Lately, when I’m thinking about where we are, I am reminded  of the excellent description given by Verne Troyer in the movie “The Imaginarium of Dr Parnassus,” when he is asked “Where are we?” by Heath Ledger:

“Geographically, in the Northern Hemisphere.  Socially, on the margin.  And narratively, with some ways to go.”

Sometimes that’s how I feel too.  If you overdo it when traveling, all the campgrounds can start to look the same, making your location seem less special and more like “somewhere in the Northern Hemisphere.”  And socially, we are occasionally reminded that not everyone views our life in an Airstream as exotic; for some, we are itinerants who live in a trailer.

In fact, today that’s exactly where we are: living in a trailer down by the river. In fact, it is the Broad River, running silently and swiftly about 20 feet behind our back bumper through the shady trees. I view this as a fine location for camping, but I’m sure there are those who cannot fathom what in the world makes us choose this quiet spot in west-nowhere-North Carolina instead of a fancy hotel in a cosmopolitan city.

This is not the sort of place we normally choose to camp.  It is a commercial full-hookup campground in the middle of nowhere, where our phones barely work, and we bypassed a couple of interesting-sounding state parks to be here. That’s because we are meeting Super Terry and Marie, and they picked the campground.   But this is a good thing, because it looks nothing like the places we have been lately and that aspect of diversity helps us stay oriented.

Also, I like the break. Having no “bars” on the cell phone means I can justifiably turn it off and have a phone-less weekend.  The campground has satellite-based wifi, so the blog can continue, but it’s slow and that justifies leaving the computer off most of the time too.  Although it is Friday afternoon on an absolutely gorgeous Fall day (75 degrees, sunny, dry), there are very few campers here and so the place is nice and quiet.  We floated little leaf-and-stick boats down the fast-flowing river to the “rapids” and watched them sink, then we played a board game on the dinette, and now I have the enviable option of lying down on my comfy Airstream bed and reading a book.  At times like this, our trailer magically transforms from our home and office on the road, to a getaway vacation cabin, all without packing or unpacking.  Time to break out some cold drinks, chips, and guacamole, and snack our way through dinner.

The town is Rutherfordton, which we have not seen since we are in the boondocks (and there may in fact be no town center).  The name sounds to me like they couldn’t decide:  “Rutherford, or Rutherton?  What the heck, let’s call it both: Rutherfordton.”  Rutherfordington Center would have been even better.  I’ll post that in the town’s Suggestion Box if I can find it.

I have to post  a small warning about stinkbugs.  These guys have been plaguing us since Pennsylvania, the origin point of these annoying fat flying insects. They are harmless but in the Fall they will invade an RV in massive numbers if they get a chance.  We caught the beginning of the stinkbug invasion season in September at French Creek State Park, then encountered them again in Falls Church VA, and have been finding a dozen or so every day inside our trailer ever since.  They are seemingly endless.

The strange thing is that we never actually saw more than a few flying around while we were camped.  They have an amazingly ability to sneak into refuge points when you’re not looking.  I’ve found them in the screens, in the vents, rolled up  inside the awning, inside windows, and every other possible crevice that they can get into.  I would like to say we’ve got all of them, before we carry the little nuisances to Florida, but as the temperatures warm, more of them show up.  And there seems to be no practical solution other than to find them all by hand (or by vacuum cleaner).  Fortunately, Emma likes to capture them with her bare hands.

This weekend while Emma is catching the bugs, Super Terry is going to take a look at our brakes, bearings, and tires.  We last serviced all those items in January 2010, back in Riverside CA, and since then we have logged about 8,000-9,000 miles.  That isn’t a tremendous amount of mileage but we have historically had problems with brakes pads wearing unevenly, and tires failing and so I’m being extra-cautious.  If there are any hints of trouble, I’d rather know now.  On Sunday and Monday we are going to log a lot of miles very quickly, and from there we will be doing a lot of towing around Florida.  At this point I have no indications of trouble (tire wear appears nominal and braking is excellent) but we’ll pull all four wheels off and take a look anyway. I’ll post an update on that later this weekend.

In other words, narratively, we still have some ways to go.

Quartzsite has historically been a major RV’er mecca in the winter.  It still is, but not so much this year.  The slowdown of the economy seems to have dinged this portion of the RV community more than others.  Quartzsite is traditionally visited for months by vast numbers of budget-conscious desert boondockers, who pay as little as $180 for six month in the BLM’s Long Term Visitor Area.  They pass the days browsing the flea markets and “shows” (essentially flea markets with themes), and contemplating the desert, I suppose.  Whatever they do, this year they’re coming here in considerably smaller numbers to do it.

Super Terry met me here to camp together for the weekend, and replace my broken front window.  That’s his 1974 Sovereign parked with my 1968 Caravel.  We’re in a private boondocking lot for $7 per night.  There are a lot of these types of places in Quartzsite.

Super Terry’s first night was a little rough, since he got caught in a serious traffic jam on I-10 near the AZ/CA border.  After two hours parked on the Interstate, and then some back-road wandering, he finally arrived far too late for anything but dinner. We tried Trader Joe’s “Thai for Two” and it was pretty decent for bachelor chow.

In bright morning sunshine of Quartzsite, we got to the task at hand.  Super Terry removed the broken glass and ruined frame of the front window, and went through the particular procedure required to rebuild a 1968 Airstream window.  He also very carefully removed one of the two curved side windows and replaced the original glass with a new piece that I bought from Airstream.  The new glass is considerably tougher than the original Corning stuff.  I decided to pre-emptively replace that glass just because I’ve experienced a side window failure in the past, and it’s a real pain to deal with on the road.

Each window needed to sit for two hours while the caulk set up in the hinge, so we took a break for lunch and were pleasantly surprised by a visit from Mike B.  Mike is one of several Airstreamers we know who are camped in one of the LTVAs for a few months.  We would have camped with them, but the LVTA isn’t set up for short visits (hence the name: LONG TERM Visitor Area).  The minimum permit is for two weeks, which costs $40. Later in the day we dropped in on the Airstream encampment and saw a few other folks we know from rallies and the Internet.

Sadly, the tape I used to hold the temporary Lexan window in place did not come off entirely.  I was warned about this by Colin Hyde.  After a few days in the sun, the adhesive won’t come off the aluminum.  I’ll have to get busy with some Goo-Gone stuff when I get back to Tucson.

Life in the Caravel as a single person has been very comfortable.  I could live in it for a while if I had to.  The tricks to living in a small space like this are to be extraordinarily organized (a place for everything and everything in its place)  and regularly cleaning up the detritus of each activity as it is completed.  You can’t leave the breakfast dishes out while you try to work on the computer.  The bed has to be made back into a sofa before you can gain access to some of the storage compartments.

With three of us, there’s an added trick: stay outside.  There’s really no room for the three of us to function in this tiny space all at once.  That’s actually not a disadvantage, since it encourages outdoor living.  When we want to travel with a rolling apartment, we’ll take the 30-foot Safari.  When we want to go “camping”, we’ll take the Caravel.  I would like to add an awning rail and a vintage-style awning later, to expand our outdoor space.  (I’m making a list of improvements and accessories for our first family trip.)

Although I know a few things to do around the Q, there isn’t enough here to hold me for long.  On previous trips I’ve hiked the popular hikes, visited all the shows, climbed “Q Mountain,” saw the historic and geographic landmarks, etc.  The really social action doesn’t kick in until January.  Right now it’s a bit quiet.  So on Sunday I’ll head back to Tucson with my list of improvements. With Christmas this week, I expect work to be very quiet, and combined with Tucson’s traditionally pleasant December weather it should be a good opportunity to get started on the Caravel projects.

For those of you perched on the edge of your seat wondering how the brake situation worked out, rest easy.   Super Terry arrived and sprang into action, swiftly replaced the questionable actuator with a factory-fresh replacement, then bled the brakes and verified proper operation.   We celebrated with dinner in the trailer, and the second half of “Prince Caspian” on DVD.   It wasn’t a wild night boondocking in the desert but it was a fine one nonetheless.

In the morning we stopped off at the Borrego Springs hardware stores to buy some tie wraps for cleaning up some of the wiring, and while we were parked by the side of the road, Dirk spotted us and stopped by to meet Terry in person. Then Super Terry bade us farewell and zipped off to his headquarters, no doubt awaiting his next opportunity to do a good deed.

We had been forced to cancel our overnight plans in Campo CA, but since we had everything resolved by about 10 a.m., there was still time to drive about 70 miles down to see our friends Daisy and Don.   We last saw them on the north rim of the Grand Canyon in September, where they were working at the lodge.   Now they are volunteering at the Pacific Southwest Railway Museum, which is sort of a playground for railfans in a tiny unincorporated village by the border with Mexico.

Daisy and Don arranged to roll out the red carpet for us, which meant a personal guided tour of the historic railcars, lunch, and a ride on the train about 11 miles down to the very border.   The border happens to be midway through a rural tunnel, and is delineated by a white line.   There’s no gate at this tunnel (but there is one in the next tunnel), and nothing to suggest that this is an international border except for Border Patrol personnel lurking at road crossings nearby.

The museum is a strictly volunteer operation, and rather small, with one building containing a few gems of the collection, and many   other engines and cars lined up outside.   There’s a restoration shop and several interesting historic cars but not everything is open to the public.   Being rather off the beaten path, things were quiet when we came by, but that meant we had plenty of time to drift through the cars and talk before the train departed at 2:30.

From Campo to Bonita, the shortest route is Rt 94.   It is a constantly twisting and rolling adventure that would be much more fun in a little sportscar than in a giant SUV with an 8000-lb trailer strapped to it.   Still, the scenery is beautiful and even surprising at times, with views from 3000 feet altitude through valleys into Mexico.

This time of year the major limitation of climate is not temperature, but sunlight.   It’s hard to get to the destination by 5 p.m., when things start getting dark and backing into a strange campsite becomes a serious challenge.  But here we are, undented and with brakes that work, in the Mediterranean air of the San Diego area.  We will spend the next few days here, exploring and taking care of business.  As it turns out, we will have much to do.

I have trouble staying in one place for more than a month.   The southwest is delightful this time of year, with dry and warm days and crisp evenings filled with stars.   Tucson has been just fine in all respects, but with the Airstream sitting in the carport, it seems a shame to miss the opportunity to explore a little more.

Early on Thursday morning I pulled the Airstream out of the carport and headed west.   Eleanor and Emma stayed home to take care of other things, so I was alone to think and observe as the desert scenery drifted by.   Even though our hiatus has not been long, it was a strange feeling being back on the road, both invigorating and yet uncertain.   I’m so used to traveling with my two companions that towing the Airstream alone is always a little uncomfortable.   Why am I doing this?   Where am I going?   But the little things in the desert soon steal my attention, and then I’m looking at every ordinary thing (tractors, dead motels, billboards, farms, dusty roads) and wondering what story lies behind it.   Each thing invites exploration, so the road is never dull even though I’ve traveled it before.

The iPod played a nice medley of music, and each song reminded me of a different place.   I hear Barenaked Ladies and I think of a week we spent in Victor, ID with our friend Rich C.   I hear Squeeze and I’m thinking of humid nights driving across I-10 through the swamps between Baton Rouge and Lafayette.   I hear Blink182 and I’m thinking of a particular week in Tampa.   Some songs lead me to Vermont, others to Mexico, and one particular album always reminds me of a dark early morning when we went to catch a snorkel boat in Maui.   I like having music that reminds me of these places, it’s like an alternate form of memory.

The reason I’m on the road is to get the Airstream a pair of new axles.   It has been sagging a little lately, and that has made it hard to hitch up properly.   A heavy trailer like ours needs to distribute its tongue weight across both axles of the tow vehicle (in this case, our Nissan Armada), and lately that weight distribution hasn’t been what it should be.  I can tell by the way the Armada is starting to sag in the rear.  When the axles on the trailer sag, it messes up the geometry that makes weight distribution work.   It also means the trailer is getting a rougher ride, which is bad for longevity.

In Corona, CA, 458 miles from our home, a business called Inland RV specializes in Airstream axles.   I could have gotten the axles replaced locally, but Inland RV really knows the axle business and they support the magazine with their advertising dollars, which means a lot to me in this economy.   Besides, our two good friends Terry and Marie have recently relocated to work at Inland and I wanted to see them as well.   Terry is a super mechanic and I wanted him to see the condition of all the trailer’s running gear (bearings, brakes, tires, axles) and check for other problems.

We had a mystery squeak coming from the brakes and I wanted him to take a look at that too.   Terry correctly diagnosed the squeak problem before I even arrived, just from the description.   It was caused by a prior service center not peening over little tabs on the outer brake pads, and easily fixed.   Stuff like that makes me crazy — why can’t the first guys do it right?   I’ll drive my Airstream hundreds of miles to find someone who can do the job right the first time, and often I have to.

The service work went well on Friday, but I hung around for another night to visit a little more.   The shop has extended me the courtesy of parking in the service bay, which is a peculiar experience.   We did this once before, at Roger Williams Airstream in Weatherford, TX.   Being indoors means that “day” and “night” lose meaning.   It is sunset when the shop closes, the doors lock, and the big fluorescent shop lights are switched off.   There is no dawn until someone comes in.   I awoke in the pitch black wondering what time it was.   It was like a winter morning in the far north, when the sun doesn’t rise for hours after the people do, except that the temperature never changed regardless of what was going on outside.

A trip like this has to include at least a little tourism, so we took Saturday to check out the March Field Air Museum.   It’s like Tucson’s Pima Air & Space Museum, but smaller.

Eleanor packed the Airstream with enough food for me to live for a week, and it has hardly been touched because everyone else keeps feeding me.   I’m well-stocked to wander around southern California for a long time.   There’s some temptation to do that, but it’s not the same when I know E&E are waiting for me to return to Tucson.   Aimless wandering is best done as a family.   I’ll go home on Sunday, and instead plan the next big trip, which I suspect will happen — based on prior history — in just a few weeks.