Pray that my truck is broken

Truth is, the trouble started almost immediately.

In January 2018, we purchased our first RV (a Carriage Cameo fifth wheel trailer we named Roberta) and our first truck (a Ford F-350 named Larry) in January 2018. Before writing any checks, we did a ton of research and picked vehicles that should have been durable. We comparison-shopped; we took the truck to a mechanic to check out before we purchased. We stuck to a budget that meant we wouldn’t go into debt and would have money left over for an emergency fund. We bought warranties. We put the RV in storage and got to work tearing down wallpaper and painting. We downsized our very large collection of stuff and moved into the RV full-time in May 2018.

On our first road trip, we met our first problem. We got to New Jersey in June 2018, and learned that the backing plate to our rear brakes was rusted through and would need to be replaced in order for our emergency brake to work.

It was the first of a very long list of repairs.

In the 16 months since then, the truck has been in the shop 12 more times. Twice we’ve broken down on the side of the road. We have replaced the aforementioned backing plates, the emergency brake (twice), the ball joints (twice), all of the fuel injectors, the turbo, 2 tires, the EGR valve (twice), the front brakes, two new batteries, fixed a high pressure oil leak, and oh yeah, put in a new transmission.

The RV has been in shop 5 times, once for 40 days. It has gotten four new tires, two new batteries and all new brakes. The shadiest mechanic of all time had a gear manufactured and replaced a motor so that our kitchen slide would work again. Two different mechanics looked at at the slide on the other side. The dealer who sold it to us tried to rob us again for five grand.

If you’re not familiar with RVs, the slides are sections of the space that slide in and out. In our case, our slides are most of our living space. One holds our entire kitchen and a bookcase with the tv and an electric fireplace. The other holds Josh’s desk and our couch. When the slides are in, we are around 8 feet wide and there’s no room for people in the middle of the RV. When the slides are out, we are closer to 14 feet wide.

We have had 5 different visits from mobile RV techs at campsites. One, in Sandusky Ohio, laid on his back and manually cranked our kitchen slide in (which is not light) so that we could get on the road and to the shadiest mechanic of all time.

By my calculations, we’ve spent 22% of our time in the last 17 months with one or both of our vehicles in the shop.

We’ve tried, through at all, to be as positive as possible. We are living a dream and to complain at all feels ungrateful. We made it through cancer, surely we can make it through this.

We always think, if we just make this one more repair, we’ll be ok. We can stop spending money on rental cars and mechanics that pretend to know what they’re doing. We can stop wondering at every stop if we need to pack it up and just go home. We can stop worrying all the time that the next time the truck or RV breaks, it will be at 70mph on the highway. Just the one last repair, and it will all be fine and we can stop feeling so fucking stupid.

And yet, there’s always another repair.

In June, we seriously discussed not going back out on the road again. We were having problems with our living room slide and our original RV dealer wanted $5,000 to fix it. At that point, having already matched the initial cost of the truck with post-purchase repair costs, we couldn’t justify that cost. And the EGR valve on our truck was having trouble with the heat and the towing. I started looking at apartments and trying to figure out how to sell our equipment.

But, then, we found an RV mechanic that showed us how to fix the slide more cheaply, and a Ford mechanic that replaced the EGR valve with a Ford-made one. We spent a few months at home, recharging and staying still. And the road started to look good. And achievable – maybe we’d finally fixed all that ailed us.

On the way from Columbus to Memphis, our truck started flashing errors that our trailer and truck were disconnected. The first couple of times, we assumed that the plug had just come loose.

Eventually, we could feel that the trailer brakes were no longer grabbing consistently. The messages changed to “Trailer Fault.”

We limped into a campsite in Nashville. We called an RV mobile tech recommended by the campsite and followed his advice to try to clean all the connections. We got 100 feet out of our campsite on a road test before the errors started again. It’s clear that there’s an electrical short somewhere between the truck and the trailer. The road tech came out in person and looked at all our trailer wiring. He can’t find anything and is sure it’s the truck. We then brought the truck to a Ford dealership. They claim that the computer points to the trailer and they don’t see anything. We call a second RV mobile tech. He asks who the first road tech was and when we tell him, says, “If that guys says it’s your truck, it’s your truck.”

So, tomorrow, we’re taking the truck to another mechanic to try and find an electrical short that is causing our trailer brakes to cut in and out. And I’m not sure what happens if they can’t find it. If no one will help us because the short isn’t in their jurisdiction.

In the meantime, Josh started to investigate a kitchen slide issue that seems to be getting worse. Turns out, we’re back to the same issue that the shadiest mechanic in the world fixed a year ago – the gears in our kitchen slide are pulling apart. The gears aren’t standard parts, so to fix it, we’ll need to find someone to manufacture a new gear and replace the old one. With no guarantees that it won’t happen again in another year. Because the slide is engineered poorly – a very small gear is pushing a very large slide.

The result of this news is that as soon as we fix the electrical problem, we’re heading home again. The kitchen slide is one entire wall of the RV. We likely can’t continue to live in Roberta if we can’t put the slide out. We definitely couldn’t use our stove or most of our kitchen storage.

All of this means that I need the brake problem to be the truck. I need this mechanic tomorrow to find it and fix it, so we can get home safely and get the RV to the mechanic at home that we trust and find out if the slide is fried for good.

I’ve been asking friends and family who pray or believe in the power of good vibes in the universe: Pray that my truck is broken.

And, that’s a weird thing to say.

Maybe this is weird, too, but I’m still glad we moved into an RV. We have learned untold number of things about ourselves. We’ve learned how to fix things – plumbing and heating vents and water hookup problems and a broken dryer that we fixed all by ourselves. We are writers and i.t. nerds who have managed to live in a house on wheels that is almost constantly breaking down. We can both maneuver 20,000 pounds down the highway and into a 20×40 parking spot.

We managed to live and work together in less than 300 square feet. We successfully downsized and refocused our priorities on what makes us happy, versus what makes us the most money. We’ve seen a lot of America; broken bread and tipped back a glass or two with family and friends and twitter acquaintances never before met in real life.

While the next month will surely test our patience and resilience, we will survive. We will still have all the good things about our new life and most importantly, each other.

We may have been supremely unlucky in the last 17 months, but we are lucky in lots of other ways.

It could be worse; it could be snowing.