Jun 13 2009

The rest of the story

It has been quite some time since I wrote that we were “almost ready to roll,” and yet here we are still in Tucson. I had hoped not to have to explain the delay, but since we will be almost two weeks late there seems to be no avoiding it.

I made the mistake of purchasing a new tow vehicle about two weeks before our projected departure date. The Nissan Armada has treated us well over the years, but at 80,000 miles (mostly towing) it was beginning to give small hints that it wouldn’t be long before it needed retirement from the towing biz. Certainly I could have gotten another 20,000 miles out of it, and I seriously considered doing that, but at the end I’d be left with a truck with 100,000 strenuous miles and no more extended warranty. The resale value would be hideously bad at that point, but at the present it still had some value.

Against that consideration I placed the opportunity to buy a new vehicle with ridiculously huge factory rebates and/or incredibly cheap financing. It is, as they say, “the time to buy.” Also, I’ve been wanting to tow with diesel power ever since we first started full-timing in 2005. We plan to keep publishing Airstream Life for a long time, and we don’t want to downsize from our two-bedroom Safari 30 just yet, so it made sense to buy an engine that would really last for the long haul. I advertised the Armada on Craigslist, and 48 hours later a nice couple from Tucson paid cash for it, which cemented the decision. I paid off the loan and went shopping.

Typically before towing a heavy load it’s a good idea to get 500 to 1,000 miles on the engine and transmission. So I spent the next two weeks driving everywhere, inventing errands on the other side of town and making unnecessary trips to places like Tombstone and Nogales just to rack up the miles. In the meantime, I ordered a replacement stinger from Hensley under their lifetime free “swap program,” to accommodate the different receiver height. Once all was in order, I hitched up the Airstream and spent an hour or so trying to get the weight distribution worked out.

If you know about towing, you know that any heavy trailer needs a weight distributing hitch. This spreads the “tongue weight” of the trailer over the front and rear axles of the tow vehicle, which is an important part of towing dynamics. Without proper weight on both axles, the tow vehicle is likely to be lighter in the front than when it is not towing, which will cause bad handling, understeer, fast wear on the rear suspension/brakes, and a potential loss-of-control accident.

But with the new vehicle I couldn’t seem to get the weight distribution the way it needed to be. I took the whole rig down to the truck scales and confirmed what the handling was telling me: the front axle was way too light. I’m talking 500 lbs too light, which is serious.

Once I got home, I discovered the source of the problem. The factory-supplied receiver had broken a weld. That allowed the receiver to bend under load, which meant that it couldn’t distribute weight to the front axle properly.

Now, I’m being very calm here … but you should know that when I saw the broken receiver, I went ballistic for a few minutes. A broken hitch is serious business. Even without fully disconnecting from the tow vehicle (which would certainly be catastrophic for the trailer), the sudden loss of proper balance could easily cause a deadly accident. Receivers shouldn’t break — PERIOD.

But they do, and unfortunately original equipment receivers have a poor track record in this regard. They seem to be designed for lowest price rather than best capability. That’s why many people who are doing heavy towing replace their OEM (Original Equipment Manufacturer) receiver hitches with stronger aftermarket ones. A lot of GM owners experienced this a few years ago, and you can still read the many posts online (1, 2, 3, 4) about their troubles, including fatalities.

I’m not naming the manufacturer of my vehicle at this time because I am currently engaged in a dialogue with them about the design and manufacture of their receiver. It is, in my opinion, completely inadequate. It would probably be fine for people who tow their 3,000 lb boat to the launch twice a year, but it broke when towing my trailer in less than 20 miles .. and yes, the truck scale proved that my trailer was below the factory rating for this receiver.

The dealership refused to replace the receiver under warranty, alleging that I must have done “something” to break it. An inspector was called in, and he also felt that the failure was not their fault. Since time was pressing, I decided to take the receiver to a specialist for repair and reinforcement, and do battle with the manufacturer later.

But my bad luck streak was just beginning. It turned out that there was another problem with the truck, and it was an issue which made it unsafe to drive. The solution required a replacement wiring harness, and being a rather unusual part, it wasn’t readily available. In fact, we waited a week for the part, and when it didn’t arrive, the dealership service guys figured out a temporary fix to get us “back on the road” — an ironic statement since we’ve hardly been anywhere with this new vehicle yet.

At this point I’d been forced to cancel an event I was eagerly anticipating, the Dr Pepper 118th Birthday Celebration in Dublin TX. A lot of friend were there, and the local newspaper had even written an article saying that Airstream Life would be there. I also canceled our plans to hike the Guadalupe Mountains in west Texas, our visit to the Gila Cliff Dwellings north of Silver City New Mexico, and a visit to the Monahan Sand Hills.

On Thursday afternoon I got the truck back and took it to a competent fabrication shop in Tucson. Along with help from experts in the Airstream business, we’ve devised a solution to repair and strengthen the receiver to far beyond the capabilities of its original design. But the shop can’t do the work until Tuesday, which will put us exactly two weeks behind schedule — if all goes well.

I have been mightily punished for abandoning our trusty Nissan. It was reliable, if not fuel-efficient. It would have gotten us on our way on schedule. But I’ve chosen a new tow vehicle and I’m stuck with it now. I can only hope that this debacle will be the only major sticking point on our trip east, and that the new truck will prove itself over many years of reliable service. It hasn’t been an auspicious start, but in a few months it may be just a fading memory.

So that’s why we are still in the limbo of “Almost ready to go.” We were so well packed that when the receiver broke we had to go back to the Airstream to get clothes to wear and food to eat. Now we exist in an strange half-world between Airstream and house, trying not to fully unpack and yet not feel like we are living out of a suitcase. Every day I have uttered the phrase, “If all goes well …” and it hasn’t yet, so I’m trying not to say it anymore. I don’t want to make predictions about when we’ll get anywhere, because every time I do I’m proved wrong. Let’s just say that at some point we expect to be back on the road. You’ll know … when I know.

Jun 01 2009

(Almost) ready to roll

It is now June, and we are still in southern Arizona. Considering that we have wheels and places to go, it seems a tiny bit insane to still be here in the 100-degree heat. We just got our electric bill for May, and the combination of a 5-ton air conditioner and a poorly-insulated house meant that it was triple the amount of the previous month. I wanted to experience the heat, and I have, so now it’s time to go.

We are in fact very near departure. I have pulled out the checklist that I’ve been incubating all winter, and about half of the “to do” items necessary for liftoff are already checked off. The rest will be completed this week, and before you know it we’ll have eight wheels-a-rollin’ down I-10 heading east. And we have plans — good things awaiting us in New Mexico, Texas, Arkansas, Wisconsin, Ontario, and the northeast states.

The Airstream is mechanically as ready as it will ever be: wheel bearings freshly packed, brakes and tires checked, hitch lubed, propane filled, batteries full, all systems “GO”. It just needs a little re-packing for the five or six month odyssey we have planned. The real challenge in preparing for a trip is not getting all the systems ready, it’s figuring out what we’ll need. As full-timers we packed for every contingency, but now I prefer to leave the spare kitchen sink behind and try to bring only what we’ll actually use.

The problem is that in five months we’ll use a lot of stuff. When you have a lot of interests, you have a lot of gear. So there’s a balancing act between various hobbies, avocations, and (in my case) professional equipment. We’ve got everything we need for snorkeling, hiking, backpacking, photography, bicycling, and homeschooling. We are equipped for sun and rain, sickness and health, warm and cold, east and west. That takes a lot of space.

So we dig through all the storage and re-evaluate everything we have in an effort to turn up things that can be offloaded. Digging through the trailer takes time but it yields many surprises (“I didn’t know we still had that!”) and occasionally some interesting memories. There are tools that remind me of hard-earned lessons, like my TorqueStik and spare wheel studs. There are a half dozen boxes of tea, which reminds me that (a) my wife is a packrat when it comes to tea and (b) we’ve made a lot of interesting tea-related stops in our previous travels. Half of those tea boxes will go into the “storage unit” (house) to make room for other things, like the 10,000 exotic spices and ingredients that Eleanor carries at all times. (This permits her to make dinners based on Thai, Japanese, Vietnamese, Indian, Italian, and French cuisine on a whim. Which is one of the many reasons why I love her.)

This process is our trailer weight-loss program. Airstreams are like people; they tend to gain weight over time and it is much harder to lose it than to gain it. Between trips we do what we can to trim the excess, because it is a drag (literally) pulling four tons up a Colorado mountain pass. To ensure that we’ve got the trailer down to target towing weight of about 7300 lbs., and ensure that the geometry of our towing setup is optimal, I have weighed the tow vehicle empty at the local truck stop. Once the trailer re-packing is done, I’ll weigh the entire rig and compare the weight on each axle to ensure that is well distributed. If not, I’ll redistribute some items and adjust the tension on the weight distributing hitch. This is an essential technique to “tune” the rig for good handling. Being diligent about it has paid off for us many times on curvy roads and slippery conditions.

Setting up the Airstream is an interesting exercise, but I’ve been more engaged in business exercises lately. We have launched a new “Online Edition” of Airstream Life magazine, and it looks like a winner. It’s basically a mini-version of the printed magazine, about 15-20 pages per issue, which anyone can read for free online. Developing this was harder than it looks, and I’ve been at it for a few months. But it was worth the effort because now we’ve got a product for people who are considering joining the Airstream community. About half of the people who have subscribed to the Online Edition (free) don’t yet own an Airstream. I figure we’ll get a lot of them to subscribe to the print publication eventually, but more importantly the Online Edition gives us a way to talk to people before they buy, and that’s really great for advertisers.

The downside of this is that now I’ve got yet another online responsibility to manage. Website, this blog, online magazine, photo/video community, and contact form … it adds up to a lot of time tied to the computer. And that explains why you won’t be seeing me on Facebook or Twitter. I’m already overexposed, and my irises are starting to bleach from too much time staring at the screen. The various Airstream Life websites serve hundreds of thousands of pages each month. My email address is printed 10,000 times a quarter in the magazine. I don’t think anyone really needs to hear more from me. I’ve always tried to go for quality over quantity, and I think the social networking websites like those I mentioned tend to go the other way.

Since I’m wandering far afield of my original topic, I may as well cover a few other details. My trusty Nikon D70 got glitchy on me in the past few months, and it is now in the hands of Nikon for service. It won’t be back until after we hit the road, so I’m having it shipped to us in Texas. In the meantime, I am expecting UPS to show up this afternoon with the replacement Nikon D90, a terrific upgrade that I’ve been anticipating for quite a while. It will wear the Nikkor 18-200mm zoom most of the time. When it returns, the D70 will be my backup camera, mounted with either the superwide Tamron 10-24mm lens or my sweet new Nikkor 50mm f/1.8 lens for low-light indoor work.

Now I’ve just got to figure a comfortable way to carry both cameras at once. A new camera bag will be required soon, I can tell you that. My photo gear has increased to two bodies, three lenses, a flash, an assortment of filters, cables, chargers, and numerous spare batteries. Maybe this is why the Airstream is gaining weight…

The blog will continue as we travel this summer. Anyone who is coming to the International Rally in Madison WI (late June) can meet up with us during the Vintage Open House, and of course we’ll be at the Vintage Trailer Jam in August. We’ll also be at the 118th Birthday Celebration of Dr Pepper in Dublin TX in a couple of weeks. So ride along and let’s see what adventures ensue.

May 21 2009

Up and away, in a tent

When it gets hot in southern Arizona, there’s an easy escape. All around are “sky islands,” which are mountains that pop up from the desert to reach cool air high up in the atmosphere. Some, like the Santa Catalina range just to the north of Tucson, are easily summited by car, and there are campsites dotted all over the National Forest lands.

Most of the campgrounds are tight for our 30-foot Airstream, but we’ve been wanting to use our tenting gear anyway. A couple of weeks ago we took the little Honda and scooted up the Mt Lemmon Highway to the General Hitchcock campground at 6000 feet elevation. This little campground has only about a dozen sites, all tucked into a small canyon and shaded by towering Ponderosa pine trees. It seems much farther from Tucson than it really is. On a day when the air was scorching the desert sand in Tucson, the camping at General Hitchcock was just fine at about 15 degrees cooler.

From any campground in the Santa Catalinas, you can find a hiking trail. From General Hitchcock the Green Mountain trail ascends 1.8 miles to a saddle near Guthrie Mountain, and along the way you can get a spectacular view all the way back to Tucson with the famous “Thimble” in between. The climb is occasionally steep. You have to go further than the saddle to get a summit view, but we were not hiking with the goal of bagging peak on that day. Our goal was just to get a hike in and then return to camp to set up for the evening.

Kids always seem to like tenting, and so do I. There are always things to do: setting up the tent, unpacking the bedrolls, fetching water, cooking, and all the other little simple tasks that kids can help with. In addition to the jobs, there are bugs and critters to discover, rocks to climb, and running around to be done. Everything’s an adventure in a forest campground like this one.

Adults have to remember how novel the tenting experience is for a kid. Sleeping outdoors! In a tent! With Mom & Dad right there, to talk to, and play checkers, and explain the strange night sounds. Nothing to fear, all the comforts a kid really needs, and plenty of opportunity to learn from each other. Even after three years of life in our Airstream, tent camping is still fresh and exciting for all of us. Personally, I like all the neat gear. It just tickles me to fire up my little camp stove and boil some water for dinner. Don’t know why, but it’s fun.

I left the rain fly off the tent so that we’d be able to see the stars. The chance of rain was absolutely zero. Because we were above the dust layer that often covers the low desert, we could see brilliant glowing of constellations all night through the trees. Owls hunted up above, and we could occasionally hear them hooting at each other. My ears got a little chilly when the overnight air cooled to about 50 degrees, but it was worth it for this night of fresh air and the rare experience of sleeping closer to the ground. I know most Airstreamers say that they bought their trailers so that they wouldn’t need to sleep on the ground anymore, but once in a while I still crave the simplicity of the experience.

Descending the mountain road again the next day, we passed through an elevation at which the saguaros were at the peak of their springtime bloom. I had forgotten that the saguaros were due to flower at this time of year. I suppose most people don’t know that they flower at all, seeing as how they are only found here in the lower Sonoran desert. Seeing the spring bloom is one of the little cues that tell us the seasons are changing. It’s not all just hot and dry here … even from day to day the scenery can change, as our little overnight trip to the Santa Catalinas has reminded us.

May 18 2009

Climbing Picacho Peak

It has been a long hot period in Tucson lately. The heat has struck a bit early, meaning that we’ve had about 10 days straight of 100 degrees. As summer sets in, certain outdoor activities become off-limits, and people begin to seek recreation either inside shopping malls or up in the mountain parks.

But I’ve had a certain hike on my mind for three years now, and I was determined to do it before we leave for the summer. As one drives along I-10 between Tucson and Phoenix, a peculiar pointed mountain appears to the west. It appears un-hikeable, by its steep sides and nearly jagged contours. This is Picacho Peak, the site of a state park and a fine campground, which we’ve visited several times.

There is a trail that leads all the way to the top, about 2.1 miles each way. The climb is extremely steep, to the point that many times the only way to ascend is with the help of steel cable lines that have been bolted into the rock. It is really more of a “climb” than a hike.

The steepness of the climb dictates that people with very short legs (a.k.a. Emma) can’t make the climb without assistance. And people with any sense at all (a.k.a. Eleanor) quickly realize that a climb like this on a day that is destined to hit 100+ is moderately insane. Fortunately, Brett had flown in from Denver for the weekend, so I had a like-minded (meaning “equally soft in the head”) companion. So Brett and I left the house at 6:30 a.m., alone, in an attempt to reach the summit before the temperatures spiked as sharply as the peak itself.

We completely failed in one respect. The temperature was already well into the 80s at 7:45, when we reached the trailhead (50 miles from Tucson). By the time we finished it was over 100 degrees. More than half the trail is completely exposed, with no shade, and the heat of the sun bakes the steel cables to the point that they can burn your hands. But along the way, the trail rewards you with spectacular views, which help distract you from the minor discomforts. Of course it helped that we were prepared for the trail with leather gloves, broad sun hats, white shirts, SPF 55 sunscreen, hiking shoes, energy snacks, and lots of water.

Water is the big thing. Brett brought 70 ounces of water in his backpack, and ran out about midway through the return descent. I brought 100 ounces and ran out at the very end of the hike. All of that water was evaporated through our skin — there were no bathroom stops during the 3.5 hour roundtrip. (Yes, in case I didn’t make the point with my previous post, the air is very dry here.) Ill-prepared people would not be able to complete the hike in these conditions, at least not without suffering. We groused about the steepest sections, but really, it was a fun adventure.

My advice to others would be to hike this peak between November and April, like a sensible person would. It’s tough enough to make you realize you really did something, and yet manageable by most people with good fitness. Bring the Airstream and camp in the park to double your pleasure. It’s worth the effort. I can’t think of another small mountain climb quite like Picacho Peak.

May 08 2009

Hot and dry

We are here in Tucson, far beyond the normal window of snowbird activity, because I wanted to stay and get a taste of Tucson’s heat after a cool winter. Our Airstream travels will not resume until June. In the weeks between now and departure, there lie at least 15 days of temperatures exceeding 100 degrees.

All the other snowbirds flew the coop in April. The RV parks are decimated, and the service centers are quiet. Nobody wants to be here when “the ice breaks up in the Santa Cruz River,” which is local slang for the first day of 100+ degrees. That event usually occurs in May. (The idea of ice in the Santa Cruz River is particularly ironic, since for most of its length through Tucson the river appears to be a dry wash, containing no visible water at all.)

But I did want to be here for the heat. Unlike most people, I like it, at least when it’s the famous dry heat of the southwest. We started reaching the upper 90s about a week ago and for the past three days we have flirted with 100 every day — reaching 99.5 in the shade of our back patio this afternoon at 4 p.m. But although the weather service has claimed an official temperature of 100 today, I won’t say the ice of the Santa Cruz has broken yet, at least not according to the Luhr Standard Temperature Gauge.

It’s not nearly as unbearable as it sounds. The mornings are gorgeous, running in the mid-60s. We get up at 6 a.m. or so (even a shade doesn’t fully stop the sun from screaming in our eastern bedroom window), and open all the windows wide to catch the cool morning air and the sounds of the birds. By 8 a.m. it has reached 72-75 degrees and we shut the windows again, and await the mid-day when the central air conditioner kicks on to keep the house at 79. By then, the outside temperatures are well into the upper 80s, and the searing heat of the afternoon lies in wait.

We have learned self-defense techniques, of course. Anything to be done outside, such as planting or bicycling, gets done in the early morning. We never go out without a bottle of water, sunglasses and a very breathable broad sun hat. I am wearing super-cool white shirts most days. The black seats of the car are never scorching since the car sleeps in the shade of the carport, and there is nowhere it can go in the afternoon that isn’t air conditioned. Beating the heat, it turns out, is much easier than beating the cold of a New England winter — and we don’t have to shovel the sunshine out of the way before leaving the house.

Heat, of course, is energy. We are gradually finding that the energy is useful in ways that most people ignore. I’d like to have solar electric panels on the roof of the house, as we do on the Airstream, but that project will have to wait until 2010. In the meantime, the house came with an old-fashioned clothesline, and Eleanor has discovered that it does an impressive job of drying towels, which saves the energy the dryer would consume. The trick is to get them off the line before too long. She put a set of towels out there today and they came back not only dry, but rather crispy. The combination of dry air, sunshine, and heat puts the gas dryer to shame.

Tonight we are grilling salmon on the little Weber. The salmon was frozen solid, but Eleanor simply tossed it out on the weeds of our back yard (still sealed tightly in the original plastic package) and in about 30 minutes Emma flipped it. Less than an hour later, the fish was perfectly defrosted. I brushed the weed debris off the package and put it in the refrigerator. Much longer and it would probably have started to cook. Who needs a microwave when you’ve got Arizona sunshine?

The other aspect of our current climate is that this is the dry season. I mean d-r-y, like Easterners have never experienced. As I write this, the relative humidity is 6%, which is not unusual at all. Hydration of humans and plants is the key to survival, so we (and most people who live here) keep a water bottle within reach at all times. Eleanor has discovered that tomatoes left on the counter in a breathable package here will not go rotten, but they will slowly dehydrate. While they were gone I found a pack of tiny “grape” tomatoes that had been here for who-knows-how-long, and they were still perfectly edible. A bit wrinkled, but tasty — almost like sun-dried tomatoes. Apparently, we live in a food dehyrator.

Of course, the amusement of extraordinary heat would be lost if not for the miracle of central air conditioning. We’ve never used our air for more than a few weeks, since we are not normally here for much of the warm season. A setback thermostat and judicious use of natural air for morning cooling will help, but I’m still not looking forward to May’s electric bill. If we were here in the summer I’m sure we would encounter sticker shock, but we’re just summer poseurs — we won’t be here for the long slog.

In fact, we might soon encounter the opposite conditions. Last June in Vermont we had several days that were cold enough to require furnace during the daytime, with cruel humidity. So Eleanor has gotten to work on protecting our catalytic heater, with a custom cover. Catalytic heaters can be killed by dust, and we travel to dusty places all the time. Today she sewed up this neat cover, which is secured to the heater with little magnetic strips. It comes off in a second and goes back on just as easily, with the magnets holding it tight during travel. Perfect! (click the photos for larger views)

Perhaps in a month I’ll be eager to escape the heat, but probably not. I am sure I will be pining for the dry air later this summer. There is something about life in the desert that appeals to me. The heat isn’t just an obstacle, it’s an interesting aspect of being here. It is the reason that we have lizards in the bougainvillea, and all sorts of other fascinating life. We’ll absorb the heat while we can, in case we encounter a cool and rainy summer again in the northeast.