Doin’ it RV Style!
By J. Lee Austin, MD
Intrepid readers following this boutique Stack for awhile are familiar with my inglorious history of dumbfounding stunts with motorcycles, boats, planes, cars and trucks. So why should RV’s be any different? Turns out they’re not.
With enough foolhardy follies in the RV Life to make a full length movie, we could totally screenplay “The Rolling Blunder Bus, starring Needless Mayhem and Utter Chagrin.” For a sneak preview of pointless tales of foundering imbecility (not for the faint of heart or bladder control), go ahead and pop that corn.
J. Lee is a contributor to Crystal Beach Local News, and is the founder of The Good Help Network, a reader-supported publication.
Smart folks start off small, learn the ropes and work their way up to bigger. Not me, nope, I’m going with the ever trusty trial-by-fire-and-error approach. I guess the good news is that nobody got hurt with our 10-ton monster, but it does beg the question for the elephant in the room … how in the world is there is no extra training, special license or minimum competence test required to operate one of these massive behemoths? I’m certainly not suggesting we need more regulations … just noting a glaring anomaly in a system so bureaucratically bloated that Oregon drivers cannot pump their own fuel, Florida skateboarders need a license to ride and North Dakota bars cannot simultaneously serve beer and pretzels. Just sayin’.
Our first motoring coach was a Fleetwood Discovery … ironically prophetic since we soon came to thoroughly “Discover” the endless plethora of pitfalls and prayers that come with owning and operating one of these leviathans. Admittedly the learning curve is steeper than a hockey stick, but even thus, you gotta be sharp as a box of rocks to perpetrate the blunders of this confessional. Clearly I was the man for the job.
Departing the RV park one ordinary day, I precipitously discovered the limits of the big rig’s power-cord by forgetting to disconnect the heavy, monster cable from the so-called “shore power” (which everyone else calls electricity.) Either way, the 50 foot long serpent full of killerwatts did not take kindly to the harsh yank, objecting vociferously with a thundering BOOM! Hearing the bomb, I reflexively I hit the brakes, just in time to be too late.
Calling on my primitive electric skills, I inspected the cord, and found the outer sheath pulled well away from the plug, leaving visible a 4 inch gap of colorful underlying wires. Pretty like a rainbow they were. I figured that technically the thing was still in one piece, so I tugged on it a bit, gave it my best Aggie blessing, went on my oblivious way, and cavalierly plugged it back into the 50 amp socket upon my return … all powered up, all good in the ‘hood.
The following week was uneventful. Until it wasn’t. Until a devious, light misting rain coated the ground around the motorhome, which was now a giant short-circuit, sizzling there in wait for an unsuspecting victim. The fury of the wounded cord was now being silently channeled through the big bus and into the wet metal door handle. Once touched, the coiled, hot, vindictive current charged violently through the hapless essence of yours truly, bolting thenceforth into the moist earth below and completing the wayward circuit. I was lit, as the kids say.
Since that’s the sort of jolting voltage that can really stop a heartbeat, I’m counting it as one of my many Close Calls. I may not have been near death, but I could sure see it from there. If I ever again commit such rank idiocy, I hope somebody loads me on the next boat to Martinique and puts us all out of our misery.
For more RV stories lacking all signs of intelligent life, stay tuned … ~~ j ~~
“There are three kinds of men. The one who learns by reading. The few who learn by observation. The rest have to pee on the electric fence for themselves.” ~~ Will Rogers
