Picking, Picking, Picking

The 1999 Georgetown motorhome adoption papers are dated 2-5-04. B & B Auto Repair in Congress, Arizona, changed the original tires and engine battery, supplied four six-volt golf-cart house batteries to replace the two 12-volt batteries, and outfitted the Cavalier for towing. Mechanical, business, and personal “stuff” disappeared into George’s nooks and crannies. A visiting daughter and grandson from Virginia applied the backside traveling map. Thanks to a friend’s sign-making creativity, an incognito traveling rig it is not. He emblazoned “Silver Gypsy” on George’s front and back. A planned shakedown cruise vanished in the shuffle.

We rolled out of North Ranch on April 27. I had driven George a total of 75 miles and had pulled the Cavalier all of 10 miles. His Chevy 454 Vortec engine zipped up the steep, winding mountains to Prescott, Arizona, at 50 miles an hour without any thought to the 2,000-pound car he was pulling. These were my thoughts as we took to the road:

Are RV designers all nudists? Do they wear the same clothes all their lives? Do they wash clothes in the buff and climb right back into them? The Minshall dynasty has owned four RVs and I have never found an adequate place for storing laundry-bound clothes. As a water-saving RVer, I wait two weeks to collect enough dirty clothes for full loads. Even then, I sometimes combine clothes and Shout Color Catchers to “absorb and trap” wayward dyes. The shower stall houses the stretchy laundry bag.

Toothbrush Trouble
Toothbrush manufacturers provide perfect-grip but very fat toothbrushes. They did not consult RV designers, who are still installing six-hole toothbrush holders for slim-handled toothbrushes. I fill the spaces with hair-cutting and miscellaneous scissors, non-electric razors, and pens in case I get any bright ideas.

Why not e-x-t-e-n-d that cup and toothbrush holder and make the holes various shapes to hold that fat toothbrush, assorted mood-precipitating lipsticks and other utensils. The extended cup space could then also hold hairbrushes, combs and mirrors.

An all-purpose mirror is over the sink. With my diminishing eyesight, it would be handy if the “in-your-face” medicine-cabinet mirror had a magnifying section for creating or plucking surprised eyebrows. It could bear the warning, “These objects are closer than they appear and may frighten you at any hour.”

In the bedroom and hallway, four-inch-deep drawers positioned above each other, are worthless. If existing space is limited, make one deep drawer that can actually store something (i.e. the pan drawer under the stove). To satisfy the need for building tiny drawers, put two two-inch drawers in the bathroom for the other miscellanea we women (and men) use to make ourselves irresistible. I pulled out the four-inch bathroom drawer to discover that the necessary wiring spaghetti lives mostly on the bottom. One very deep drawer that goes back only the width of toilet paper or paper towels (yet not hitting the stool) would be more owner-compatible.

Except for Sunday clothes and a gravity-defying strapless evening gown for an exciting Saturday night (never worn), my casual RVing life has little use for hanging closets. The narrowest closet accommodated these clothes but four more inches in length would have improved the situation without compromising the night table. Two other closets needed Lowe’s and Wal-Mart shelving for jeans, sweatshirts, towels, various and sundry supplies, and the bathroom scales. (If you remember, those were permanently welded at 120 pounds.)

Where could I store church, hiking, dancing-to-the-light-fantastic, and emptying-the-sewer shoes? Another shopping trip may produce a rack fitting under the bed edge. Unmentionables and other foldables required two three-tiered plastic drawers. A single smaller set holds all the computer, scanner, and camera electronics and rechargeable paraphernalia; rewriteable CDs, and backup laptop copies. They are screwed to the wall and secured by bungee cords while in transit.

Good Stuff
Some RVs already include computer desks. A friend built a perfect-height, three-legged table that fits in front of my navigator’s chair on which I am now creating. A ripped-out ashtray leaves a container just right for pens to scribble scintillating thoughts as I travel.

Really, I am not picking on the Georgetown. Everything that I have listed is probably already in the new million-dollar units, but since I don’t have time to write a million-dollar best-selling novel, George will do nicely.

George’s exceptional features are full-width lined basement holds for storage of books, pictures and slides I need to work on, two sets of lightweight leveler blocks, and tools. A change from my five other towing years is a camera recording the Cavalier’s every move on a tiny dash movie screen. I am re-educating myself to looking before I leap into gas stations so I can get out again without unhooking.

After picking it apart, I confess that at the first rest stop as I stood in George’s middle, eating my breakfast snack of whipped cream cheese between two cheddar cheese slices, I was loving this new 26 1/2- foot Class A. Everything works! It was an amazing feeling. The burner marked, “Hi Speed Front” was true to its word for heating my hot flavored coffee. The water heater ignites with the push of a button inside, as opposed to lighting it outside. The monitors all do that for which they were designed. Another Alaska trip may determine whether the “Arctic Pack” works. The bathroom skylight brightens the windowless room. Covered bedroom and hallway vents allow airflow in any kind of weather. Overall, I think George and I will make a great team.

To update you on the Sprinter, he ran off with that tough blonde, but the first time he begged for a Lubrigas cocktail, she dropped him like a hot muffler. A gold-prospecting couple who can fix anything adopted the Sprinter. As we speak, they are digging into California’s hidden riches.

God Bless.

P. S. If you know any RV manufacturer looking for a designing female, I’m available.