Pt 17 Hooking up a butt lift yank out-AMEN!
By now, our site was a soggy mess, and my spidey senses were on high alert. I couldn’t shake the vision of stepping out the door into a giant lake and then it happened.....
After our fun adventure in an almost “Diablo Pass” somewhere in the Colorado mountains moment we are on to getting back on track and into another chaotic moment.
Need to catch up?
Pt 16 2 amateurs at the helm and a GPS with an attitude; admit it or pay the consequences
Pt 14 The worlds largest little skyscraper awaits..this is Wichita Falls
Garmin smugly announced our arrival, “Tulsa RV Ranch on the right” as we pulled in, clearly pleased with our obedience to follow her directions. A short, gentle drive to the right revealed a a small Cowboy Church and straight ahead quirky building straight out of an old Western movie set; if you squinted, you could almost see the saloon doors swinging. The “BUNK HUSE” (yes, spelt correctly) was a cheery yellow; “LIVERY” was painted barn red, and the off-white “CARRIAGE PARTS” looked like it could house a stagecoach or two. But like a Western facade, it seemed a bit unreal, held up by what I imagined were 2x4s propping it from behind.
Where to go next? Left or right? Garmin was silent we had “ARRIVED” after all, and were on our own. Despite its lively paint job, the overcast sky drained the color, leaving the scene washed in thickening grey clouds . Old farming equipment dotted a patch of green, and we decided to veer right. Good choice. It led us to the General Store and RV Office, confirmed by a modest sign. In hindsight, it seems obvious, but at the time, it was a crapshoot. Checking in at some parks and campgrounds is often an adventure in itself, as the “office” isn’t always easy to find. And, I will admit, even when it is obvious, I have had a tendency to miss it.
The park was eerily quiet, likely due to the cold March dampness and overcast skies threatening rain. Most campers were probably hunkered down in their cozy RVs, sipping something warm and waiting out the gloom. Inside the store, we found not much in the way of inventory, but enough to appease a snack attack: crunchy treats, sodas, and some frozen foods that could be microwaved in a pinch. The staff greeted us with a quick friendly hello, a swipe of the credit card, and directions to site #47.
The park had a certain charm. We drove past a colorful children’s play area—a wooden treehouse-looking structure with bright yellow slides (that had me wishing I was a kid again) and a patio of white plastic Adirondack chairs, all glistening wet from the rain. The gravel sites were tucked between bare trees, promising shade come summer. We settled into our spot, hooked up, and spent the evening catching up on emails and returning calls, too lazy to explore further.
The next day brought a break in the weather, and I ventured out to explore. A swollen creek wound through the park, rushing wildly from days of rain, perhaps feeding a pond at one end. The park offered around a hundred sites, all back-ins with full hookups for 30 or 50 amps, along with some villa rentals and adorable, fully furnished cowboy cabins. These little gems looked like a fun place to stay, and I imagined how vibrant the park must feel in the summer, with green trees and sunny skies.
One path led to the Duck Creek Casino, a nearby attraction boasting 20,000 square feet of gaming and entertainment, plus decent food—or so their website claimed. But we weren’t here for casinos. Ernie had meetings in Tulsa, and I had virtual clients to tend to.
Now, I am not sure why but we needed something worked on in our coach, though I can’t for the life of me remember what initially prompted the search for an RV tech. Ah, yes! The infamous leak in the flexible pipe under the kitchen sink. Back in Arizona, we’d hired someone who managed not only to break a drawer (and not fix it or offer to pay) but also the cover that hides the pipes which happens to unrepairable. Little did we know at the time, his botched job was going to haunt us.
I’d have to say, this is one of the hardest parts about life on the road. When you’ve lived in one place for a while, you build up a trusted network, you know, your go-to people for repairs, a reliable doctor, a dentist you don’t dread seeing. But out here, that luxury disappears, leaving you at the mercy of whoever happens to be available. And sometimes, that means dealing with some real shysters!
Ever since leaving Arizona, every time we brought in the kitchen slide, there was this imaginary ominous crunching sound. Kind of like the imaginary leak we had at the Hitch’n Post in Nevada. Setting up at site #47 made it clear this wasn’t a figment of my imagination evident by the water quietly pooling on the kitchen floor near the broken cover. Not desperate but concerned it could lead to a bigger problem I started looking for someone to help. I found Joe from Master Tech Mobile RV Service though this wasn’t technically his area, I think the urgency in my voice hit him like a bat signal shining over Gotham. He just couldn’t ignore the call.
Joe arrived the next day, (it was a very slow leak, we were good) navigating our rain-saturated site. It had been raining off and on since we arrived, and our little corner of the park was beginning to resemble a marsh. When Joe got a good look, he confirmed the worst: the crunching sound was the slide hitting and eventually snapping off the ABS piping. And here’s the kicker, the Arizona guy had installed the wrong type of piping! Flexible piping is what’s needed to handle the movement of a slide and the kitchen plumbing, not rigid ABS. Essentially the slide was trying to move past the ABS piping and could not so, it went though it. This discovery was equal parts relief and frustration. Relief that the mystery was solved and frustration at the incompetence we had to have fixed and pay for, again.
The unfortunate truth about most RV repairs is that whether it’s a one-person operation or a large corporation, fixing something that wasn’t done right the first time, or even under warranty work, often requires driving back to the original service location. Let’s be real: no one is going to travel hundreds of miles, paying for fuel and lodging, just to have something re-fixed. So, you end up paying twice, sometimes even three times, until you find someone who truly knows what they’re doing.
Joe fixed it properly this time, and when you find someone who knows their stuff, you want them to fix everything. In fact, everything we had Joe either install or repair, is still working as it should to this day. He started with the batteries. I’m not sure how the batteries came up, but I had no idea they could accumulate that crusty, corrosive build-up that weakens their charge. I marveled at how our slightly spongy site, full of puddles, was no match for Joe. Armed with a piece of plywood and an adjustable stool, he dove right in. The puddles didn’t faze him, and I couldn’t get over the oddly beautiful colors of the corrosion—so pretty for something so destructive. I learned a ton about battery maintenance that day including a battery spray to keep those connections clean and healthy, and vowed to keep ours in tip-top shape. To this day, We have kept that promise.
By now, our site was a soggy mess, and my spidey senses whispered that we’d be floating in a lake by morning. The sites on either side of us were slightly higher, and I couldn’t shake the vision of stepping out the door into a giant pond. I voiced my concerns to Ernie, who, to my surprise, agreed. A quick call to the front desk, and we had permission to move to the slightly elevated and much drier site next to us. Easy, right?
We secured our items loosely inside knowing we were just pulling out and over. As soon as we tried to pull out, the mud seized our rig like quicksand. The more we tried to move, the tighter the grip and the deeper we sank. Panic set in, but what happened next was nothing short of amazing. Campers from neighboring sites—strangers—saw our predicament and rushed over. Not to gawk. No! To genuinely help.
A complete contrast to the HOA in Phoenix couldn’t be starker. We lived there for ten years, and in that decade, I learned one thing: help was as scarce as shade in the desert. The neighbors were a breed all their own, snooty, aloof, and completely allergic to kindness. When a woman’s home caught fire, they didn’t rush to help; they craned their necks from behind their perfectly manicured cacti, clutching their lattes, whispering speculative nonsense about the woman’s life choices. Their version of community support was ensuring their gossip circle was well-fueled for weeks.
And when someone tried to break into our home? You could’ve heard a pin drop in the neighborhood. Not a single door creaked open, not a single voice asked if we were okay. They weren’t entirely silent, of course. By morning, the incident had been dissected, judged, and sensationalized as they gossiped poolside in their designer sunglasses. These were the kind of people who walked with their noses so high in the air, I often wondered if they avoided going out in the rain for fear of drowning.
Yet here, in an RV park full of strangers, there was a stark difference. Within moments of our muddy misfortune, people I’d never met came rushing to help, shovels and chains in hand, offering solutions instead of side-eyes. No judgment, no gossip, just pure human decency.
One camper hitched his hefty pickup to our coach, while the park owners brought in gravel to help us gain traction. In less than an hour, we were free, safely relocated to higher ground. The generosity of our fellow campers was deeply touching, and when we expressed our heartfelt gratitude, they almost seemed apologetic—like helping was just the natural thing to do.
If I’d ever had doubts about life on the open road, this moment erased them completely. There are real people out there, kind, selfless, and grounded, doing what humans are supposed to do: creating community in the natural ebb and flow of life. It was a humbling reminder that the people with the least to prove are often the ones who show up when it matters most.
By morning, my premonition about our flooded site was fully validated. I pushed up the blinds to see the old site completely underwater, transformed into a makeshift pond. Ducks had already moved in, paddling happily in their new paradise. The rain had filled in the deep tire tracks, erasing all traces of yesterday’s chaos, as if nature itself wanted to wash away the memory. The only part I did not want washed away was the valuable lessons:
Always evaluate your campsite before setting up. Higher ground is your best friend during a storm.
Take a drive around the park to scout for potential trouble spots. A few extra minutes of exploration can save you hours of frustration (we have seen this numerous times).
Keep a good pair of high-cut rain boots and an oversized raincoat handy. Fashionable? Not at all. Essential? Absolutely. You will thank me.
Most importantly, remember that community is alive and well.
Who knew we had to escape not just the snooty confines of our Phoenix HOA, but the rest of “Plasticville,” to find real, genuine people? Throughout our travels, this has been a recurring theme: strangers going out of their way to help, expecting nothing in return. It’s a beautiful thing; one I’m honored to have experienced time and time again.
Since Joe, our newfound RV tech wizard (well, a God really), wasn’t based near this park, we decided to move on to his recommended location. When you find a golden nugget of talent like Joe, you want them to handle everything. And that’s exactly what we did, ticking off our repair and install wishlist one item at a time.
Question for you,
who is that one person, that golden nugget you have found that you would recommend over and over? Or that golden heart of a person who was there for you in your time of need? I would love to read about your story. Hit that blue button below— I can’t wait.
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Need to catch up?
Pt 16 2 amateurs at the helm and a GPS with an attitude; admit it or pay the consequences
Pt 14 The worlds largest little skyscraper awaits..this is Wichita Falls
Thank you for reading I appreciate you!
~Karen