panic, vet visit, ultrasound, medication, crisis apparently averted. *Phew*. Finally, packed to the gills, we headed out.

What rain can do.

Our first day out was pretty easy. I enjoyed the lush, green hills on our way out of town and bemoaned the fact that they would be dead and brown by the time we returned.

Faux flowers.

As we're motoring along I saw some lovely yellow wildflowers on the shoulder but I missed the photo op. A little further along, I spotted some orange patches in the distance so I whipped out my phone and took some snaps as they blurred by. When I check the pics, guess what? No flowers -- just orange fence-netting! I knew these new glasses weren't working!

Are we in Switzerland? Eyes on the screen. Eyes on the road.

From one extreme to the other: as we entered the mountainous Grapevine area north of Los Angeles, the green hills changed to white! The weather was going to be, um, adventurous.

The cats are no help. Yep, got the WHOLE rug.

Negative portents appeared early. At our first stop, we discovered one of our slideouts wouldn't work. Fortunately it wasn't a deal-breaker and we soldiered on. The next day, a bottle of wine in the fridge upended on the rough road and dripped its entire contents out onto the rug.

The Universe may be sending a message, but I'm letting it go to voicemail.