Archives for 2011

Mar 20 2011

Patagonia bound

I’m not talking about Patagonia, the region of South America — although I’d like to explore that area someday too. We’ve got our own little Patagonia here in Arizona, a funky and stubborn village sitting just a few miles north of Mexico and adjacent to some of the best birding in the North America.

Patagonia is one of those places that makes you wonder “Why is this town here?” There’s no industry and not a lot of tourism. It is about a one hour drive south of Tucson along scenic Route 83, which winds through foothills and between mountain ranges all the way down to Nogales. The secret of the town is the long park that forms a greenbelt between the commercial center of town and the highway; this is where the railroad used to run. Patagonia was once a mining town. Now it’s an enclave for eccentrics and people who want small town life in a warm climate.

In 2006, when we were full-timing, we paused in Patagonia at the behest of our friends Charlie and Lynn, who winter there. The next year we bought the house in Tucson and so we’ve managed to drop in on Charlie & Lynn in Patagonia again every year. The centerpiece of this year’s visit was a picnic lunch orchestrated by Eleanor yesterday, served in the dining room of the little adobe casita that our friends rent.

Since Charlie is a Mercedes enthusiast, and primarily responsible for my interest in the older cars, it was mandatory to take the 1984 Mercedes 300D down for the trip. It was a good choice anyway, as the sedan is a lovely cruising car for open and winding roads like Route 83, and the trunk was big enough for the two coolers and one large wicker picnic basket that Eleanor had packed.

Of course, driving old cars is always a chancy game, and I have always known that there would come a day when a roadside repair would be needed. This was that day (perhaps the first of many). I’ve been running pure biodiesel in the car for a couple of months now, and biodiesel is an effective solvent, so it tends to loosen up all the old crud in the fuel tank. That means eventually the fuel filters will clog up. Sure enough, about eight miles into our trip I noticed a distinct lack of power on acceleration which felt exactly like fuel starvation.

We put up with it for about 30 miles but finally I pulled over along a dusty stretch of Rt 82 near Sahuarita and with Eleanor’s help quickly swapped out the primary fuel filter for a fresh one. This is a simple job, involving merely loosening two hose clamps, removing the in-line filter, and then installing the new one. The filter was pretty dirty, but unfortunately this didn’t solve the issue. Along Rt 82 the road climbs to 5,000 feet of elevation, and the locals who traverse the road are not particularly patient with old cars that can’t break 40 MPH on the hills due to fuel problems. We got aggressively passed a lot more than we deserved.

But all ended well, since I was also carrying a spare secondary fuel filter. With Charlie’s assistance after lunch, I swapped that filter out and the 300D was happily returned to its normal fire-breathing 120-horsepower self, capable of zero to sixty in a leisurely 14.5 seconds. OK, so that’s not really fast. At least now we could get to 60 MPH.

Lunch, for those who are curious, consisted of a cold multi-bean soup with greek yogurt, mushroom-and-onion quiche, French baguette and croissants from the local bakery, Eleanor’s homemade apple butter, apricot preserves, artichoke antipasto, slices of roast beef, fresh giant strawberries, black grapes, yellow cherry tomatoes, celery sticks, baba ghanoush, and apple and strawberry pastry puffs for dessert. After all that, dinner was popcorn.

It’s a good thing I like Patagonia, and the roads leading there, because I’ve got to go twice more in the next couple of weeks. I am expecting to be on call to assist a friend who is going to be acquiring his first Airstream, and I’ve got to lead a group of local car guys down for a day trip. This is a lot of driving but well worth it. Being mostly flat, southern Arizona is not as abundant in twisty & fun drives as the northeast, an aspect of life that I will admit I miss. The ride to P’gia is one of the good ones, and I recommend it to anyone who is down here to explore.

Mar 18 2011

Caravanning in the 21st century

I like caravanning. In our full-time travels we occasionally would link up with another Airstreamer and travel with them for a while. Our buddy Rich C was with us on and off for about four months. We also had a very memorable impromptu caravan from the International Rally in Salem OR, across Washington and Idaho to Montana with three other Airstreams, and a couple of years ago we organized a group of three Airstreams down to Bahia Honda in Sonora MX.

My style of caravanning is pretty casual. Point to the destination, agree on a rough routing, and let everyone go at their own pace. On our northwestern caravan we found that everyone spread out quite a lot, so the only practical way to stay in touch was with cell phones. If someone wanted to meet up for lunch, they’d call and we’d compare notes on possible stopping points. There was never any obligation to stay with the group, because we wanted everyone to feel free and unencumbered.

Whoever got to the destination first typically assumed responsibility for checking out a good campground and telling the rest of the group where to go. We agreed that if anyone got sidetracked or delayed, we wouldn’t hold up the group — they could just catch up later. In other words, not much structure and no rules other than the common conventions of good behavior. It worked, probably because of the sort of people we invited along: independent and confident Airstreamers with plenty of travel experience.

Having done this a few times, I have been curious to see if the system would work for a larger group that wasn’t just friends who were well-known to us. We’re going to be heading out of Arizona sometime in mid-May to work our way up to Alumapalooza, and that trip seemed to present a fine opportunity to collect a bunch of hardy Airstreamers for an experimental caravan/adventure.

But after considering everything, I think we are going to have to pass on that idea this time. The weeks leading up to Alumapalooza are going to be very busy for me, and it is quite possible that at some point on the way up we may have to unexpectedly stop somewhere for a day or two just so I can work. That wouldn’t be terribly fun for a group of people who were expecting to have regular progress. “Hey everyone, let’s all enjoy this parking lot RV park near the highway, because it’s the only place that my cell phone works.”

Still, we might cross paths with a friend or two along the route. We don’t usually nail down our exact route in advance, preferring to leave some room for spontaneity, so I think the best way to manage this is to try a real-time Internet solution. I’m considering various methods to post our current location and immediate next destination in a semi-private location, so that a group of friends who we’ve already organized can be updated on a daily basis and share their plans with us at the same time.

I noticed at the Modernism Week show that virtually everyone was sporting an iPhone. I am a relative Luddite in that regard, having held onto the philosophy that phones are meant to be phones. I like them to be small, durable, easy to use, and long-lasting, a test which most more “advanced” devices have failed miserably since the first so-called smartphones were introduced in the 1990s. But I could no longer deny that the iPhone (and probably a few other similar phones) has finally achieved at least a halfway decent compromise. Instead of just packing stupid & gratuitous features onto a phone, it represents a decent advance in technology with a feature set that actually adds value to the basic audio-only phone. It only took about fifteen years from the first tentative steps that I watched as a wireless industry analyst in the mid-1990s.

I actually don’t care about most of the things that an iPhone can do, but I do see where instant and easy communications via an Internet-capable phone and some sort of coordinating service “in the cloud” (meaning on the Internet) could be a really useful way to coordinate a group of roaming travelers. We could post our route maps, share real-time updates from the road including photos, coordinate meeting points, ask for help, and generally just play the social-network game to while away the miles. So perhaps I’ll finally break down and get an iPhone next month. Verizon owes me one more “New every two” upgrade anyway, for whatever that’s worth.

The real problem with better communication technology is reining it in. Only the social mores and respectfulness of people hold back what often becomes a deluge of useless information. I am already reachable by email, phone, voicemail, website contact form, fax, Google Buzz, and AOL Instant Messenger. I have steered clear of Twitter & Facebook in part because I can’t handle any more. A smart phone means the darned thing knows how to bug me with information I’d often rather not have, in places I’d rather not receive it. I’m not a believer that having more tech on your hip automatically makes you more productive. So I’m going to program it to be rather selective about what it tells me. But having said that, there might be a fun road-geek experience coming up.

The other issue with caravanning to Alumapalooza is simply that I have to get there a few days early for setup, and I can’t bring a group of people with me — there’s no place for them to stay! That’s easily resolved by having the group break off to some attraction in the area. There are many things to do near Jackson Center, as well in nearby Indiana, Michigan, and Kentucky. I’ll be envious of them, while we are stuffing goody bags in the humidity, staking out campsites, etc.

Perhaps caravanning will evolve to an entirely different sort of experience in the future. The social and safety aspects of traveling in a group can stay, using modern communications to allow people to share their experiences and collective knowledge while maintaining their independence. The new generation of Airstreamers seems to want that. Already I’ve seen groups traveling like that, not calling themselves “caravans,” but instead inventing a new set of guidelines and tools to enable a vibrant and social experience nonetheless. Hmmm…I’ll keep thinking about it.

Mar 16 2011

Delta man

When you ask, “How are things?” some people respond after measuring how much stability they’ve had in their lives lately. If things have been predictable, safe, and settled, they say, “Not bad” or something to that effect.

Another group of people disregard the predictable and measure the “delta” — in other words, how much things have changed in their lives lately. They say, “Not bad” if life has been interesting, challenging, or if they have some sort of new & different project going on. My friends tend to be mostly this type. It’s not because of any conscious choice, it’s just that I like things to change and there is often a mutual attraction between people who like to mix it up a little from time to time.

When things are happening, I’ve got stuff to blog about, and when things are not happening I start thinking about going somewhere to find something new. The recent dry spell in this blog tells you that either (a) not much is happening in my life, or (b) things are happening that I just can’t talk about. I’ll give you a hint: it’s not (a). Life continues to be interesting, but in a sort of home-bound soap opera way instead of fun travel stories that make readable public blog fodder. I have often thought that I should offer a “subscription” blog with the really juicy stuff, but upon reflection I’ve decided you probably don’t want to read it. Whatever you are imagining right now is probably about as interesting as the reality anyway.

What’s left after the X-, R-, and even PG-13 stuff is removed is fairly safe, so you can continue to read this blog without concern for your innocent children.

The biggest news is that as of today my new book, “The Newbies Guide to Airstreaming” is officially complete and off to the printer. Wow, that was a lot of work. It should be ready for distribution sometime in April, but if you have a Kindle you should be able to download and read it by Monday, March 21. I’m also working on an edition for iPad, iPhone, and iPod Touch and hope to have that ready in a week or two, if Apple cooperates.

The folks at Airstream have read preview copies and they seem to like it. They tell me they will include a copy with every new Airstream, which I hope helps smooth the way into our community for lots of people. Getting feedback from reader for a revised second edition should be interesting, but I’m looking forward more to the chance to start work on the next book, which will be completely different. I don’t know for sure what I’m going to say, but I do have a general idea of the theme, and I’ll talk about that more in a future blog. Getting going on that project is something I’m looking forward to doing this summer.

Lately I find myself in the role of Airstream advisor to many people. I don’t know how I got this job, but I’m a sucker for it. I never seem to be able to say No, even when things are fantastically busy. It’s probably because I meet the most interesting people this way. In the past few weeks I have been approached by a well-known author, and a semi-famous soap opera actor, both of whom have found themselves needing an Airstream for very specific purposes. There have been several other folks as well. I wish I had a fleet of Airstream to sell and/or lend out, but I don’t have the time or space, so instead I’ve been just offering advice and directing them to people who can help. Finding “just the right one” is a time-consuming process, like finding the ideal mate. Ye gods, I’ve become a matchmaker. Call me Shadchen.

The other major activity in life has been to finalize Alumapalooza. There’s another labor of love. I am truly glad that we are approaching our limit of 200 trailers (we have just 8 spaces left as of today). It has been a fun process to try to make APZ 2011 better than the original, but also a bit exhausting. At this point I’m not even trying to sell the last few spaces — I’m sure they will sell themselves soon enough. The entertainment is arranged, the speakers are about 80% set, we’ve got the tents, catering, signs, t-shirts, A/V setup, tiki torches, door prizes, mud boots (whoops, forget I mentioned that last one) … you name it, we’ve got it. There are only about two dozen things left to do before I can comfortably say that the job is done … and by then I’m sure it will be time to head off to Ohio.

A lot of people have asked me what we plan to do to deal with higher fuel prices this summer. I tend to just shrug. We can’t make our rig significantly more fuel efficient than already is, and we already tow at a fairly moderate 62 MPH (except in west Texas). If I need to spend less on fuel, we delete miles — simple as that. Two years ago, when we were facing $5/gallon gasoline in remote parts of Utah, we simply spent more time at each stop and towed no more than 70 miles per travel day. This year we have to go to Vermont and I can’t make Vermont come any closer, so the only fix is to optimize the routing as best we can.

If things work out well, we’ll be traveling with or meeting friends at various points of the trip, and that will probably make the fuel prices seem less painful, as the bigger significance of having fun and adventures becomes apparent. As I’ve said many times, it’s not about the towing — it’s about the stopping. A trip to the northeast will cost about $700-800 in fuel each way, but it’s still a bargain. We’ll be out for nearly a month, visiting at least ten states. I’m not going to complain about the extra $300 or so it costs for an experience like that. It’s “delta-making” stuff; the stuff I thrive on, and the reason we own that big shiny thing in the carport. They’ll have to raise the price quite a lot before I decide to stay home.

Mar 08 2011

Just call me angel of the morning

My life has been a series of one-night stands lately … but in a good way.

When we are housebound, it’s really nice to have “Airstream friends” come by with their trailers and spend a night or two parked in front of the house. Having people come by and talk about where they’ve been, and where they are going is almost like traveling ourselves. There’s the inspiration and excitement and new ideas that come from minds that have been out exploring the world. All of that rubs off, like pollen from a bee’s legs, when they drop in for dinner.

In the post-Modernism Week letdown, I was expecting that nothing interesting would happen except work, but even before Brett mounted his 737 to return to Tampa we got a call from Erica, who was one of the exhibitors at Modernism Week. She was passing through Tucson her way home and so we immediately invited her to come courtesy-park for a night with her exceptionally cool 1948 Airstream Trail Wind.

It’s not every day you see a 1948 Trail Wind. Very few were made; even fewer are road-worthy today. I have seen only two: one shell needing complete rebuilding, formerly owned by Brett; and Erica’s totally tricked-out and modernized geek showcase (I mean that in the best possible way, being sort of geeky myself). So I had to convince Erica to stay in front of the house, and in the morning I snuck out shortly after dawn and caught a few pictures of this rare trailer while she was still half-asleep inside it.

That was cool, and I told Brett that I wished everyone from Modernism Week would come by and spend a night at the house. I didn’t really expect to see anyone else, as the group was quickly dispersing to all corners of the planet (Kristiana and Greg, for example, are now in Nepal). So I was very pleasantly surprised when John Long call me late yesterday from the road to ask if I was free for “a coffee” as he was passing through Tucson.

Well, needless to say I convinced John to stay for dinner and park in front of the house — because I’ve got to build up my collection of courtesy parking photos, and the 1935 Bowlus he owns is a truly spectacular trailer that in my opinion blurs the line between industrial design and art. You just don’t see trailers like this every day. Heck, you’re lucky to spot one of these every few years even if you are looking for one. John estimates that there are less than twenty that are road-worthy, and while he is too modest to say it, his is the nicest Bowlus you’ll probably ever see. (If you are at Alumapalooza he’ll likely be there with the door open!)

John and I were up to well past midnight talking trailers and all other things, but when I awoke at 6 a.m., both he and the Bowlus were gone, slogging down I-10 in an attempt to make Austin TX by Wednesday. Yet another one-night stand, but I’m OK with it. Can’t wait for the next one to come by!

Mar 05 2011

Hitch receiver maintenance

Have you ever noticed how we rarely bother to look at the things that we trust with our lives? People will go hurtling down the highway with an 8,000 pound trailer strapped to their butt and never check the tire pressure, even though a blown tire on the tow vehicle can mean a disastrous end. And few people ever look at the connection between trailer and tow vehicle, the thing that keeps the trailer from becoming an unguided aluminum missile. I’m talking about that ugly chunk of welded metal underneath called the “hitch receiver.”

The hitch receiver gets bolted on either at the factory or shortly before you buy your first trailer, and then generally it never gets examined again. Most of the time people get away with ignoring the receiver because they don’t do much towing. But if you tow a lot, or you tow heavy trailers, you really need to take a look at this thing once in a while — because what you haven’t noticed can hurt you.

I’m saying this because it seems like about once or twice every year a friend of mine reports that he discovered that his hitch receiver was in dire condition — and sometimes this fact is discovered too late, as you can see in the picture. That’s a Class V Original Equipment hitch receiver on a late-model truck, and it is ripped clean off.

This happened at low speed, right after exiting an Interstate highway. That’s when receivers usually fail, because the stress encountered from sharp turns, dips, and potholes is usually greater than the stress on the receiver when cruising on the highway. (Andy Thomson talked about this in one of his recent articles about towing, which was published in the Winter 2010 issue of Airstream Life.) The apparent causes of this failure were metal fatigue and rust — the owner lived in a northern climate where the roads are salted.

Last year another friend reported that his hitch was “bouncy” and I encouraged him to examine the OEM (Original Equipment) receiver. He took it to a local hitch specialist, where they found it was riddled with serious cracks. The receiver was replaced that day with a far superior aftermarket brand. Both of these friends are long-term, experienced Airstreamers, but they just never crawled under the truck to take a look at this crucial equipment.

That’s why I advocate that every travel trailer owner take a few minutes every year to conduct a simple hitch inspection — or have it done on a lift by a mechanic. Today I took a few minutes to do mine, and it was very easy.

The tools are simple. I used a cordless drill with a brass wire brush attachment, and a second wire brush with a handle (not pictured) for the tight spaces. Those tools are to clean up rusty spots. A bright LED headlamp and a flashlight are needed to closely examine the corners and crevices, and a can of spray paint can be used after inspection to make the receiver look new again.

When underneath the car, I looked for shiny lines on welds that would indicate a recent crack, rusty lines against painted areas that might indicate an old crack, broken welds, bent metal, and loose or rusty mounting bolts. This took me about 10 minutes, as I lay beneath the car and carefully studied every weld with the flashlight. (A magnifying glass can be useful if you have trouble seeing things up close.)

If you want to see what cracks in the receiver might look like, click here. This picture is from a GM OEM hitch, not my vehicle.

I also studied the receiver box itself. Notice in the picture of my hitch (above) that there’s a strengthening collar on the back end. This is a common feature in receiver boxes. However, receiver manufacturers seem to rarely put a strengthening collar on the front end of the receiver box, even though both ends endure the same stress. For this reason it’s a good idea to take a close look at the front end of the receiver box to ensure that the box itself it not splitting or cracking at the corners. The picture of a splitting receiver box (at right) is not from my tow vehicle!

If you look closely at the picture of my hitch (above, before cleanup), you might see that there has been a small amount of elongation of the hitch pin hole, making it slightly oval. This is caused by the hitch pin shifting slightly under load, which is a sign that it is not a tight fit. This amount of elongation is not a problem in my opinion but I’m going to keep an eye on it.

Once I was done, it was time to clean up the hitch. My goal was to remove all the surface rust and repaint so that if a weld broke or a fatigue crack formed, I would be able to spot it immediately. This is where the wire brushes came into play. I scrubbed the rust until the metal was shiny (easily done with the cordless drill attachment) and wiped it clean. Then I inspected the spots I’d cleaned once again, just to be sure I hadn’t missed a possible crack or broken weld.

I had two leftover cans of spray paint, silver and flat black, but decided to go with the black. A few sheets of paper and some blue painter’s tape masked off the car’s bumper while I sprayed. Since I expect to do this procedure annually, I wasn’t super fussy about the paint I used. It will get removed or at least scuffed up next winter when I inspect again.

This spring, when you are de-winterizing your trailer, take a few minutes to do a good inspection of your tow vehicle’s receiver. It has to manage thousands of foot-pounds of torque from the torsion bars, and goes through thousands of stress cycles every time you tow. I don’t think there’s any other part of your tow rig that has to bear up to so much repeated stress. By the time you can feel something from the driver’s seat, it may be too late. If you don’t want to crawl under the car you can take it to any hitch specialist and have them check it for you. Prevention of a problem is easy, and it’s well worth the effort!