With an enormous camper comes enormous responsibilities. If you’re going to drive a camper you need to make sure that your backing up skills are on point. Parking skills must be polished. Knowing how to properly read warning signs so you don’t run off of a cliff or into a zombie horde.
When Mr. C. Cow drives I worry that he’ll forget to use his side mirrors. One of these days he’s going to merge into something unmergable. Until he remembers that side mirrors are your friend he’s restricted to driving in little to no traffic.
There are so many other things you need to remember when driving a camper. Always be aware of how tall your vehicle is. Getting stuck under a bridge does not make you friends. It consistently makes people upset and costs a lot of money to repair damages. Also pay attention to height limit signs at parking garages. I once hit a parking height sign while driving a van. A lovely woman yelled words at me that I cannot repeat here in polite company. This has made me extremely aware of how tall my vehicle is. My advice is to not try to park a camper in a parking garage.
There is a camper driving habit that I am desperate for Mr. C. Cow to break. I can understand driving through tunnels while on the highway. It beats trying to take a vehicle straight up a mountain. What Mr. C. doesn’t understand is that you don’t always have to drive through a tunnel. Or in his case, drive off the road and into a cave.
Driving off of the road to go into cave is not responsible. When that cave looks like a giant skull about to eat your vehicle it is not only irresponsible but it is reckless. Mr. C. Cow thinks it’s fun. I think that, one day, something is going to eat us.
I hope that, if you plan on purchasing a camper in the future, you are a responsible owner/driver. Beware of low bridges. Learn to back up correctly. Don’t drive into caves with teeth.
Mr. C. Cow and I have been making our way back home for the past few days. Bishop had a really great idea for a new business to open next to the equipment company (Not telling you yet!) and needed some help moving stuff around. I’m pretty good at hanging things on walls BUT only if Mr. C. lets me stand on his back. If I don’t then the stuff gets hung halfway up the wall. Knowing this fact Bishop still asked us to help. He’s nice like that.
On our way home the road became a bit too slick and the rain too heavy for us to travel any farther till it let up.
We ended up parked in some sort of alley next to the garbage from the local businesses. Not the nicest of smelling places to park a camper but, when you have no choice, you sometimes end up parking in unfortunate areas.
We were lucky, as it was really late, that there was at least one joint open to grab a bit to eat (and maybe a cocktail) before the rain went away. Their open sign was like some sort of lighthouse beacon saying “Come out of the rain and into a dry martini” or whatever a lighthouse beacon would say if it was attached to a bar.
Now…I’m more then happy to dry my giant hair and enjoy a cocktail. Mr. C. Cow likes neon signs and was happy to stare at them inside the bar while waiting. What we didn’t expect while doing this whole happy/dry/cocktail/neon sign thing was a bartender that just happened to be a mime. How does a mime bartend? Wouldn’t he get stuck in some box behind the bar? How does he answer a question about the beer selection if he doesn’t speak?
We were lucky that we didn’t have any questions about the menu or drink selection because he did a lot of hand jive wall climbing action instead of speaking. I shouldn’t really say anything mean and I won’t because he was a wonderful bartender. Efficient in his drink pouring and service. I guess mimes need to work because a mimes got to eat.
The rain was steady and didn’t look like it was going anywhere for a while. Mr. C. Cow was happy to count the number of neon signs the bar offered and I was just fine to eat cocktail peanuts and watch him shake it on the dance floor. (A cow can’t live on neon sign counting alone. Sometimes you have to shake it on the dance floor).
Hopefully the rain will let up soon. Bishop needs us!
Sometimes, while driving through the lonely desert at night……
….you’ll run into a million lights dancing and you just happen to be the shooting star.
Ok…seriously…you’re driving down a dark desert road in the middle of the night and you randomly see some girl in white roller skate by you towards some distant glowing lights. You follow her and you might end up here…..
This is the first time (Thinks…yes…) we have ever run into a random roller skating rink in the middle of nowhere. It’s also (Thinks…yes) the first time I’ve ever seen a random girl in white roller skate by us in the desert. Was she lost? Did her car break down?
I was a little surprised to see something so lit up and glowing in the desert. Mr. C. Cow was not surprised and, in the typical Mr. C. fashion, was already wearing a neon headband and skates when we pulled into the parking lot.
How does he change so quickly?
The parking lot was packed so I was assuming the place was a popular joint for those who, you know, like to wander the desert looking for a place that will “bring all your dreams alive” or something like that. Mr. C. Cow was just happy to stop staring at the endless road and get his disco skate on.
Time is a funny thing sometimes. Time is especially funny at night when all is quiet except for the click clack of skates and the howls of desert animals in the distance. It makes you forget where you are and what you’re doing here. Maybe it’s not time that’s playing the joker. It could be the magical qualities of finding a place like this in the middle of nowhere. It’s like time and magic got together and plopped this place down in its own little world. Maybe I’ve just been eating to many disco donuts at the snack counter.
If you find yourself on a lonely desert road at night don’t stop at the broken down gas station. Don’t ask for directions from some guy in a weird leather mask. Look towards the neon glowing lights and a woman in white wearing roller skates. She might lead you someplace special.
You can’t drive a camper across a bridge if their isn’t a complete bridge. Campers cannot jump a bridge like some sort of action movie. They are too heavy and can’t drive fast enough.
You would think that someone in the road construction business would put up more barriers then a sign informing us a few feet from the drop that the bridge is out. The lights on the sign weren’t blinking so that’s, clearly, a safety issue. We’re lucky that it wasn’t dark out!
The sign says that we can click for “Alternate Transportation”. Mr. C. Cow thought this meant that a GIANT BIRD would swoop down, pick up the camper, and safely put it on the other side. I just thought it would give you a map for a different route. I kinda like his creative transportation better.
Before backing the camper up to a safe distance where we could turn around (which happened to be, at least, two miles of driving backwards) Mr. C. Cow jumped out of the camper to check out the edge of the bridge. I’m not a fan of half crumbling bridges mixed with heights so I thought he was being a tad bit nuts. To satisfy his curiosity we took a picture of the edge of the bridge and one of him posing with a sign.
I agree with the sign. I can’t look either.
Lesson here? If you’re doing bridge work don’t put your safety signs right before a large drop into a body of water. Campers have brakes but they don’t stop on a dime.
Mr. C. Cow and I got stuck on a beach the other day in the middle of a HUGE thunderstorm. We watched it roll in and there was nothing we could do about it. Outrunning it wasn’t an option and, as I explained to Mr. C. Cow, we were not about to pretend to be Ben Franklin. I didn’t want to learn about electricity by tying a key to a kite. Especially when it was the key to the camper.I know he had a kite hidden somewhere in the camper but where he got a Ben Franklin historical reenactment outfit is beyond me.
I talked him out storm kite flying by offering to play cow checkers with him. Cow checkers are different from regular checkers. Basically you just let him move the checkers around and cheer when he gets them across the board. It’s hard to move tiny round objects with hoofs. Just getting them to move where you want instead of shooting across the camper is a victory on it’s own.
After about 500 or so rounds of cow checkers we just sat and watched the rain out the window. Listened to the pitter patter and KAAA BOOOMs of the storm. I’m really glad that Mr. C. Cow isn’t afraid of storms. It would be hard to keep a cow calm in such a small space. Can you imagine the mess? Cow hoofs on the ceiling. Mr. C. Cow hiding in the camper bathroom. Toothpaste stepped on and shot all over the window.
I think I’m going to take a page from the world of Franklin and drink a glass of wine till the storm passes.
Sometimes the road ends and you are left with no place to go.
I’m not talking about the end of a journey you silly postcard readers! I’m talking about not having a road to drive on anymore!
We came to the end of a long and winding road the other day that left us no choice but to take a ferry across to the other side. Mr. C. Cow was convinced that we could just drive there but I had to point out a few important facts about campers.
Campers are not submarines.
The windows on the camper are not water tight.
We cannot just drive on the water as we would just sink. (I also had to explain to Mr. C. Cow that you can’t drive on the bottom of the ocean.)
We don’t float.
They do not make swimmies big enough for a camper.
After convincing him that the camper cannot cross the water without the help we missed the ferry. Luckily, there was another one that was coming along in an hour. It gave us time to wander around the small town along the docks.
We found a small record store and were able to purchase some new music for the camper. Did you know that you can actually buy music that isn’t in some sort of MP3, sound file, computer music magic-majigy? WILD! I picked out some lovely standards of jazz while Mr. C. Cow thought purchasing something called “Kazoo Kablamo” was a good choice. My poor ears are already frightened trying to figure out what this will sound like.
When the ferry came we, very carefully, drove the camper on board. I told Mr. C. Cow that everything was going to be ok. The camper did not need to put a swim suit on. He did not need to wear nose plugs while riding on the ship. When we get back on the road I think we’ll have to discuss ferry’s and how they actually work. Hopefully I don’t have to explain it to him while listening to kazoo music.
Mr. C. Cow and I got up early today to catch a scenic train ride. I would call it more of a trolley ride as the train didn’t look like one to me. When I think of a train I usually picture a large engine with a bunch of cars stuck to it. Something from the Santa Fe Silver Bullet Union Chattanooga Choo Choo class. Sometimes they might even have a caboose at the end. Mr. C. Cow loves the word “Caboose” but has a hard time pronouncing it. Usually it comes out sounding like “CaMoooooose”.
We had decided to take a round trip trolley/train ride because Mr. C. Cow wanted to cross this vast bridge we saw in the distance. It wasn’t a bridge for campers and I tried explaining this to him.
“It’s a train bridge Mr. C.”
“I’m sorry but you can’t take a camper on a train bridge. It’s dangerous!”
“We’re on a bridge over the water right now for campers. Why do you want to go over a different bridge over the exact same water?”
You get the picture of how this conversation went and can probably guess that all the questioning led us to waiting for a trolley/train early in the morning. I’m pretty cool with it because I don’t have to drive.
If you’ve never been on a train ride before then I highly recommend it. There is something relaxing about watching the scenery go by out a train car window. Or in our case a trolley car. I’m still confused about the whole trolley yet it’s a train thing. Maybe the train called in sick and the trolley was just filling in for him. Maybe the train got into an argument with management and was let go from his job. The only replacement they could find on such short notice was a trolley.
Don’t ask me where Route 7 is exactly or which route in what area or whatever it was. We weren’t exactly sure but we drove down it anyways. The road wasn’t made out of broken glassso we were taking it. As we were motoring along we started to pass the ocean with it’s spectacular views and ocean-y smells. Mr. C. Cow was enjoying the smells so much that he had his head out of the passenger window. Giant cow tongue flapping in the wind while he made this “Snnnrrffffff” sniffing sound to take it all in. Mr. C. Cow is funny sometimes and it was a beautiful day to be funny.
As we kept driving down the road we started noticing sand on the road. The farther we went the more sand we ran into. At one point we might have been driving on the beach that just happened to have pieces of a road sticking up out of it. Mr. C. Cow found this amusing but I didn’t. Not only was it slowing our camper down it was also sticking to his tongue. I explained that you cannot keep smelling the sweet salty air and not expect to get a tongue full of sand. He just said he’d brush it out later.
Instead of freaking out about the possibility of sand getting on everything I decided to take a deep breath. Relax. Meditate. Om. Taking a page from the Mr. C. Cow book we pulled over and built a few sand castles by the side of the road. When life hands you lemons make lemonade. Just don’t get any sand in it.
It’s kinda hard to maneuver a camper down an alleyway let alone a small cobblestone street. Besides the fact that it is extremely narrow you run the risk of running over someones garbage can. While visiting a small, picturesque town we had to park the camper and walk around. I didn’t want to run over any pedestrians, market signs, and those pesky garbage cans.
Mr. C. Cow gets a kick out of shopping in areas that involved cobblestone streets. The “clip clop” sound of hoofs on the ground seem to make him feel ten times mightier than the biggest Clydesdale. I wonder how he would feel if he realized that, as a Clydesdale, he would have to pull a beer wagon around. If he hates hauling a basket of laundry out of a dryer then I don’t think he would want to pull beer around for miles. Drink beer? Yes. Pull beer? No.
I was able to get Mr. C. Cow to stop the clip clop for a moment to sit outside at a cafe table for an afternoon tea break. We watched shoppers with their shopping bags eye items in nearby shop windows. Butterflies flittering around a fountain. The sun wandering in and out of the clouds. A few deer stopped by our table to converse with us about the weather. I think they were more interested in our tea cakes then the state of the atmospheric stuff swirling around. We didn’t want to be rude so we shared our food. Sometimes someone will come up to you and ask for a quarter. Sometimes a herd of deer will ask for dessert. This might be the first time we’ve ever dealt with panhandling deer.
I don’t think that campers were meant to climb steep hills. I’m always afraid we’re either going to start rolling backwards or flip over. Mr. C. Cow recommended that we put “spider tires” on the camper. I had to ask what they were and he explained that they have a sticky grip that allows you to combat the grade and even drive up a wall. According to the lil cow they are endorsed by a super hero. I don’t have the heart to tell him they don’t exist.
The safety sign next to the road didn’t fill me with confidence. Why does it look like someone drove a GIANT PENCIL through the cars windshield? Why is that car driving over a triangle? Am I in danger of oversized writing utensils hitting my camper? Will I be impaled if I try to drive over a triangle? Will a super hero come and save me only to throw me off the edge of a cliff because I didn’t believe in “spider tires”?
I sure hope we live to send everyone another postcard!!