RV Touring
Part One
Touring the country in an RV is amazing. To be fair, I don’t really “tour” the country as much as I just get somewhere and sit for a while. But, I did tour huge chunks of the country in an RV as a child, and I did tour the state of Arkansas in a travel trailer just recently, during the height of concern over COVID contagion. That’s not what this is about. I’ve been more-or-less living in Libby, my 2019 Sunset Liberty 24-foot travel trailer, for just over 2 years now, and it’s time for an upgrade. I had no idea what an adventure shopping for an RV could be.
Booth has been handling the research. He has spent hours, days, MONTHS on Craig’s List and other buy/sell/trade forums evaluating what’s available in the correct price range with the correct features. And it has been a learning experience for us both. Frankly, my knowledge of self-contained RVs is what my 10-year-old brain chose to retain about what was then a 10-year-old RV, and what my now 54-year-old brain can recall of that. So, yes, research is a vital part of this project. Every few days, Booth would find something appealing to him, and I would sit through slide-shows of photos that looked like every other slide-show of photos of every other RV ever. If the current unit of interest was still available on my next day off, we would have a road-trip adventure to wherever it was located, to see it in person. Sounds fun, huh?
Our first foray into the world of in-person RV shopping was a bust. The unit was in Jensen Beach, which is a short 30 miles south of here, and a lovely hour-long ride down Florida’s beautiful sea-coast highway, the A1A. But the unit, listed as “in excellent condition” was neither lovely nor beautiful, and was a far cry from excellent. (Sigh.) In my head, I said, “Why would you say ‘excellent condition’ in your listing? And why am I still here?” But I never said it out loud. We bailed before the seller even arrived. We were so bummed, we didn’t even stop for lunch or see any of the semi-famous public beach there. So much for my Jensen Beach adventure on that day off.
The next attempt at in-person RV shopping was also a bust. This used-RV dealer listed this fabulous, top-of-the-line Winnebago Class A unit for a reasonable price, both in keeping with the value of that year-model unit itself AND my ability to pay. The listing said “everything works.” That’s verbatim, a real quote, not paraphrased or open to interpretation. Everything works. Edgewater is pretty far away – about 120 miles, which translates to two hours up I-95 in Florida traffic. As many times as I had traveled I-95, I didn’t remember Edgewater. I was all set to see a new place, maybe grab a bite to eat while there, explore a little, have a little fun. We spoke with the dealer by phone, learned the unit was still available, and off to Edgewater we went. Mistake.
This place was as visually unappealing as one could possibly imagine. I know I tend to exaggerate for effect, but I do not have the vocabulary to describe how dirty this place was, and how much it affected me viscerally. Of the fifteen or so RV units parked in this dirt-and-overgrown lot, six or seven of them looked ready for the salvage yard, and a few looked like even the salvage yard wouldn’t take them. And the TRASH! Trash was everywhere. Copious amounts of garden-variety litter, like candy wrappers, used Q-Tips, and plastic shopping bags, were dispersed equally amongst stranger items, like a baby’s crib toy, a sneaker insole, and a bright-blue toothbrush. We had plenty of time there, waiting among the trash for the unit of my dreams to return from a fuel run. Sheesh. As it turned out, I’m surprised the thing even ran, but that’s a detail for later. When we finally got to see the unit, the owner said, almost as an afterthought, “Oh, you should know. The air conditioner doesn’t work.” Part of the appeal of this unit, part of what made it “top of the line” is the basement air conditioning unit, with all its cool (pun intended) features. He followed up with, “I can’t find anybody to fix it, but it might just need Freon.” So, hey, Dealer-Dude, what about that “everything works” line? If you, in your line of work, can’t find anyone to fix this super-dooper top-of-the-line primo RV air conditioning unit, how the hell am I supposed to? (Sigh.) But I didn’t actually say any of that.
Knowing that the lie and the inability to repair the air conditioner were both deal-breakers, we still wanted to take a look at the interior of the unit. After all, this was only the second real RV in living color, and I wanted to actually see some of the features and fixtures I had previously only read about. Might as well salvage something from the experience, right? MISTAKE! The interior had the olfactory equivalent of the exterior appearance. I’m not a mycologist, so don’t expect any scientific terms here. I’ll go with the layman’s terms of “GROSS!” and “What the hell?” I swear, I could feel the spores invading my sinus cavity and larynx. In hindsight, I would like to have seen my own face when I realized the sunlight beaming in from behind the refrigerator wasn’t a skylight (I mean, why would there be a skylight on a slide-out roof BEHIND a refrigerator). It was an actual hole in the roof. Water damage was everywhere. Part of the cabinetry was completely missing (presumably because it was water-damaged) and there was a dirt-dauber’s nest in the corner near the hole. (I would’ve sighed again here, but I truly did not dare take deep enough breath to pull it off.) Well, damn. Ix-nay on the ourism-tay, because I need a shower and maybe a Nuvage. ASAP. Sorry, Edgewater. I’m sure you’re a lovely town otherwise, but I couldn’t stay even one more minute.
I still don’t have a new-to-me RV, and Booth is still diligently sifting through listings trying to hit upon the one that works. I can’t deny this search has truly been an adventure, but for the immediate future, my adventures will be more sedate, involving crystal-clear pools, sandy beaches, long nature walks, and touristy kitsch. I need a break from all this RV-shopping hilarity.
Touring the country in an RV is amazing. To be fair, I don’t really “tour” the country as much as I just get somewhere and sit for a while. But, I did tour huge chunks of the country in an RV as a child, and I did tour the state of Arkansas in a travel trailer just recently, during the height of concern over COVID contagion. That’s not what this is about. I’ve been more-or-less living in Libby, my 2019 Sunset Liberty 24-foot travel trailer, for just over 2 years now, and it’s time for an upgrade. I had no idea what an adventure shopping for an RV could be.
Booth has been handling the research. He has spent hours, days, MONTHS on Craig’s List and other buy/sell/trade forums evaluating what’s available in the correct price range with the correct features. And it has been a learning experience for us both. Frankly, my knowledge of self-contained RVs is what my 10-year-old brain chose to retain about what was then a 10-year-old RV, and what my now 54-year-old brain can recall of that. So, yes, research is a vital part of this project. Every few days, Booth would find something appealing to him, and I would sit through slide-shows of photos that looked like every other slide-show of photos of every other RV ever. If the current unit of interest was still available on my next day off, we would have a road-trip adventure to wherever it was located, to see it in person. Sounds fun, huh?
Our first foray into the world of in-person RV shopping was a bust. The unit was in Jensen Beach, which is a short 30 miles south of here, and a lovely hour-long ride down Florida’s beautiful sea-coast highway, the A1A. But the unit, listed as “in excellent condition” was neither lovely nor beautiful, and was a far cry from excellent. (Sigh.) In my head, I said, “Why would you say ‘excellent condition’ in your listing? And why am I still here?” But I never said it out loud. We bailed before the seller even arrived. We were so bummed, we didn’t even stop for lunch or see any of the semi-famous public beach there. So much for my Jensen Beach adventure on that day off.
The next attempt at in-person RV shopping was also a bust. This used-RV dealer listed this fabulous, top-of-the-line Winnebago Class A unit for a reasonable price, both in keeping with the value of that year-model unit itself AND my ability to pay. The listing said “everything works.” That’s verbatim, a real quote, not paraphrased or open to interpretation. Everything works. Edgewater is pretty far away – about 120 miles, which translates to two hours up I-95 in Florida traffic. As many times as I had traveled I-95, I didn’t remember Edgewater. I was all set to see a new place, maybe grab a bite to eat while there, explore a little, have a little fun. We spoke with the dealer by phone, learned the unit was still available, and off to Edgewater we went. Mistake.
This place was as visually unappealing as one could possibly imagine. I know I tend to exaggerate for effect, but I do not have the vocabulary to describe how dirty this place was, and how much it affected me viscerally. Of the fifteen or so RV units parked in this dirt-and-overgrown lot, six or seven of them looked ready for the salvage yard, and a few looked like even the salvage yard wouldn’t take them. And the TRASH! Trash was everywhere. Copious amounts of garden-variety litter, like candy wrappers, used Q-Tips, and plastic shopping bags, were dispersed equally amongst stranger items, like a baby’s crib toy, a sneaker insole, and a bright-blue toothbrush. We had plenty of time there, waiting among the trash for the unit of my dreams to return from a fuel run. Sheesh. As it turned out, I’m surprised the thing even ran, but that’s a detail for later. When we finally got to see the unit, the owner said, almost as an afterthought, “Oh, you should know. The air conditioner doesn’t work.” Part of the appeal of this unit, part of what made it “top of the line” is the basement air conditioning unit, with all its cool (pun intended) features. He followed up with, “I can’t find anybody to fix it, but it might just need Freon.” So, hey, Dealer-Dude, what about that “everything works” line? If you, in your line of work, can’t find anyone to fix this super-dooper top-of-the-line primo RV air conditioning unit, how the hell am I supposed to? (Sigh.) But I didn’t actually say any of that.
Knowing that the lie and the inability to repair the air conditioner were both deal-breakers, we still wanted to take a look at the interior of the unit. After all, this was only the second real RV in living color, and I wanted to actually see some of the features and fixtures I had previously only read about. Might as well salvage something from the experience, right? MISTAKE! The interior had the olfactory equivalent of the exterior appearance. I’m not a mycologist, so don’t expect any scientific terms here. I’ll go with the layman’s terms of “GROSS!” and “What the hell?” I swear, I could feel the spores invading my sinus cavity and larynx. In hindsight, I would like to have seen my own face when I realized the sunlight beaming in from behind the refrigerator wasn’t a skylight (I mean, why would there be a skylight on a slide-out roof BEHIND a refrigerator). It was an actual hole in the roof. Water damage was everywhere. Part of the cabinetry was completely missing (presumably because it was water-damaged) and there was a dirt-dauber’s nest in the corner near the hole. (I would’ve sighed again here, but I truly did not dare take deep enough breath to pull it off.) Well, damn. Ix-nay on the ourism-tay, because I need a shower and maybe a Nuvage. ASAP. Sorry, Edgewater. I’m sure you’re a lovely town otherwise, but I couldn’t stay even one more minute.
I still don’t have a new-to-me RV, and Booth is still diligently sifting through listings trying to hit upon the one that works. I can’t deny this search has truly been an adventure, but for the immediate future, my adventures will be more sedate, involving crystal-clear pools, sandy beaches, long nature walks, and touristy kitsch. I need a break from all this RV-shopping hilarity.
