Midwest Gypsy

April 17, 2019

Much has happened in the time since we left Texas less than a month ago, so this may be a lengthy read.

We took our time and made the 1,200-mile trip back to Kentucky in seven days. Except for one incident, the trip was uneventful, which is always a good thing.

Dave leaves the trip planning up to me, and something that had me concerned was driving through Houston, the 4th largest city in the U.S. At one point of I-10, there are six lanes of traffic going each way! I think of driving in Nashville as a nightmare, but Nashville ranks a distant 24th.

Before leaving Bandera, I sought advice from friends who had experience transiting Houston. The consensus was that ‘timing’ was critical: either in the very early morning hours, or just after the morning rush hour. Our friends also suggested that if we had to stop for the night, staying on the west side of the city was safer than the east side. I paid close attention.

We left Bandera around 9 in the morning, and about 3 p.m. in the afternoon decided to stop for the night in Katy, just west of the city (Katy Lake RV Resort, w/Passport America 50% discount, $30.) It was too late in the day to try going through Houston.

The RV sites that are reserved for transients such as ourselves who only want a space for the night, are immediately inside and to the right of the automatic gate. But making a sharp right turn there is impossible. So, it was recommended that we drive Felix straight into the RV park, turn at the end and come back around.

Once inside the gated entrance, I noticed a couple of people who looked at the rig funny as we pulled around and into our site, but it wasn’t until we parked that I learned why: one of the tires on the car hauler was flat. From the looks of it, it had to have just occurred. I was grateful that it hadn’t happened while we were on I-10…there was a lot of construction going on and there was no shoulder to use in case of an emergency.

Since his knee surgery, Dave can’t bend his left leg, so we worked together on getting the car off the trailer so that the trailer could be jacked up enough to get the tire off. We didn’t have a spare, but luckily there was a Firestone dealer less than a mile away.

It took the techs a couple of hours to get to it because they were pretty busy, but the tire was able to be repaired, and we got it back on the trailer before sunset. All things considered, we couldn’t have asked for things to have fallen into place any better, but what a long Day 1!

The trip had a few pleasant surprises along the way. For one thing, we used our membership to “Boondockers Welcome” for the very first time.

BW is a service that connects campers to “hosts” (who oftentimes are campers too–but not always) that allow overnight parking on their private property for free. The annual membership is $30.

I compared the map of possible hosts to our route and found one in Tylertown, MS, a few miles east of I-55 and just across the Louisiana/Mississippi state line that had enough room for our rig. This particular host allowed campers to stay for up to 3 days, and the reviews of the property were good.

After our request to come and stay for two nights was approved, we were able to communicate with the owner directly. From the sound of his messages, he was gracious and accommodating. He texted specific directions to his place and was waiting for us when we arrived. He even had set out an orange cone marking the driveway to his property, making it easy to find.

And what a piece of property it was! It was their slice of heaven on earth, nestled in the middle of tall pine trees off a quiet 2-lane road. Our host met us on his 4-wheeler and accompanied us down the driveway to a spot that had more than enough room.

The site had electric and water, and there was a dump station near the top of the driveway if we wanted to dump our tanks before we left. This was more than we expected, or even imagined. It was so peaceful and quiet here.

We stayed from Saturday afternoon to Monday morning and visited with our hosts here and there throughout the weekend. Hugh and MJ couldn’t have been more gracious. They traveled in their motor home from time to time, so we swapped stories from the road.

The more we talked, the more I liked them. Nice, honest people who’d been blessed with good fortune and who, in turn, were sharing their blessings with others. It was a positive first-time experience with something we hadn’t tried yet, and we ended up making two new friends in the process!

Another first for us was staying at the Army Corps of Engineers park at Enid Lake in northern Mississippi. I’d always thought that the sites at USACE campgrounds weren’t large enough for us, but I was wrong.

For two nights at $10/night (half-priced using the America the Beautiful pass for seniors) we stayed in a pull-through site overlooking the lake with all the amenities: electricity, water, and sewer. It was absolutely beautiful and I wish we could’ve stayed longer, but duty was calling.

After six months of travel and being exposed to the elements, Felix was long overdue for a bath, so we set the GPS for the Blue Beacon Truck Wash in south Memphis. This was our first time ever going through a commercial truck wash.

I had no idea what to expect, so I researched its safety on one of the RV forums we follow, IRV2, and the comments were generally positive. Someone suggested tipping the crew before they start washing, and that idea was genius.

It took less than 20 minutes for a crew of six to scrub Felix from top to bottom, stem to stern. We paid extra for the Rain-X rinse, and it was well worth it–Felix was revitalized! The wash and Rain-X rinse cost less than $60, compared to 3 or 4 times that if it were done by a mobile RV washing service.

We finally arrived at our destination, the Land Between the Lakes National Recreation Area, or LBL for short. We are two of nearly 20 workampers at Hillman Ferry Campground, on the northern edge of LBL, just south of I-24 in Western Kentucky. In exchange for 40 hours of service, we get a free campsite with electric, water, and sewer. It’s a win/win.

Dave and I work at the gatehouse, welcoming campers and helping them get registered. We’re outside most of the time and there’s a fair amount of walking. We split the 8-hour shifts, five days a week however we want, so I’ve been working the first four hours of a workday and Dave relieves me and works the second half. We’ve been at it for two weeks now, and Dave’s new knee hasn’t given him any problem, and that’s a miracle!

Our first week of work happened to be the week of spring break, and it was baptism by fire.

More than half of the 374 campsites here were occupied, and kids swarmed everywhere. This is very much a family-oriented campground, and generational, it seems. A lot of families who camp here now camped here when they were kids.

Our grandkids spent last weekend with us, and Maeby’s already announced that she’ll be spending the summer here. To be honest, we’re living in the middle of nature, and it’s really nice. Our site is at the top of a hill overlooking the lake, and an array of birds can be heard singing from morning till night.

We are so grateful for this opportunity at the Land Between the Lakes, and for all the blessings of being close to family and friends. The plan is to be here through the end of October, and that’s fine by me. Life really is better at the lake!

For the past week and a half I’ve been flying solo while Dave’s been in Missouri dealing with family matters. The passing days have been rather uneventful, and I’m grateful that RV-related things have gone smoothly in his absence. As my dad always used to say, no news is good news.

This was Mardi Gras week in Bandera. Although my partying days have long since gone, I am not a dud. As long as I’m home by, say 7pm, I can still have a lot of fun.

Admittedly, I have a hard time keeping commitments. I love to be invited to go places, but when the time comes to go, I often don’t want to. I know this about myself–and I really want to get better about that–so I’ve been purposely trying to say “yes” more often to invitations when someone is nice enough to ask me.

There were plenty of opportunities to practice “commitment” this week. Last Sunday I was invited to go to the Wild Horse Saloon with a group from here at the RV park who were in my country-western dance class. John and Jeannie, our dance instructors, have been encouraging us to get over our shyness and try out what we’d been taught ‘for real.’ With my life-partner away, I was kind of reluctant to go, but I really like to dance, so I said I’d be there.

When Sunday came, the feeling of wanting to back out was overwhelming, but I made myself go. I really don’t want to be “that person.” A table near the bandstand had been reserved for our group, and it filled up in no time. The band began playing at 4pm, and almost instantaneously, I didn’t feel so bad about being there by myself. There is just something about classic country music that is settling, and all of the musicians I’ve heard in this town are really good!

Everyone else at our table had a partner, and most of them got up to dance the first dance. I didn’t mind sitting and watching my classmates. As it turned out, that was the only one I didn’t dance to. I danced every dance for more than an hour, first with some friends from the RV park, and one dance with John, our teacher.

Then a man I didn’t know asked me to dance, and I nearly froze! What if he was a good dancer, like many Texans are? I felt every bit the beginner. I couldn’t refuse though…that wouldn’t be polite now, would it? More than 50 years later, Dave still remembers a girl who said “no” when he asked her to dance at an 8th grade mixer.

So I let the stranger lead me onto the dance floor, and I managed to two-step the entire dance without stepping on his feet. Right after the song was over though, I decided it was time to leave. I didn’t want to take a chance on being asked to dance another dance by a local. I was proud of myself for honoring the commitment I made and for getting out on the dance floor. Plus, I had a great time.

For being a small town, Bandera sure knows how to celebrate Mardi Gras! Live country and Cajun music bellowed out of the saloons and honky-tonks beginning on Wednesday. Stores and restaurants were decorated especially for the occasion, and the Mardi Gras colors of purple, green, and gold were everywhere. The RV park we’re at filled to capacity, mostly revelers from San Antonio and Austin. Everyone was in a party mood.

Saturday was the big day, starting at 7am with the gumbo cook-off, and highlighted by the parade that began at high noon. Our RV park is only two blocks from town, so it was nice being able to walk everywhere and not mess with traffic. There is one road going through Bandera, and beginning Friday afternoon, a parade of cars, trucks, and RVs were backed up, bumper to bumper.

The Mardi Gras parade in Bandera is one of the best I’ve ever attended. People line both sides of Main Street for blocks, vying for the best place to score loot: beads, candy, trinkets, and still more beads. Horses, mules, and longhorns–all handsomely adorned–proudly ambled along the parade route. One horse in particular thrilled the crowd with its prancing gait and regal sophistication.

After the parade I chose to go to the Junior Rodeo instead of one of the music venues. I’m glad I did; it was a lot of fun to watch kids 12-and-under do their best to hang on to massive bucking bulls, most of which were not at all happy about being in the box awaiting their turn.

All in all, it was a great weekend. I’m sorry Dave missed out on the fun, but the Hog Explosion–to include Bacon Bingo–is in a couple of weeks and he’ll be home for that. I hear that’s really something to see!

I never suspected that an inner cowgirl lurked inside this city-girl, but during Mardi Gras in The Cowboy Capital of the World, I guess anything is possible. Let the good times roll!

I love all kinds of food just as much as anyone, but I never would have imagined that a donut would rock my world the way it has in the last 24 hours. There is no doubt that it’s its kind that is the reason why. A good, old-fashioned cake donut is hard to beat.

On top of my husband Dave having knee surgery this week, we’re still feeling the effects of the electrical issues that began two weeks ago today. The one that messed up the chassis batteries and took out the microwave/convection oven and the refrigerator’s fan. Gratefully the oven arrived more than a week before it was expected; what a gift that was, getting it installed before he went into the hospital!

Unfortunately, the replacement refrigerator fan hasn’t arrived yet, so the extra fan we have “just in case” has been blowing in the freezer for the past two weeks. Everything was taken off the shelves and stockpiled for maximum freeze.

Most frozen items fare well, but not ice cream. And that is something we usually have on hand at all times. So, doing without our main source of sweetness and goodness has been very difficult, to put it mildly. Both Dave and I have a sweet tooth.

Friday evening, his first full day back home from the hospital, he asked, “Do we have anything sweet?” Other than my last Lindt chocolate bar, we didn’t, but I offered it anyway. He wasn’t interested. And for some reason, I felt bad for that…Dave doesn’t ask for much.

So yesterday morning, Saturday, I decided to go to a donut shop located a stone’s throw away from the RV park. In the two winters we’ve been coming here, we must have passed by it a hundred times, but never stopped. We love donuts, but try to keep away from them. They are too good.

I asked my patient what kind of donut he wanted, and wouldn’t you know it? He was specific; he asked for chocolate-covered, old-fashioned cake donuts. I couldn’t imagine the probability of the local, small town donut shop having that, and figured I’d be lucky if they had chocolate-iced anything.

Lo and behold, Snow Flake Donuts had them. They were easy to spot in the case with the dark chocolate glaze atop their craggy edges. I couldn’t believe it. I figured it was an act of Providence and certainly meant to be. I bought all they had, five, plus a single yeast donut to make it an even half dozen.

We gorged on them the minute I brought them back to the RV, one each. The sugar rush was intense. One each was enough.

I fully expected the remaining donuts to be stale this morning, Sunday, but to our delight, they were better.

Could it be?

Yes, it was.

There’s something about chocolate-covered, old-fashioned cake donuts that take me way back. Heck, let’s face it: there’s something about CAKE that is simply good. And if an old-fashioned cake donut justifies its consumption first thing in the morning, then so be it. How wrong can it be?

Just in case the thought of old-fashioned cake donuts conjures up heaven on earth for you, too, here’s a recipe you might try. Or maybe this one, which is more step-by-step. Either way, think of it as comfort food. I do. 😋

The word adventure is defined as ‘an exciting or very unusual experience,’ and I would have to add that one need not leave the comfort of one’s own home to have an adventure. The past two weeks (the holidays, not coincidentally) are proof of that.

My last post described Felix’s door handle going south, and how we had to climb in through the window to get back inside every time we we left the rig to run errands. It definitely impacted our comings and goings (especially Dave’s, considering his ongoing knee issues), but it was not insurmountable and was more of an inconvenience than anything else.

We knew getting into it that parts of Felix would need replacing as time went on, given she’s 17 years old. So far, we’ve been lucky. It’s only in the last two weeks that things have been failing. And it all started when Dave commented that his “to do” list was winding down.

Without going into minute detail, our electrical system has been suspect because of such problems as the water heater not heating like it should. Then this past Sunday afternoon when we were both just sitting inside and chilling, we heard a sudden ‘pop.’ Neither of us thought much about it until a little while later when I went to plug something in and discovered the outlet had no power.

Things like this seem to happen when it’s dark. I remember times when we lived aboard our boat…we’d be anchored overnight somewhere and a storm would roll through…I’d be terrified that the anchor would drag and we would wind up who knows where?

This wasn’t that bad, but the weather forecast was predicting a nasty cold front moving through and what would we do if we had no heat? There was only about an hour of daylight left for Dave to wander around outside the rig to check whether the problem was on our end or the campground’s.

It was on our end, and after quite some time spent on studying the electrical diagrams in the owners manual, he eventually isolated the problem as coming from the inverter. He disconnected that, wire around it, and was able to get some power back on.

At least the refrigerator worked and we had heat (propane), and that was good enough for us to call it a night a few hours later and go to bed. I was grateful knowing that we had a gas stove so I could make instant coffee in the morning, It’s not my preference, but it’s better than nothing.

Monday morning was New Year’s Eve and also Dave’s birthday. We’d planned to drive into San Antonio for lunch at our favorite Cajun restaurant, Papadeaux’s. But with his birthday lunch in the city being scrapped, we settled for—and we’re grateful to have–turkey sandwiches midway through afternoon.

Yesterday, New Year’s Day, Dave fiddled around some more with the situation, trying to figure out where the failure was originating. He finally determined it was our transformer, linking the power from the campground to our 50 amp power cord.

This is where the technical mumbo jumbo ends.

Long story short, for whatever reason, Felix got a surge, and maybe a few, of 220 volts of electricity instead of 110. It fried the microwave/convection oven and possibly the control panel to our refrigerator. We discovered that yesterday when I went to scoop some ice cream to put on Dave’s birthday cake. It was very soft.

But at least the refrigerator hadn’t completely died (we think; we hope) so yesterday morning Dave focused on researching how to remove the microwave; it’s a bit trickier inside an RV because of the roof being directly overhead) but we finally managed to get it out.

I am writing this on Wednesday morning, January 2nd, and even though this new year has not started out like anything I imagined, much of what my husband and I have talked about these past 72 hours is our gratitude for what we DO have. After a good night’s sleep, we both are ready to continue figuring out our plan of action.

On the positive side (no electrical pun intended 😉), there IS electricity coming into the RV, so we had real coffee this morning. We got the microwave out of the RV without a scratch or an incident, like falling down the steps taking it out. We might not have any way to zap or bake, but we have a propane stove inside and a propane grill outside. I do have other appliances like an electric skillet and an instant pot, so we won’t go hungry. Unless the refrigerator bites the dust, too, and we lose all our food. Even then, we wouldn’t go hungry.

And I always want to remember how grateful we are that the previous owner left all of Felix’s manuals. That’s been a godsend.

As far as the refrigerator freezer goes, Dave thinks the control panel got zapped, and that can be fixed. Fingers are crossed.

Chances are that if you’re reading this, we are friends on social media, and so you know about the posts I make on the Facebook page Gratitude 365. There is no doubt in my mind that an attitude of gratitude has definitely helped tone down a situation that could have gotten and still could be very stressful, because after all, there is a chance we lose all the food in the fridge.

I’m discovering that gratitude really is a choice, and that practicing it regularly gives me a more positive and hopeful attitude towards circumstances. Somehow, someway, everything will turn out fine. I have no idea how, but I’ll find out soon enough. One day at a time.

Meantime, we’re hunkered down for what’s looking to be a cold, rainy, miserable day weather-wise. I’ll keep you posted on our further adventures concerning this situation. It should get really interesting next week…Dave’s knee replacement is Tuesday. Until then…Maria🤠

PS Dave says he’s never going to say anything about his to-do list ever again!

12/8/18 Yesterday’s post deserves a follow up, since my fears were not even remotely realized, and in fact, the MOW route turned out better than I could have ever imagined! The saying that 99% of our fears never happens is true, I’m convinced.

Upon arriving at the Silver Sage (the senior center here in Bandera), I admitted my fears about getting stuck in the mud to John, the Meals on Wheels coordinator. He listened and pointed out two clients who lived on roads that were potentially problematic, one being much worse than the other. That said, he also gave me two phone numbers to call if the latter road was impassable. I felt validated and better off for having the back-up.

When it was time for my route order to be fulfilled, I stood in the kitchen and watched Ed pack one bag with twelve hot meals and the cooler with a dozen cartons of milk. Double-checking Ed is part of the driver’s responsibility so that coming back for a forgotten meal is avoided as much as possible. Obviously , ‘time’ means everything in the delivery business.

At my very brief orientation last week, John stressed that delivering meals in a timely fashion is important since all of the clients have come to expect their meals to be delivered by a certain time–and that a late or missed delivery can be a big deal, especially if the driver is the only person the client will see that day.

Any uncertainty I might’ve had was alleviated on the very first stop. I could see Rosalyn through the glass of her front door waiting for me, and as she opened the door to let me in, it surprised me that she remembered my name from having met me just briefly last week.

We drivers are allowed to visit some if the client wants, so I listened to Rosalyn tell me that she was feeling sad that morning, thinking about her son who’d been killed recently in a automobile accident. I didn’t know what to say, so I just let her talk awhile and then gave her a hug before I had to leave.

As I made my way back to the jeep I happened to look up at the eaves of her garage and caught sight of an unusual house decoration: the recovery symbol associated with Alcoholics Anonymous. The thought of snapping a photo occurred to me, but I thought that really wouldn’t be appropriate, all things considered. But I couldn’t help but wonder, was that odd or was that God?

As it turned out, the road pointed out by John was a non-issue because that particular client’s caretaker met me at the turnoff. He also said he’d do that every time it rained. Whew!

One of the last people I delivered to lives in a very dire, hoarders-sort-of situation, tethered to an oxygen tank. The very act of just living seemed to be a struggle. It made so grateful for things I’m guilty of taking for granted, like walking. Like breathing!

The rain that had been threatening all morning finally gave way just as I delivered the last meal of the route, and it was raining hard and steadily by the time I pulled the jeep under the carport back at the Silver Sage…another blessing.

I had no idea that being a MOW driver would be as rewarding as I’ve already discovered it to be. Everyone at the senior center from the receptionist to the cook appreciates us drivers, and they tell us so. The people to whom we deliver meals appreciate us, and they say so.

Truth is, I’m the one who’s grateful for getting to do this. and it’s an attitude of gratitude that makes all the difference. Already I’m looking forward to next week, and it doesn’t matter WHAT the weather ‘s predicted to be!