Whether east or northeast

Every year when I make this trip from Arizona to Ohio, there’s the risk of some sort of challenging weather. It’s just the nature of crossing the Rockies or Plains states in early summer. One year it was a late May snow in Colorado. Another time it was lightning strikes that came too close for comfort. And nearly every year there’s a line of nasty thunderstorms that can contain hail or a tornado. So I pay attention to the weather reports and keep a weather radar app on the iPad.

IMG_0452The picture above shows the radar on Saturday afternoon. I’m still in Austin, visiting friends, and it’s darned lucky I chose this route because I managed to duck the worst of the weather that’s plowing east right now.

Getting lucky is great but it doesn’t happen often enough—so I need to plan ahead. The way things look today, if I took the shortest route to Ohio starting on Sunday (northeast through Dallas and Hot Springs) I would run the risk of catching up to that huge frontal boundary and end up right in the middle of some unpleasant weather. No, thanks.

So I’ve decided to take the New Orleans option, heading 533 miles straight east on I-10. That will take all day Sunday and Monday, and if my luck holds the worst of the front will be lifting northeast and out of my way by Tuesday.

This will add about 200 miles to the trip overall, but it’s well worth it. In addition to avoiding a potentially challenging towing experience, there’s the compensation of spending a pleasant evening in New Orleans and grabbing a little something tasty.

This is one of the many reasons I hate to have a fixed itinerary on a big trip. Stuff happens: weather, repairs, distractions, opportunities. Why have an Airstream that can go on any road, and then limit yourself to a specific route and schedule if you don’t absolutely have to? I’ve had too many trips where I absolutely positively had to get somewhere, and it almost always sucks.

As I mentioned, I’m in Austin to visit friends so this morning I looked up another one, my dear friend Vicki, and we met for a late breakfast at Bouldin Creek Cafe, which is a vegetarian place near downtown. Neither of us are vegetarian but I’m discovering that eating vegetarian (or even vegan, surprise!) can result in some pretty decent meals. And these days when I meet up with my old friends (note: they are older; I don’t seem to age) it’s often a game of comparing what we don’t eat.

Person 1: I’m gluten-free these days, and I’m cutting back on sugar.

Person 2: I’m not eating anything with cholesterol or caffeine.

Person 3: I don’t eat anything with a face, or dairy.

Waitress:  … *sigh* …

IMG_0835After breakfast I did a little shopping at the massive Whole Foods in downtown (a mandatory stop for me), and then hopped on my electric unicycle to tour the downtown as quickly as possible, since the rain was bearing down on Austin. This is why I love having the unicycle on Airstream trips. It was easy to cover several miles of downtown streets and parks in an hour. After that I could see heavy dark gray clouds menacing the city from the west, so I zipped back to the car. Less than 10 minutes later the deluge hit.

I’ve spent much of the afternoon hunkered down in my Airstream haven and listening to the rain pattering on the aluminum roof. In between rain showers I’ve been prepping for the next two days of driving (330 miles on Sunday and 220 on Monday). The GL wanted some diesel fuel and more air in the tires. One of the stabilizer jacks squealed for a spritz of silicone spray. And I’ve got over a dozen books on the shelves that were waiting for a rainy “nothing to do” day like this to be cracked open.

So while it’s uncomfortably humid and warm, it has been a great day nonetheless and it is slipping away too fast. I’ve got less than an hour before my hosts return home and I think we’re going out for dinner again tonight. I would stay another day to look up more old friends, but with a deadline to be in Ohio by Thursday it’s time to move on.  Hopefully my plan to stay south and away from the weather front will work out.

Van Horn TX to Austin

IMG_0802Tucson to Austin in two days is a slog. I don’t think I’ve done a run like this since we did the Aluma-zooma back in 2014, driving from Tucson to Sarasota in seven days. Now I remember why I try to avoid towing days over 400 miles.

But having done it, I’m thrilled to be in Austin. I’m courtesy parked at the home of my Airstream friends Erica and Jef, who I haven’t seen in at least six years. This is a great spot to catch up on some sleep and just chill after the 16-hour marathon drive. The overhanging live oak trees make the setting very park-like. From what they tell me, I’m just 15 minutes from downtown Austin.

As with most courtesy parking, I’ll be on a limited hookup while I’m here, for three nights. Jef ran a heavy-duty power cord out to the Airstream so I won’t need to ration battery power. (The solar panels on the Airstream are in the shade.) The amperage won’t be sufficient to run the air conditioner, which is a shame because it’s humid here—a clear indication that I’ve crossed from West Texas to East Texas—but I really don’t mind. The fans are enough and the skies are forecast to be mostly cloudy for the duration of my stay.

I arrived with mostly full water and mostly empty holding tanks, so I should be fine in that department for the next few days. Permission has been granted to release gray water here, and refill the water tank from their hose, so I could probably stay for a couple of weeks without a problem. If I accepted their offer to use the house bathroom, I could stay all summer. So I’m not feeling any pressure to be frugal with the Airstream’s resources.


In the picture above you may notice Erica’s 1961 Bambi. She bought that one from Diane Bailey, and if you have ever camped anywhere in the southwest with an Airstream crowd, you’ve probably met Diane. It’s an adorable little trailer.

The best part of this stop is that I have no particular agenda. Other than visiting with Jef, Erica, and their son Dax, I have a few other old friends in the area that I may see, or I may just stay here and chill. Frankly, as much as I like Austin, I’d just as soon not have to deal with Austin traffic right now.

The weather is going to be my big challenge for the next few days. “Major and severe weather” is expected in the midsection of the country, running almost from Canada to Mexico, and there’s no way I’ll be able to avoid it. I was lucky to have chosen the southern route this year because the upper Plains states are likely to see more severe thunderstorms (which means the likelihood of hail, every Airstreamer’s worst nightmare).

At this point my best route may be to continue easterly toward New Orleans, which is not a bad option in my mind. There are things I’d really like to see and do in New Orleans, well worth the detour. I’m not going to decide just yet. I’ve got until Thursday to get to Ohio so it feels like the best course of action is to make no decisions until Sunday. In the meantime, I can try to make a small contribution to keeping Austin weird this weekend.

First day: Tucson, AZ to Van Horn, TX

I always find that there is a one day adjustment period when I get back on the road after a long time. It doesn’t matter that I’ve been hauling around this Airstream for 15 years, or that towing it is like putting on a well-worn glove. Once the Airstream starts rolling, my mental framework gets a little bent and it takes a few hours to get used to the new shape.

In this case I couldn’t get on the road until after noon, which disturbed my routine even more. Normally I’ll start a long summer trip as early as possible, but there were several errands that had to be done on Wednesday morning before I could hitch up. Even after hitching up I had a mandatory stop at the Airstream Life office/warehouse to pick up inventory for the pop-up store.

The back bedroom is now jammed full, as well as the back of the car, the area under the dinette, one side of the bed, and some of the main hallway. There’s hardly a place to put my feet when I sit. I really don’t want to know how much weight I’m pulling, and it’s a good thing I’m traveling solo. Anyone who would want to come with me on this trip would have to be rather petite.

Since I’m heading to Austin, the first two days aren’t going to be full of interesting things. From Tucson to Van Horn is about 470 miles of Interstate 10, a fairly dull drive pockmarked by a few small cities—and El Paso, which for some reason always causes me a small case of indigestion. The traffic is inevitably far crazier than a city of that size should have; it’s like Dallas crammed into a single corridor. Let’s just say that this trip through didn’t alter my expectations, as I avoided various inventive lane-change maneuvers that the locals were demonstrating at sunset.

With Austin about 900 miles away, I had a choice between three 300-mile days or two 450-mile days. Having done this drive many times, I chose to go for the quick run and skip some favorite stopover spots like Balmorhea State Park and Caverns of Sonora. That left me with Van Horn, a town mostly known for being a stopover. It’s sort of the airport hotel of west Texas, with plenty of places to stay but only one reason to be there.

Because Arizona doesn’t observe Daylight Savings Time, I managed to cross two time zones in one day, so after 472 miles of driving I pulled into a forgettable little RV park at 10:00 pm Central Daylight Time. Normally I wouldn’t drive that late but of course for me it was only 8:00. The park features the standards of its ilk: dirt spaces, old but serviceable hookups, plenty of noise from the adjacent Interstate, hand-written notices from the sole proprietor, and anonymity. I was surprised to get the last space. Apparently quite a few people are staying in Van Horn long-term, from the look of the Jeeps and ruts and satellite dishes set up around me.

But I won’t be. The time zones are working against me, so even though I woke up at 4:45 Arizona time to respond to emails and write this, I’ll be hitting the road around 9:00 am local time. That means arriving in Austin by dinner if I don’t take a big break somewhere.

Fortunately I’m feeling the towing groove now. I think the changed view outside my window this morning has put my mind at ease. Even though the scene outside while I eat breakfast is merely dirt, desert scrub, and highway, it’s proof that the Airstream is mobile, as it was born to be. Those neurons in my brain that love new stimuli are lighting up with anticipation. So in a few minutes I’ll have this house/cargo carrier back on the asphalt, soaring east on I-10, all eight tires humming and the Mercedes diesel purring. It’s time to get going.

Growing older with an Airstream

The other day I found myself having one of those conversations that older people seem to have. You know, the kind of conversation you never think you’ll have when you’re young, like a serious explanation of how your colonoscopy went. In this case I was commiserating with a friend (a Gen-Xer, but still someone in her fifties), about how most consumer products of this century are designed for short lives, and consequently are often rented rather than owned. Phones and cars come to mind, and even most brands of RVs, but not Airstreams.

It has long been a selling point for Airstream that the aluminum trailers last forever, with normal care and maintenance, but I never thought I’d grow old with my Airstream. Honestly, when I bought it during my early 40s I had no thought to keeping it for any particular length of time. It was just an expedient to a full-time family adventure.

But that adventure stretched out for three years, and then became a half-timing experience for the family each summer, and now I find myself still in the Airstream, old enough to stay at “55+” communities and wondering if the trailer will outlive me. It’s a strong possibility; I’ve seen many Airstreams that are old enough to collect Social Security still rolling on the roads and making a splash at vintage rallies. Will my Airstream someday be one of those historic relics, “discovered” resting behind a barn somewhere and restored by a nostalgic member of the Flying Car Generation in 2065?

I kind of hope so. I’d like my Airstream to still be in serviceable condition in 2065, if not actually in use, and beloved by someone who is at this very moment being born. While I’m fantasizing, I’d like this person to have a son or daughter who is in training to join the Mars or Moon Colony program. It would be like having your vintage Corvette purchased by a member of the Apollo space program, a neat juxtaposition of past and future adventure.

Ah, but first the Airstream must take care of me, and so I must take care of it. I’m about to launch for points East in a few days, and that means a careful check of all the systems and supplies. I’ve documented what I check in my book Airstream Life’s (Nearly) Complete Guide to Airstream Maintenance so I won’t repeat it here. A good inspection of the Airstream is not difficult, requires no tools trickier than a flashlight, and doesn’t take all that long. You can bring your Airstream to a service center for inspection but I recommend you start doing it yourself. You know your Airstream better than anyone and are really the best person for the job.

So far my checklist has yielded only a few things that need attention. I had to lube the awning arms with Boeshield T-9 because they were getting hard to slide. One of the Fan-tastic Vents has a wonky gear mechanism that causes it to not close correctly, and the hydraulic disc brake fluid should be replaced just based on the length of time it has been in use. I could take care of those last two items myself, but it’s always more fun to work with Super Terry and neither task is urgent, so they’ll get done when we meet up in the days before Alumapalooza.

Alumapalooza, of course, is high on my list of things to prepare for. This year it’s particularly tricky because I’m going to try something new: an Airstream Life Pop-Up Store. We’ll have a big tent filled with some of the most popular Airstream upgrades that we sell. Every year the Canadian attendees beg me to bring stuff to Alumapalooza so they can avoid the prohibitive cost of shipping across the border, and there are a lot of items that are best shopped in person (like wood cutting boards).

We’ll also have “show pricing” on certain things like TST tire pressure monitors. So in addition to shipping a bunch of stuff to Jackson Center, the back bedroom of the Airstream will be filled with boxes—in addition to my bicycle, two electric unicycles, and other toys for the summer. Maybe it’s a good thing Emma doesn’t come on these trips anymore …

I’m almost done prepping for this trip, which is about right since launch is in three days. The Airstream looks poised and ready to go. Clothes are packed, food is stocked, laundry is done, the interior has been cleaned, and all systems are go. Just a few more errands to run in the next few days, and the Airstream & I will begin the long trek east. We’re both a year older than the last time, but we’re both still game.

Back in the saddle

What better place to write a blog entry than in my Airstream? For 14 years I’ve been blogging steadily, rarely missing more than a week in all that time, and probably 90% of my blatherings have been composed and written right where I’m sitting now: at the dinette table of my Airstream. It’s the most inspirational place I know, because it holds the memories of every place I’ve been and the view out the window is always changing.

So it feels like I’m sitting in a well broken-in saddle on my favorite horse, as I flip open the laptop and resume the Man In The Maze after an unusual six month hiatus. I needed some time off to take care of “life” (you know, all the stuff that happens while you’re making other plans) but lately I’ve been looking forward to writing again.

There’s a light warm breeze causing the palm trees to sway ever so slightly in Tucson this morning, an iced coffee on the table, and Bruce is singing “Tenth Avenue Freeze Out”. I’m anticipating an inspirational summer full of adventure. In short, conditions are ideal for writing. So the blog is resuming today, and it’s going to continue until at least October.

This year my travel will be a bit different. I’ll be traveling solo from Tucson to (eventually) Jackson Center, Ohio, the home of Airstream and of course the 10th Alumapalooza. Emma will be busy with college classes and her part-time job, and Eleanor will be staying back with her for a while. She’ll fly up to Ohio to participate in Alumapalooza, of course, doing two culinary demonstrations this year.

Since I’m going to be alone for the drive, it’s up to me alone to figure my route. I’ve decided to look up friends that I haven’t seen in a while, with the first major stop being Austin, TX. If we’ve met but lost touch, and you live anywhere near the route from Austin to Dayton, ping me. Or, if you want to suggest an interesting place to stop, I’m open to suggestions. I’ve got a few extra days in the schedule to spend on “whatever”, which is really my favorite way to plan an Airstream trip.

If you want to follow along, saddle up. My rough itinerary after Alumapalooza will be:

  • Vermont to visit family and friends for a few weeks
  • some sort of motorcycle trip in New England or New York … or Quebec
  • likely a side trip to Montreal
  • WBCCI International Rally in Doswell, VA
  • Massachusetts to visit friends
  • Vermont again for a while, with another side trip likely
  • bicycling the Great Appalachian Path and C&O Canal trails from Pittsburgh PA to Washington DC
  • some sort of random route back to Arizona, arriving in October.

In short, it’s going to be a fun summer, filled with adventure and wonderful people. I know I’ll be seeing a lot of you in Ohio at the Airstream factory in a few weeks, and I’m really looking forward to that.

If you’re not one of the 400+ Airstreamers coming to Alumapalooza, I hope you’ve got some other fun summer travel plans. Life is good and there’s a lot of this great country to explore.