Pt 4 I think we are leaking?
“Something’s leaking” I yelled in the direction of my approaching husband. “It’s nothing, I am sure.” He replies. We drove into the park following the porter leaving a stream of pinkish-nothing-fluid
After getting the local lingo down and knowing what to say and how to be prepared for RV parks when you are over 10 years old—well, not me or you, of course we are over 10 yers old, I meant the RV. This week, I am sharing our actual maiden voyage. Yes! Our actual maiden voyage—we did it. We left Arizona.
Our Maiden Voyage
Now that we've got some basic RV lingo under our seat belts, it's time to get our adventure on!
In the span of three whirlwind months, we sold our car, cleared out our contents, and our home went lickety-split, fetching top dollar in the sizzling Arizona market. Three months of packing, unpacking, and sorting later, we were ready for our maiden voyage, poised to leave Arizona after 15 sun-soaked years.
Our first stop? Las Vegas, Nevada! We chose it because it wasn't too far from what we were familiar with. I can't call it "home" anymore, because our home is now on wheels. However, our kids are still in Arizona, so there will always be that magnetic pull of coming "home."
January 1st, 2020, we were ready to embark on our maiden voyage.
Before we hit the road, our "new to us" 13-year-old Honda CR-V got a makeover, retrofitted to be towed behind our Coach. I thought I was being clever by taking a video of how to hook up the car, but alas, it didn’t help much. In hindsight, we should have had the tech show us how to hook up our car while I videoed.
Our maiden voyage started with a bit of a hitch—literally. It took us 45 minutes of fiddling with fancy parts, untangling coiled wires, and crawling under the Coach to plug things in, all while trying to decipher the purpose of this one mysterious tiny coiled wire. It wasn’t exactly the smooth start we had envisioned. I’m still not entirely sure we hooked it up correctly, but I guess the Universe was on our side that day, looking out for us!
Monaco 1 Karen 0
With our car "universally" secured to the coach, as we pulled away from the RV park and turned our first corner, I got my first lesson in the general theory of relativity. Everything we forgot to secure was now strewn across the floor.
I’m not sure why, but maybe you can relate: we collected all the coins in our home, figuring we’d use them for tolls. I had placed the coins in a fancy dish with a lid, which was the first to go flying, spewing pennies from heaven everywhere. When my husband hit the brakes for an unexpected red light, everything teetering on the edge of disaster joined the mess on the floor.
I learned a real-life lesson that day.
Lesson 3: Assess what needs to be out and use two crucial materials to keep things put:
Grippy mats
Museum putty
Monaco 2, Karen 0
I also learned another valuable lesson that day.
Lesson 4: Create a launching list to ensure you've covered everything.
Monaco 3, Karen 0
We had been stationary for so long that when I set up our coach, it was while it was parked. The real test of our setup was how everything fared on the road. I learned that if you don't use grip mat shelf liners—the holy grail for mobile life—items will slide around and eventually end up on the floor.
I also discovered museum putty. This gooey, plasticine-like substance is truly the holy grail of RV living. I placed some on the bottom of our office equipment and plant pots, and they haven’t budged since that day. It does come off super-easily, thank goodness, but it is a necessity for the mobile life.
Monaco 3 Karen 1
I soon learned that our coach rocks, shakes, and rattles as it rolls down the road. The rougher the road, the more we rattle. Oh, and there is no sports bra out there that can contain the girls, especially on the terrible Highway 95 between AZ and Nevada.
It was exciting to finally be off on an adventure. I felt like a kid again, filled with imagination in the back of our station wagon on the way to our summer vacation. The tears welled up again, but this time they were happy tears, no lump in my throat, just my soul singing with glee: "On the road again."
We pulled into our maiden voyage RV park, the Hitchin' Post on the north side of Las Vegas. Quaint, really, with the original 1948 motel strip and hitching posts out front as if nodding to the good ol’ cowboy days. The only thing missing was a water trough. I got out to stretch my legs while Hubby went inside to firm up our reservation.
Standing in front of the coach, I felt a kinship as if we were now best friends. Feeling like a small child again, hands stuffed in my pockets, I was almost afraid to breathe, fearing that an exhale might reveal this was all just an imaginary made up story. This mighty beast towered above me, offering shelter from the midday desert sun, its massive frame casting a cool shadow like a protective cloak. It seemed to whisper secrets of the wild journeys ahead, promising tales of freedom and discovery.
I took a moment to soak in the milestone. There, embraced by our rolling home, I let the reality wash over me, smiling from ear to ear. Feeling bigger than I could ever imagine, I breathed out: "We did it. Yeah, we really did it!" Pride swelled within me, not just for my hubby steering our home all this way but for the promise of countless adventures that now lay stretched out before us like the endless road. In that moment, I felt a surge of empowerment, a profound realization that I can do anything I set my mind to. I closed my eyes to really savor the moment, letting the anticipation and joy fully envelop me, smiling broadly when suddenly, my reverie was disrupted by something hitting my foot.
I bent down and noticed something dripping from underneath. “Something’s leaking!” I hollered in the direction of my approaching husband. “It’s nothing, I am sure,” he replied with that look of me being “overly sensitive” as if I am once again seeing things in a different dimension. Why is it that women were given this 6th sense, and somehow it jumped a gender?
We drove into the park following the porter leaving a stream of imaginary pinkish-nothing-fluid behind us.
We got parked and went through our first drill: slide outs, hook up the fresh water, sewer, and add shore power. The hookups were completely different and, as I soon realized, can sometimes be rather challenging to figure out and connect. Right, more lingo. Let’s decode:
Fresh water: A garden hose hooked up to the water spigot and the coach for drinking water. Well, you want something better than a garden hose, an actual drinking hose with no lead in it, but for simplicity's sake, you get the idea.
Black water: Where your toilet water sits in a tank—gross, I know but that is just how it is.
Grey water: Water from the faucets, sink, and shower sits in a separate tank. Also gross.
Sewer hose: A flexible hose attached to the coach and the park's receptacle for “dumping the tanks” (grey and black). Super gross, and I’ll let your imagination soar from there.
Shore power: Hooking up to the electrical pedestal so you have electricity. There is 30 and 50 amp. We use 50 amp.
The above Video was where we found Zazu. He was not digging his first voyage and sought refuge and solace in the only box he could find. And, it was just right; protection with a peep hole just to keep tabs.
Before we dive deeper, let me share a couple of notes on managing the tanks—it just makes sense to add this here. Always dump the black tank first. Well, actually, let's back up a bit. When I’m dumping the tanks, I release a little grey water first to ensure there's a tight connection between the coach and the sewer hose connected to the RV park's receptacle. I'm proud to say, this wasn't just a stroke of brilliance following a black tank disaster.
I'm not sure why, but my little spirit guide chimed in here, and I'm glad it did. I’ve witnessed some mishaps, and believe me, I never want to be literally knee-deep in shit—even if it is mine! I know, brilliant, right? I’m pretty happy I thought of this one on my own—well, with a little nudge from my spirit buddy!
In fact, it wasn’t until this year, we pulled into Camping World’s dumping station. I hooked up the smallest hose, and my little spirit buddy quite loudly suggested, “test the grey water.” I've been working on tuning in to this little voice, and, did it pay off. When I opened the grey water valve, it was like a fountain display—there must have been 50 tiny holes spewing grey water everywhere. Definitely a lesser evil than the alternative. How did we end up with so many holes? Well, I forgot about the mouse problem we just got over —a story for another day.
Monaco 3 Karen (and spirit buddy) 2
So, first let out a little grey water to check the connection, then close the valve. If it’s secure, go ahead and dump the black water tank first. I think most RVs are equipped with a way to clean the black tank from the outside—we certainly are, and thankfully, it has its own hose hookup separate from the fresh water connection. After dumping the black tank, I close the valve, connect the cleaning hose, and set a timer on my phone for 8 minutes. I let the water fill the tank about a quarter full and then release it. Whatever you do, don’t trust yourself to remember to turn it off—you won’t.
It doesn’t make sense to me to just sprinkle water in there and let it trickle out. I prefer using gravity to really get it clean. But if you use this method—ALWAYS SET A TIMER. Or else, you might forget, and the black water tank could overflow, causing water to spew out of the toilet in the RV and flood the bays below, just say’n. Ok fine, I confess; I’ve done this! Ok, fine, not that I’m eager to admit it, but it’s happened not just once, but twice! Well, OK, it happened again —but, that was not either of our faults, the valve broke inside the spigot outside and we didn’t know until I saw water gushing out from under the bathroom door. But, that is it! I swear!
When the timer goes off, turn the hose off—make sure you turn it off—open the black water tank valve, allow it to empty,. The reason to quarter fill the black water tank is to ensure all the gunk is flushed out. Then close the valve. Finally, dump the grey water tank. This flushes out the hose and all the gadgets. The reason to dump the grey water last is that it does a great job of cleaning everything out of the hose, so you don’t end up with a nasty, smelly hose (you’re welcome).
The second tip: Always keep the black tank valve closed. This ensures that the chemicals or enzymes used in the tank can effectively break down solid matter, including toilet paper. If left open, toilet paper could clog up the sewer hose, and then you’d be knee-deep in you-know-what! So, it always needs to be closed.
Another note on the grey water tank, something I hadn’t considered before, came to light recently. We used to keep it open when hooked up, but I read an article last year that changed my perspective. The author was an engineer, lending credibility to his advice, which resonated with me because I had experienced exactly what he described. Essentially, keep the grey water tank closed until it's time to dump. This helps prevent rodents, sewer flies, and unpleasant odors from infiltrating your RV. The last thing I want wafting through my coach is the aroma of someone else’s black tank!
Next on our agenda was figuring out how to have our coach fixed for the imaginary fluid leak. I learned new words like chassis and the type of engine. When it comes to Coaches it is not black and white, especially the older they are. The difficulty was trying to figure out if it is the engine, or considered part of the chassis (pronounced cha-see) which can either be the chassis or RV. Confusing, I know. We have a Monaco Road master chassis which is no longer manufactured and an Alison transmission.
We made an appointment with Freightliner, and they were able to help us. However, we had to sleep outside the gates—quite a spine-chilling experience, at least in my overly-vivid imaginary mind, since there was no security to watch over us while we slumbered. We were safe, though, it did have me wondering whether we should look into a gun and maybe some other forms of safety measure. This paranoid thought quickly dissipated when I stepped on the toilet pedal, “DAMNIT!” Our water pump had given up the ghost. At the time, we didn’t realize it was as simple as swapping out a blown fuse. Such rookies!
Monaco 4 Karen 1
Next week, I'll share with you all my moral quandaries over smuggling my cats into a hotel, my escapades at The Hitching Post, and all the places to see and do in and around Las Vegas.
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~Karen
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