Adventures In Motherhood

What was I thinking? RV life for a family of six makes Covid-quarantine at home look easy. I’ll admit, I viewed traveling to national parks, visiting 10 states  in 26 days  and logging over 4800 miles with rose-colored glasses. Like Julie Andrews in the Sound of Music I pictured us hiking Yosemite mountains and biking Glenwood Canyon along the Colorado River, in harmony. Other than the techno music from my son’s iPad game, the RV is barely humming on day 16 and the whine more plentiful than wine.  RV life is even more confining without a working generator and air conditioning on the road. An $800 consolation prize concession from the RV owner no longer worth the inconvenience when forced to reroute and forgo simple pleasures like the Glenwood Hot Springs pool, unable to leave our barking Schnoodles to overheat in an RV.  The novelty of hauling 30 pounds of panting tail uphill on bike (both ways) was beginning to wear off when Annie damn near ac...

Be careful what you wish for, I'm reminded time and again on our RV extravaganza. The newness has worn off and we're now in it for the long-haul. From 115 degrees in Las Vegas, Nevada, to Portland-rain-soaked Bryce Canyon, Utah today with thunder, lightning and flash flood warnings. We wished it was cooler as the kids grew nauseous driving in the back of the bus, windows open and papers blowing from Paris to New York down the Las Vegas Strip without a generator for air conditioning, now I only hope this boat can float! I had cherished the RV resorts without WiFi when our four kids had no choice but to swim in the refreshingly cool waters of Lake Mead, or bike ride the red-orange canyons of Zion National Park. Of course our Schnoodles were along for the ride, whether doggy paddling after ducks or barking away the menacing deer, we turned Covid-frowns upside down with canines in bike baskets, ears flapping in the breeze. Besides, Schnoodles suffer from a serious c...

You haven't lived unless you've traveled to Beatty, NV with a 32 foot RV and bike trailer! California state road 168 headed east was not the route I would've chosen jockeying for speed in Pole Position! Twisting and turning, uphill, downhill in the desert canyon between the posted 25 and 35 miles per hour left me white-knuckled. I remember mounting a hill, trusting that the invisible downhill would not be too steep, bottoming out the RV and leaving our bike rack behind. Road narrows and one-way traffic ahead? You've gotta be frickin' kidding me! I wondered should I sound the horn driving a house on wheels with no shoulder room for error? A BMW sped ahead, leaving me in the desert dust as I tried to maneuver yet another loop de loop. Wheee! Downshifting the recreational vehicle into third gear doesn't pack the same punch. He's surely in pole position now. "I think I'm going to throw up," my daughter shouted from the back of the bus, where ...

Last night I lay on the warm, rock-hard black top driveway of the RV park. The reek, reek, reek of crickets over the babbling, bubbling hot spring creek was meditative. Zipping across the sky, I saw flashes of light belonging to fading stars or comets. I felt like a 10-year-old child watching the curvature of the night sky like a planetarium sprinkled with stars. A meditative moment alone, I pretended I was on a Cancun beach listening to waves crash, minus the comfort of a lounge chair. I can't believe the kids are missing this, I thought to myself, which is how I know I am certifiably insane, and Cancun, minus children, the only place I can relax. As car lights approached from the right, I sprang to my feet and walked back to the RV with determination. I can't believe my kids have never seen stars in Portland, or laid on a blacktop staring at the sky! Opening the RV door I spied four kids fixated on electronics who refused to give me the time of day, let alone entertain an...

We can kiss Walmart parking lot camping goodbye without a generator that hums. So much for the Instagram photo op of us sitting in camping chairs grilling hot dogs and drinking Budweiser! Nevertheless, the steamy turd rolls on... Outdoorsy is a third-rate RV rental shop at best, spewing ‘fake news’ of a purported ‘trusted RV marketplace’ on its website. Tho’ I’ll be the first to admit Outdoorsy can be trusted to take your money!  After waiting two hours to be connected to a member of their ‘customer support team’, I learned a few things. First, my 10-year-old is more knowledgable than an Outdoorsy customer service rep. Second, calling back is not an option. Customer service reps refuse to provide their direct contact phone number or corporate email address, so you are forced to wait on hold for hours on end unless your RV problems are solved. Third, Outdoorsy customer service reps suck at problem solving. For example, driving from Tahoe to Portland in the same day t...

The generator died. It was day two of our RV extravaganza before we noticed. We had arrived in Lassen Volcanic National Park at Summit Lake North, completely off the grid with nary a cellular hotspot for the children to beg for.   The first red flag should’ve been the RV owner’s instructions on how to jump the generator with jimmied cables. The second red flag, the children and Schnoodles roasting in the way back like hot dogs on a campfire grill.   Comfortably cool in the cab with our children fixated on screens, we enjoyed the Shasta Mountain View, unaware they were melting buckled up behind us. No wonder the dogs preferred my lap! Somewhere between s’mores cleanup and plugging in our multitude of first world devices to charge, the generator sputtered and croaked.   “It needs a jump,” I said, assuming a simple fix. Back in action within minutes, the kid’s observed even their mother can fix electrical s&*#! Thankfully, the cool mountain breeze lu...

We survived the first day of RV living if not for the grace of God. Packing up the trashcan on wheels, full of our shit, we cornered on two wheels heading out of our city neighborhood to a lesser civilization, just shy of our 9am goal. It was 9:45 am and my husband and I were running low on fuel. With Starbucks in our future, we refused to brew a pot of caffeine, sparing little time for anything other than securing six bikes on the RV, a Herculean task of engineering prowess. Somewhere between the Sellwood Bridge and I-5 we had our first pre-coffee battle. Having lived in Portland for four years I figured my hubby could find his way to the interstate heading south; this was clearly my first mistake. Never assume a man will ask for directions! We found ourselves in Multnomah Village somewhere between my posting a selfie sendoff on Instagram and my children complaining about the lack of Wi-Fi. Glancing up from my iPhone I yelled “Holy Shit Clark!” followed his cursed ...