Current State

When we last spoke, I was about to become a full-time and first-time RV tiny house queen. Here’s what happened since then. We moved.  

From 1400 square feet to 300 square feet.  I knew we had a lot of stuff. I knew that our ability to imagine the different scenarios in which we might need 300 feet of coaxial cable was going to make weeding difficult.  I had no idea how difficult.

We cut down a huge amount.  I sold furniture on Facebook Marketplace, we gave items to family, Josh was on a first name basis with the guys at the local Goodwill dropoff. The last time he went, they told him he’d have to go somewhere else because they were too full.  The Goodwill in Grandview, Ohio is entirely comprised of Ikea furniture ala Josh & Meghan.

And even so, the RV is full, there’s a stack of boxes at my parents’ house and his parents’ house, and to our utter embarrassment, when we left our apartment, we had to leave a large pile of random things for the trash.  We’ve been in the RV fulltime for two months and we’re still not done cutting down our things. We managed to get rid of the coax cable, but we’ve just scratched the surface. We tried to de-winterize.   The fairly disinterested dude who walked us through our RV at purchase in January vaguely indicated what we might need to do when it was time to actually, you know, use our water system. The only things I absorbed from the conversation was that there was antifreeze in our pipes and tanks because Ohio, and this dude managed to simultaneously be condescending and clueless. Fortunately, the love of my life is good at research and he did a lot of it preparing for the moment in May where we would need to use the water without ingesting antifreeze.  But after two days of trying and an unhelpful call to the dealership, our water pump still wasn’t working. We had to call a roving RV mechanic who came and said, “the water pump switch is concealed behind this hidden door.  That will be $180.” We took cold showers.   So, now the pump is working but somewhere during the time the pump wasn’t working, we fried the element in our water heater.  Josh goes back to the dealership, and the guy says, “here’s an element, it’s $20. Good luck with that.” Seriously, that’s what he said. Thank God for YouTube videos, because Josh managed to completely take apart the water heater, including disconnecting the propane, and we did not blow up.  But the old element wouldn’t budge. Two trips to the hardware store to find wrenches-that-might-get-the-damn-thing-loose later, we have to call the roving mechanic back, who, as it turns out has a special tool and he will get out our heating element.  For $180. We tried to park at 1am.   This one is my fault.  My work trip to San Francisco got changed at the last minute and I was scheduled to return on the cusp of our maiden voyage with Roberta.  I mean, we’d driven around Columbus, but this was the big Kahuna – 600 miles across Pennsylvania. And I was sure that it would be fine if I took a red-eye back from California and immediately got in the truck.  Because I’m smart. And it was fine, until we pulled in to the campsite at 1am, completely crooked.  On a hill. Josh and I work really hard to be civil to each other at all times, but even we have our breaking points.  And that breaking point was standing on a hill at 1 am with a diesel engine running, our house at a 5 degree angle, neighbors on either side and one of us whisper-yelling to the other, “I don’t know how to make you happy!” Our brakes failed. I have been known to drive through an emergency brake.  Therefore, I am well familiar with the warning signs – incessant beeping if you’re lucky, like driving through mud if you’re not – and I can usually identify the problem before doing any damage.  After we finally got the RV set up on the hill and were speaking to each other again, we decided to go out to dinner. I mentioned, “hey, the emergency brake was acting weird when I went out for donuts this morning.”  We tested it by leaving the emergency brake on and letting the truck roll. The idea being that the car *shouldn’t* roll…like ours did. Fortunately, we found a mechanic within walking distance of our campsite.  Unfortunately, he found that the backing plate for our entire rear brake system, including the emergency brake was rusted through.  And when he handed us the bill, he said, “now remember, New Jersey is the second most expensive state in the nation.” Thanks, fella, for saving our hides but maybe next time let’s skip the commentary. Our toilet showed its true colors.   I was feeling virtuous about our toilet that uses such little water.  Until two grown humans spent a month using it. Be grateful, friends, for that little pool of water that shows up in your bowl with each flush.  It turns out, that little pool of water goes a long way to keeping your toilet clean. They make a little device that dispenses safe cleaner to make your life easier…and oh hey, ours doesn’t work. Our kitchen got stuck.  As I write this, we are entering week four of crashing at my parents house because one entire side of our RV stopped working.  Our RV home has a large slide-out that holds our kitchen. When trying to leave our last campsite, the motor that pulls the slides in just up and said, “Nah.”  Since we can’t be road legal with an extra three feet sticking off our driver’s side, we were stuck until another roving RV mechanic could make it to our site and help us crank the slide in. We were able to move it and we lived in it for a week until we got in to a non-roving mechanic, an appointment we were only able to score because of family, friends and small-town connections. The mechanic is a lovely gentleman who took one look under the RV and said, very kindly, “Did you know your suspension is upside down?” Three weeks later and the parts are all finally in and the fixin’ is a-happenin’.  So we hear. In the meantime, my parents have gained two homeless computer geeks as roommates. I know it sounds like I’m complaining.  Just to be perfectly clear: I AM COMPLAINING. We knew it was going to be hard and we were right.  This is the part they skip during the Tiny House porn.  They never show you the “where are they now” footage where the woman stands on her roof garden, shakes her fist at the sky and screams, “THEY DIDN’T TELL ME ABOUT THE POOP!!!!” I am definitely complaining.  But, that’s far from all I’m doing. Here’s what else is happening. We’re learning about Roberta.   Every campsite we’ve been to has an ad in the brochure for an RV mechanic that will come to you.  While it is expensive, every time we’ve had to call, we’ve learned something. This is the first home that we’ve owned – we’re learning the noises she makes and we learning when we can work it out and when we need professional help. We’re learning how to drive a big rig.   I have developed a skill for backing up the giant truck and lining it up to our giant hitch on the first try.  Josh can now get us level in one shot. Even though the level on the side of our RV fell off. After driving across Pennsylvania and navigating our large truck/RV combo through a small state park entrance, an older gentleman walked over from his campsite with his wife, to confirm what he told her he saw:  “That’s a gal driving that rig!” You bet your ass, man-in-Jesus-hat. We’re seeing our family and friends… And we’re having actual time to visit, and I’m not constantly obsessed with the stress of my job or worried about how we’ll get back to Columbus by Monday.  This summer we met, for the first time, two different two-year-olds whose parents are our dear friends.  It took two years for us to meet these tiny human beings. We couldn’t be there before, and now we can. …and other beautiful things.

• 

Two type A math nerds are out here learning how to adapt.  And that’s a victory. Because we are both prone to uncontrollable bouts of writing, lots of folks have asked us if we’re going to blog about our adventures in the RV. After reading the first part of this post, I hope I’ve convinced you that we have NO business telling others how they could live.  There are lots of RV bloggers out there doing this really well, and we’ve relied on them to get started. Plus, we recognize that our situation is unique and would never presume to say to someone else, “oh, you should totally move into an RV.  Here’s the number of a road mechanic that you’ll need.” Instead of writing about our odd living situation, I’d like to share the places we’re seeing and eating and drinking.  I want to write about the music we’re hearing and continue to share my story as a cancer survivor. So I started this new site.  And I’ll hope you’ll come along for the ride.