Of Mice and Me

Warning: This is not a PETA approved post

You might want to reread the warning. If you are a PETA person, please don’t read on. I’m about to share several things you might find both disturbing and offensive and I’m hoping to avoid hate mail.

1. I have friends who don’t eat meat, but I do.

2. I have friends who don’t believe in killing spiders, but I do, especially when they drop on me in the shower or inhabit my shoe.

3. I don’t think pets are people, too.

4. I love Henry but I’m firmly convinced that he’s a dog, a nearly perfect dog, but a dog none the less.

Just so you know, the goggles were to protect his eyes  from the blowing beach sand and the shirt to keep him from bringing the entire north bank home.

He doesn’t usually dress up. He just wears his everyday coat.

5. I have friends who hunt. I don’t, but I do like to go fishing.

6. I had an ant metropolis but the little ant houses seem to have taken care of that.

7. I have mice who think mi casa es su casa. I don’t.

8. I really, really hate killing things – bugs or bigger. Heidi doesn’t mind.

This is my 3rd night of listening to mice (whoever said quiet as a mouse hadn’t met mine).

Under the sink, beside the soup pot, is the wastebasket and a sticky trap. There’s also a sticky trap stuck to the bottom of the recliner. I don’t know how it got there, but if I pull it off, the chair will be sticky. I’m just leaving it for now.

I prefer those little mouse motel traps over sticky traps, but Texas mice won’t go in those. Texas mice do have a weakness for Doritos.

To understand the rest of the story, I need to interject a brief anecdote:

When Heidi and her brother were young, they spent the summers on their grandparents farm. One of things they loved to do, when the moon was bright and the breeze was gently blowing on those warm late summer nights, was to go barefoot. And what they liked even more than just going barefoot, was to put their grandparents big black rubber galoshes on their bare feet and go out in the corn field and stomp on mice.

Don’t ask me why. I can’t even stand to hear/feel the crunch of a giant Texas beetle under my tennis shoe. Anyway, that brings us back to the sink. The squeaking begins around 11:00 each night, which seems to be when mice get Dorito cravings. It goes on all night.

I know what the humane thing to do would be. I tried the first night. I opened the cabinet door and closed it. Thus was born my nightly ritual of carefully rolling up any garbage I might make during the night in a paper towel to be disposed of in the morning.

There were two mice the first night. There was one last night. There’s at least one tonight. When Heidi gets up, she’ll shower and get dressed and open the cabinet and make a trip outside.

Henry and I are getting a little frayed around the edges. I began with a word of warning, I’ll close with a word of advice. If  you ever meet someone who tells you they used to stomp on mice barefooted in galoshes, make sure they like you.

To Quote JR(R)

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Don’t be so glum Lucy; rich folks are always happy. ~ J.R. Ewing

I’ve never seen the TV show Dallas. I don’t suppose the characters resembled the average Texan any more than Mary Tyler Moore was typical of Minnesotans. Certainly this J.R quote wouldn’t make Quote of the Day.

Although I’m in Texas, I hadn’t given any thought to the life  philosophies of J.R. Ewing until now. After reading a few tonight, I think that’s for the best.

I’ve been thinking about a different J.R. –  J.R.R. Tolkien. In part, because, like a Hobbit, I’ve had too many second suppers of late. But mostly because I’ve been amazed at how little it takes to make the world a merrier place.

This is a tough industry. The work is demanding. The hours are long. The money is good, but it comes at a price. Everyone spends at least half of the year away from their family and friends.

The guys on a rig don’t just have to work together, they live together. They share spaces that aren’t even as nice as most of today’s dorms. Up to 12 men live in these trailers.

Sometimes we log someone out who doesn’t come back in. Sometimes that’s because they’ve just walked away. Sometimes it’s because they’ve gotten into trouble in town.

So I guess I’m still surprised at how appreciative these pretty tough guys are when you smile, or give them a homemade brownie after a hard day, or a bag of chips or a cup of coffee for a long drive home.

That’s what made me think of Tolkien.

If you’ve read The Hobbit or The Lord of the Rings, you know that amidst all the perils and danger, there’s always food and song and comradeship and cheer.

If more of us valued food and cheer and song above the hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world.  ~ J.R.R. Tolkien

I don’t think the important part of the simple job of gate guarding is logging names and plates – of course, some companies might disagree.

I think the important part is the same as with most any job: doing the work we’re called to do in a way that adds a bit of kindness or merriment or cheer to the lives of those around us.

And of course, for that reason, I try to hold off on the singing. 😉

A Midsummer’s Night Sleep Deprived Sugar High

Now, until the break of day  Through this house each fairy stray. ~ Oberon                      A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Funny how I had almost no trouble adjusting my sleep patterns to working nights, 10 months ago.

Now, however, after a 3 week break, I’m lucky to sleep 6 hours during the day. That, I’m sure, is contributing to my jumpiness.

Have you ever noticed how simple innocuous sounds, when heard in the day time, take on a more ominous ring at night?

I’ve been working nights now since January. I’ve gotten used to the sounds of the rig: the guys shouting, the casings clanging, the horns blowing, the bells ringing and the semis rumbling.

I’m used to the sound of Brahmas lashing the living room with their tails and manic raccoons lunging at the screens. I’m used to the nightly cacophony of  the feral pigs and hungry coyotes.

I’m even used to the giant kamikaze bugs that fling themselves into the blinding halogen glow, bouncing like hail off the sides of RV.

However, I’m not used to the sounds of a wrestling match taking place in the cabinets under the island at 1 a.m. or the sudden whir in the ceiling at 2.

Every new house comes with new noises. This one came with new noises and what I suspect might be a few fairies mistaking early October for Midsummer.

As you know, October 1st was my birthday. Heidi very kindly made apple dumplings – my favorite.

She used my Mom’s recipe, which should serve 8 or 10,  but really turns out to be 6 giant dumplings.

They’re so big, they had to be cooked in two separate pans.

My birthday was 4 days ago. Heidi’s eaten one half of one. I’ve eaten 4 1/2. 😀

SO, it could be a combination of sleep deprivation and a sugar high that caused me to leap out of my seat when the pots and pans began rattling under the center island in the quiet middle of the night.

I looked. Nothing. I closed the cabinets. 5 minutes later the pans rang out again. The day before there was a half of a Dorito on the floor by the dresser.

Last night there was a half of a Dorito under the sink. We don’t eat Doritos.

We do have little bags of chips we give the guys when they head home. Checking the grab bag, yep, one little bag had one big hole. This no doubt accounts for the symphony under the sink. The solution for that (I hope) is in the JIC closet. That doesn’t explain why the ceiling began whirring.

Around 2:00 a.m., shortly after the pan noise abated, I heard a new, strange noise. I looked up and the ceiling seemed to be readying for take off – all on its own. The dome opened and the blades picked up speed.

I spent the next 10 minutes turning on and off and on and off again, every switch I could find. Nothing interfered with the lid lift.

I came to the obvious, sleep deprived, sugar induced conclusion that it was a mouse escape route and that they’d somehow bounced on a secret button.

The fan is considerably too high to reach, even on a chair. At this point the pots started banging again and I  knew I had to go to the JIC closet and take action (no, not the gun, I’m not that tired).

I opened the doors to get a flashlight to go out to the truck to get the 3-step stool, when I saw a control that I’d never noticed.

It’s big and white so I’m afraid that mostly speaks to my continual state of fatigue over the past several weeks and my highly keen observation skills.

Sure enough, it says Fan and Dome and Exhaust and Intake. I couldn’t get it out of its holder…

But I was able to push the off button on the fan and the close button on the dome.

The question of how those buttons suddenly got turned on at 2 a.m. remains a mystery. Tomorrow the mouse traps come out. Henry has  been on high alert all night. His ears are probably cramping and I’m a very tired woman, pumped and plumped with dumplings. We need our rest.

If we shadows have offended,  Think but this, and all is mended,  That you have but slumber’d here  While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme,  No more yielding but a dream,  Gentles, do not reprehend: If you pardon we will mend.  ~ Puck,    A Midsummer’s Night Dream

Yes, I Have a Gun – JIC

Because Vicky asked and because I promised Mike a short post on this topic since reading Fork caused him to go into overage charges with AT&T, here’s why I have a gun. I’m not really the gun type, I have a gun, Just In Case (JIC).

Not being an expert myself,  I’m including some quotes from others on this topic.

You can get much farther with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone. ~ Al Capone

The Gun.

In England, if you commit a crime, the police don’t have a gun and you don’t have a gun. If you commit a crime, the police will say “Stop, or I’ll say stop again.” ~ Robin Williams

I don’t know about England, but this is Texas folks and everyone has a gun, or 5 or 6. For me, it’s a part of being a pretend Texan. If you’re a regular reader, you know it’s just a BB gun. A co2 powered BB gun, but still, just a BB gun. You have to admit though, it looks impressive.

You know that old  saying “If looks could kill” ? Well, it applies here, since only its’ looks could kill. It might sting, though.

Remember the first rule of gunfighting… “have a gun.” ~ Jeff Cooper

Since moving to Texas, we’ve been told repeatedly to get a gun. I’ve discussed the logistical problem of this in previous posts. So I have a kind of pretend gun. I’ve never shot anything with it except a Pepsi can.

I’m not a natural with a gun. What I am is naturally clumsy, which combined with a gun, is awkward at best. For example, there was the time that Heidi was having, what seemed to be, a tense conversation with a tough looking character. I thought I’d just nonchalantly stroll by with Henry and make sure things were OK.

I stuck the gun in the back of my jeans like they do on TV.  OK – I have no idea what compelled me to do that, but it wasn’t a great plan. Did I mention that I’m clumsy. Halfway down the two steps, the gun fell right out of my pants, scaring Henry before tumbling under the RV. By that time, Heidi and the fellow were laughing and chatting, oblivious to my intended intervention.

The only other time I’ve even touched the gun, except for an occasional caliche dusting, was during my 3rd straight night of a several pickups loads of  locals pulling up just outside the gate, hollering and hooting and tossing beer cans. I was possibly too tired because I headed right for the gate with the BB gun in one hand and the camera snapping shots in the other. They peeled away. I think this was mostly due to the fact that a semi-deranged looking woman was taking pictures of their license plates.

We rely on more than just a BB gun for protection. This is the  JUST IN CASE (JIC) closet just inside the door. It contains, from left to right LOWER LEVEL: ant traps, mouse traps, a toolbox, dog treats, THE GUN, wasp spray, 2 flashlights and a box of garbage bags. UPPER LEVEL: Oregon calendar, camera, Henry’s leash, keys, fly swatter, more keys, mace, binoculars and a coach’s whistle.

So, there you have it.

We’re prepared JUST IN CASE we have an onslaught, in correlating order, of:  ants, mice, stubborn nails, visiting dogs (sales people and ranchers often bring their dogs), hooting and hollering folks, wasps or bees or hooting and hollering folks, things that move in the dark, reckless pieces of lost trash, homesickness (calendar), raccoons (camera cure), armadillos (the leash to keep Henry from chasing them), losing keys, flies, losing the other keys, inebriated late night callers, far away things that need identifying before reaching for any of the other JIC items and I’m not quite sure when we’d use the whistle for, but it seemed like a good idea.

Mike and Vicky –  I hope this was helpful and remember:

A sense of humor is a major defense against minor troubles. ~ Mignon McLaughlin

Week End Jumble

It’s Sunday night as I write this. Weekends are generally, but not always, slower for us on our site. For one thing there are rarely any sales folks, which cuts out quite a bit a day time traffic.I thought I’d write a really short post and try to answer some dangling questions.

1. So your  Company Men really live in Penthouses? (a real qt – no kidding) Well, not on the site. Everyone lives in some kind of a trailer.

Our 2 CM (a night and a day man) share the second tan trailer. They have an office in the front and their living quarters take up the rest. The Oil Field House Keeping folks come on Wednesdays.

The situation for the guys varies. The floor crew share a trailer, in this case with 12 beds – 6 at each end. They work 12 (at least) hour shifts and share their 1/2 with the other guys on their shift.A lot like dorm life expect everyone is older and it’s really crowded.

As with most gates, we have guys coming and going all day and all night, so I have no idea how any one gets any sleep. Again, a lot like dorm life.

I took these pictures this morning while walking Henry. He was unusually antsy (possibly literally) so I’m blaming the poor quality of the photos on my attempt to take one handed shots while he hopped around.

We’re with a really big rig that typically does vertical, then horizontal drilling.

At this site, we’re just drilling vertically – 15,000 feet. That’s one deep hole.

I admire people under real pressure who dig deep.
– Heather Small

And as it is with all of life, the deeper you go, the more issues you run into.

2. The gun. Folks have been writing and asking why I have a gun?

In England, if you commit a crime, the police don’t have a gun  and you don’t have a gun. If you commit a crime, the police will say “Stop, or I’ll say stop again.” ~ Robin Williams

I don’t know about England, but this is Texas folks and everyone has a gun, or 5 or 6. It a part of being a pretend Texan. And, as mentioned before, it’s just a BB gun, but a very serious looking BB gun.

You know that old  saying “If looks could kill” ? Well, it applies here, since only it’s looks could kill. I’m content to flash it around when the appropriate situation presents itself.

55! Stay Alive!

Me with sweet 3-year-old Ro last week

Do you remember that highway slogan? My cousin’s husband was the creator (is that the right term) of the 55! Stay Alive! campaign when he was a highway patrol officer in Los Angeles.

Although Bob had driving in mind, I’m applying it personally as I’ve managed, barely as of late, to stay alive for 55 years. Today (Oct 1st) is my birthday. I’m 55. Depending on who’s reading this, it’s a Goldilocks moment: Really Old, Really Young, or Just About Right.

I remember when 55 sounded really old (that would have been as recently as yesterday). Gosh, I remember when 25 sounded really old! I also remember when you got to order off the senior menu at 55.

Not so much anymore… They start sending pretend AARP cards at 49. I can’t see that there are any special perks at 55 – but maybe they’re yet to come!

At age 50, everyone has the face he deserves.
~ George Orwell

There are quite a number of things that surprise me about where I am at this age and stage of life.

For one thing,  I’m surprised at where I am in life at 55. I never, ever, would have guessed I would be in Texas. Texas is a lovely state, but I’m a Yankee. I don’t like hot weather. I’m incredibly arachnophobic. I’m not terribly fond of snakes, scorpions, cactus, caliche or Tabasco.

I’m equally surprised to be a Level II Security Guard since I was always one of those too soft, touchy/feely types. I hated my first job after college as a correctional worker and left it to become the counseling director of a crisis center. So much more my style.

Always talking and always active, the quiet life of a gate guard has been a big change for me. Possibly the biggest surprise  at 55 is that I really like the peace. I think it stems from something that happened on my 40th birthday.

My friends paid for me to go on a 5 day retreat at Our Lady of the Mississippi Abbey in beautiful NE Iowa. Because my birthday is in the fall, the hills were a mass of golds and greens and reds and oranges. It was very beautiful and very quiet!

The gift was supposed to help me learn to slow down and to be quiet, too. Nothing too subtle there!  😀  It was a surprise trip, not only because they dropped me off without telling me about it ahead of time, but also because I’m not Catholic!

Adding to the surprise, it’s a cloistered Abbey of Benedictine Sisters (I’d never heard of cloistered or Benedictine) so all my chatter was greeted with a smile and a nod. It was very lovely and very quiet. Did I mention that it was quiet there?

With nothing else to do, (no phone, no TV, no radio – you can see how this prepared me for gate guarding) I began going to services in their little chapel. Vigils began at 3:45 a.m. Once again, preparation for being awake when everyone else is sleeping!

I fell in love with the quiet and with the Sisters.

For the next 10 years, Heidi and I went each spring to help with a week of spring cleaning in the guest houses and again each fall for a week of retreat to write our next seminar.

By the way, the Sisters support themselves by making the most wonderful caramels. They ship all over the country. If you’re interested, see the OLMA link above.

They recruited us to help at the candy house one fall, but I was a complete flop when assigned to making the trademark swirl at to top of the caramel. I kept making curls instead.

We stopped by OLMA last week on our way from Minnesota to Iowa. We went to Vespers and Compline and had a grand reunion in between!

The Sisters, who aren’t always quiet, provided the pizza and Pepsi and an hour and a half of joy!

Of all the people we saw while back home, they may have best understood why we love our job. Funny, huh?

So here I am, waving in mud trucks, passing out donuts to drivers and counting my blessings. I’m guarding a gate, packing a BB gun, and assuring the circling buzzard that I’m still alive at 55!.

Life is full of the unexpected, isn’t it! 😀

Birthdays are good for you. Statistics show that the people who have the most live the longest.
~Larry Lorenzoni

High Hopes

As Frank cheerfully sang, the key in life is often maintaining High Hopes!

~

Take today for example.

One of the challenges to frequent moves is finding a place for a haircut,  for people and for pets. I so should have gone to The Best Little Hair House in Texas while we were in Nixon, but I didn’t. Now our rig has moved north to Wharton, which is about 55 miles SW of Houston. We’re starting over, beginning with Henry VIII.

I Googled groomers. There were two. I read the reviews. There were two. Today was Henry’s day for a shave and a haircut. He had to be at Paws and Claws at 8:30, which meant, I needed to stay up past my bedtime. Seemed like a great day to get the Jeep ready to sell.

Heidi and I unloaded it, including moving the immensely heavy, ever so practical, rock tumbler that I bought one  month before leaving Oregon. With the heavy lifting done, Heidi hopped in the pickup and set off to get Henry VIII spiffed up.

I was left to guard the gate and clean the caliche covered Jeep interior. I wiped down the leather, sprayed down the floor mats and myself, dug under the seats for dimes and sunglasses and stray straws. Because I work nights, I had yet to meet the owner (who arrives in a chauffeured limousine) or the ranchers. Until this morning.

Oops, there goes another rubber tree plant.

It was already 91 degrees with about the same amount of humidity by 9:00 a.m. I was soaked to my toes and blinded with sweat, glasses slipping and steamed over when the bell rang and Bubba pulled up. Bubba  is clearly a VERY popular Texas name since we’ve now been on 3 Bubba ranches and one Bobbo ranch (slight variation). It wasn’t my pinnacle moment as a professional. I couldn’t see, my Life is Good t-shirt had darkened two shades in multiple places and I couldn’t get my half cloth/half rubber gloves off because my hands were so sweaty. I gave my cheeriest hello, which was greeted by Where’s Heidi?!

About 15 minutes later, I was carrying the soaking wet floor mats to the service wagon to dry, admiring the waffle pattern they’d left on my jeans when the bell rang again. This time is was Clay, the assistant ranch manager who’d been on vacation for a week. Where’s Iris?! (she was our sub)

Oops, there goes another rubber tree plant.

Hesitant to explain that she was the sub and I was ‘real’ gate guard, I just said, Heidi went to town, which not only didn’t answer his question, but made no sense to him at all. Thankfully, Miss H didn’t pay a visit today, although she may have gotten a couple of phone calls. (She’s the chauffeured land baron for this 1,150 acre ranch)

When Heidi returned, I happily resigned my post for a shower and some sleep. I had strange dreams of the wild hogs and tanning beds. I don’t see any correlation either, I’m just sharing. As soon as I got up, Heidi headed into town to wash the Jeep, pick up a few groceries and retrieve Henry.

It was a little cloudy when she left, which I’ve learned, in Texas, means nothing.

Or at least in meant nothing for the past 9 months.

Today it meant something.

30 minutes later, the sky turned brown and a significant portion of the road came hurtling at the RV.

So did the lights and the wooden table and random Styrofoam cups and grocery bags. I felt slightly like  Dorothy as I stood at the window and watched things fly by.

Of course, this occurred at the same time the guys were changing shifts and the mud trucks were rolling in. I checked folks in and out with my eyes mostly closed, when I could get the door open, which for a few moments, was quite impossible.

It’s now 3:45 a.m. and I’m still trying to get the sand out of my eyes and ears, but the door opens fine.

In the meantime, Heidi called from Wharton to say the tornado sirens were going off, the police had closed the road, she and Henry had taken shelter in the car wash and were watching trash bags and beer cans fly through the air.

H & H made it home about an hour later, just before dark and just before the rain pelted for about 4 minutes.

Henry found the entire day to be a bit much, but he and I both have high hopes for tomorrow!

Warning! 22 mile range! Warning!

Picking up last night’s exciting tale of no stations, no diesel, no service, I know I can only get so much mileage out of a story about running out of gas, so I’ll wrap it up. (By the way, Luke sent me a link in yesterday’s comments so I won’t find myself in this predicament again – thanks Luke!)

I wasn’t adequately worried when the Warning! 22 mile range appeared because

1. I wasn’t sure what it meant and

2. We have a secondary gas tank in the back of the new used  truck (which I had mistakenly assumed was a gigantic tool box)

The first thing we did after picking up the pickup was to drive to Heidi’s son’s house in Minnesota for some fun family time and some lessons in all things diesel.

Galen’s in college now, getting his degree in Electrical Engineering, but for the past several years he’s been an independent trucker – as you might guess from the contents of his driveway.

He spent hours going over the Silverado and writing out everything we needed to buy, ask about or have done.

He was particularly glad about that extra gas tank in the back.

One of the things Galen mentioned was that the extra tank was a gravity flow tank. It takes a little time and you need to be tipped a little toward the driver’s side and, ideally, downhill.

At the 22 mile range warning things looked like the picture below, except the berm was narrower and we were going up hill.

When I pulled far enough off the road to clear the lane,  the truck and RV were precariously pitching about 20 degrees to the right.

Gravity was not in our favor.

We waited. We prayed. We waited some more.

Finally, I crept back on the highway and after a 10 mile uphill climb – there was an exit – with the tiniest gas station ever, and of course, no diesel.

I pulled into the repair lot across the street. Heidi went in to ask about the nearest place to fill up and was told it was just a few miles down the road and No we certainly could not pull around their building. Back up.

Well, I tried to back up around the myriad of cars waiting for a facelift. It didn’t take long for the auto shop folks to repent. Soon, not 1 or 2 but 3 employees came running out and said, in rather impolite terms, to go ahead and pull around the building before I hurt something.

It was all downhill from there – literally. By the time we reached the gas station the new read out said 29 mile range! We’d traveled 10 miles and gained 2 gallons of gas! Relieved, I breathed a prayer of thanks, filled up the truck, shut off the gravity flow valve and went in to pay.

The thing about diesel is, they often hold your card because of the truckers, and then run it when you’re done. They ran mine and it was denied.

They tried 3 times. I only have 2 credit cards and I have a high enough limit on them that I could have charged the truck, not just the gas. But not that day.

I paid with my other card.

I was too tired to even be embarrassed.

I called the credit card company and was    e v e n t u a l l y  (valued customer that I am) passed on to the fraud department.

I’d faithfully called before leaving Texas to say I would be traveling and there would be expenses from other states. That apparently wasn’t enough information.

I gave my card number, the special 3 digit code, the billing address, my current location, my social security number, my birth date,  my mother’s maiden name, the name of my first grade teacher, the name of my favorite pet, my first car and my last charge. I had to pass on the exact amount of my next intended charge – honestly, do people really know that ? Then it was on to the total amount I planned to charge while traveling: will this be between $100 – $500. $500 – $1000,  over $1000, over $2000, under $10,000, under $20,000 – no kidding, she just kept going!

Feeling slightly over-protected, I politely hung up and resolved to only use that card to cash in the accumulated airline miles to avoid ever driving 5000 miles again… and to push every button I see, while stopped, on level ground, after unhitching, when the gas tank is full.

These are the times that try men’s souls. ~ Thomas Paine

Misery Loves Company

Actually, I’ve never cared for that saying – misery loves company. It sounds ill-wishing at best and sadist at worst.

Likely it’s a bit of both since it comes from the play Doctor Faustus in which the not-so-good Doctor sells his soul to the devil in exchange for twenty-four years of immense power.

Anyway, I think the appropriate phrase  here would be: There is consolation in commiseration.

Since I’ve begun to recount a few of my recent mishaps, I’ve found true consolation in your commiseration!

So many of you have shared here at Fork, and in emails, your own interesting RV, boat, trailer, truck, hitching up, setting sail misfortunes.

Bless you! How very generous of you!

Encouraged by your empathy, I’m prepared to share a little more, going back to Peculiar.

After the experience there of getting in the wrong diesel line, waiting for 20 minutes, then sheepishly slipping over to the plainly marked RV fill station, I set off, clear of all trucks and trees, with an eye on the gas gauge.

My least favorite part of traveling with an RV is getting gas. That may even surpass my very un-favorite part of paying for the gas! In the class A, the gas tank was in the center of the back of the 32 footer, in front of the blue ox tow and the Jeep. It ran on regular.

Can you see the problem? We couldn’t pull through at a truck stop diesel pump where there was lots of room. No, usually we were angling into a Casey’s or a Valero where the RV prevented all those who were inside  buying rolling hot dogs from exiting until the tank was full.

Nine months of gate guarding in the same county meant zero trips to the pumps and driving back to Iowa this time was much easier without the tow.

Now, with the 5th Wheel and the big truck, we could go to the big truck stops and just pull right through.

I’ve never driven anything with a diesel so I was completely unaware of the fact that, should you route yourself, as I did, off the interstate in states like Oklahoma and  Texas, there aren’t any big truck stops.

Although there are fajita plates at Exxon.

There are really hardly any gas stations at all.

There are hardly any towns.

Just  under 1/2 a tank, I considered filling up – but it was a toll road, and after already paying $13.75 in tolls, I feared exiting and returning would add another $3.50, so on I went.

I’m not a button pusher. I try not to push people’s buttons, and I’m loath to push buttons on moving vehicles.

Possibly it comes from seeing Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang 3 times, I don’t know, but I’m afraid to push any untried button while driving 70 miles an hour on unfamiliar roads, towing a giant rolling home, although taking flight was beginning to sound appealing.

Had I pushed the buttons, I would have seen the one that told me just how many miles were left at my current rate, until there would be no more gas to go.

As I drove on (while Heidi talked on the phone and Henry slept) I watch the needle fall to a quarter and I began to do that squinty thing you do when you’re trying to see better, as if anyone can see better with their eyes half-shut, in hopes of seeing some sign, any sign of gas or villages or lean-tos on the horizon.

I finally pushed the magic button.

22 miles until empty. We get about 12 mpg towing. It didn’t look good for the home team. There was no help in sight and no towns on the GPS (which is usually wrong anyway, but hey – desperate measures for desperate times).

This saga has gotten too long and I’m desperately tired, so it’s time for the changing of the guard here in Wharton. I’m off to try to reset my day/night clock. More soon. The suspense is palpable, I know…

I’m an Excellent Driver

Miracles do not, in fact, break the laws of nature.  ~ C.S. Lewis

C.S. Lewis is my favorite author but one I usually quote on my other blog, not here at Fork. However, I’m making an exception tonight as I remind myself of the nature of miracles and the laws of nature.

It would have been a miracle if I’d really towed the nearly 40 foot 5th wheel with my Jeep as this picture appears to suggest.

By the way, this setting is a classic example of why I never wanted to be a full-time RVer. I couldn’t have put out the awning without hitting the neighbors, who were very nice and who had a little dog that never ever stopped barking. Then there were the folks on the other side who watched their outside TV all night while giving verbose instructions to sports figures.

By the time we’d made the trip to Victoria to this lovely RV park, unhitched the RV, traveled to Smiley to retrieve the Jeep, and returned to Victoria, we had one day of our 3 week odyssey left.  Victoria is 67 miles from Wharton, where Lantern 17 is currently drilling.

We had traveled 5,211 miles. We visited our children and grand children in Iowa and Minnesota, caught up with as many friends as possible, traded in a motorhome for a 5th wheel, moved everything we own and learned to a drive truck/5th wheel combo.

Although we had a few mishaps, as you know from Peculiar to Paris, nothing major. Heidi insists that I share that I wasn’t the one who did any of those things (well, I did flush the toilet, but Heidi hooked up the hose). However, I more than made up for my stellar trip performance in one fell swoop!

The park was nice, but really tight. Of course, when you’ve just spent 10 months sitting alone in ranchers’ pastures, anything else might feel tight.

Raymond: I’m an excellent driver.
Charlie: When did you drive?
Raymond: I drove slow on the driveway when my dad came to Walbrook.                            ~ Rain Man

Possibly I should have taken my cue from Raymond and stuck to the driveway.

It would have been a miracle, quite literally, if, dragging the side of my brand new 5th wheel up against this diminutive palm tree, had caused no damage.

It wasn’t my day for miracles. This rugged little palm has survived the second worst drought in the history of Texas. It certainly wasn’t about to be uprooted by a crazy lady who was too tired and took the corner too tightly.

The RV on the other hand, was brand new and had no experience in weathering adversity. It quickly gave in to the scratching and clawing of the sturdy tree, yielding its tire bumper and paint with little resistance.

Good Sam, good on their word, will be sending out a claims adjuster. Fortunately, the slide still slid (which we had great doubt about). The inside looks new still. The frig continues to keep things cold and the oven worked just fine today when Heidi made brownies for the guys. It’s mostly cosmetic but you know how expensive cosmetic surgery is!  After the $500 deductible, the very compassionate Good Sam lady assured me insurance would pay the rest.

I was initially miserable, the RV being new and all. I knew I should just have been instantly grateful that no one was hurt (would have been hard to get hurt since I was going about 5mph). But I was too tired to keep perspective.

I worked last night, which meant about 28 hours without sleeping. I have a better perspective tonight. Hey, it’s on the back side!

I think we’ll stay put and make a little money before we take time off for repairs. Unless it should, by some miracle, rain in Texas. Then we’d have to see if there’s a leak by that huge indentation in the kitchen …

Gravity is a contributing factor in nearly 73 percent of all accidents involving falling objects.   ~Dave Barry