Our "Pre-Trip Adventure"

September 11:

Well, after months of planning we are finally on the road. First stop is Flagstaff, Arizona on our way to St. Louis.
Things haven’t gone exactly stellar so far. First, when we arrived at the RV rental site the RV was nowhere to be found. The reason? Turns out it wouldn’t start this morning, or yesterday for that matter. Apparently, they installed a new battery yesterday but again this morning it was dead. Normally this would not be a big deal—we could have just asked for another RV. However, after spending a lot of time and money “our” RV was wrapped in a vinyl graphic. That’s it. It was this one or nothing. So, we waited.
Luckily, it only took about an hour of wait time for the RV to come back from the shop. And there it was in all its red and yellow glory! It was a beauty from the outside and the inside appeared clean (although a little smaller than I had imagined from the pictures on the website). 
We loaded everything up and we were off. Juan, Curator of the Los Angeles Museum and my cohort for this leg of the journey, was at the helm.  Eddie, my youngest Boston Terrier, was in his lap. Charlie, the oldest, was doing what he does best—sleep. I was wobbling around, tossing from side to side, as I struggled to put everything in its place. As I worked to put things away, I stepped on wet carpet outside the bathroom. Uh oh: Not good. I called the RV rental company, who assured me that someone must have spilled something while it was being prepared for us. 
Nothing to worry about? I soon learned that there was much to worry about. But for now, I soaked it all up as best I could.
We traveled roughly 7 hours the first day not making our destination of Flagstaff. Instead, we stopped at the Riverside RV Park (the river being the Colorado) in Laughlin, Nevada. The hustle and bustle and bright lights of the casinos just below us was actually a beautiful sight to see. But after a long night preparing, and a long day on the road, the lumpy bed in the back of the RV was not so bad looking itself.

September 12:
It was a great morning in Laughlin! After a shower and walk with the boys, Eddie and Charlie, we were on the road again, as the great Willie Nelson sings. Off to Flagstaff, finally. The drive was a couple of hours where we were to rendezvous with Connie Whalen and her husband Bill. Connie is the Curator of the Phoenix Museum and my partner on the second leg of this great overland adventure.
We were meeting at a Wells Fargo branch in Flagstaff so they could loan us some camping supplies. Connie and Bill own their own RV and have all the essentials. Lucky for us, Bill is also quite handy around an RV. With some minor guidance from the RV rental manager via cell phone, Bill helped us fix some of the problems we had encountered, including a non-cooling fridge and a generator that wouldn’t generate. He also showed us how to dump the waste water—a task I’m not exactly looking forward to. Luckily, you only have to do it every couple days.
After some lunch and a quick stop for last minute supplies, we said goodbye to Connie and Bill and were off.  Juan was again at the helm—he’s a power driver! Next stop, Albuquerque.
The landscape along this stretch was beautiful. We passed by the Painted Desert and through magnificent red rock cliffs. Through much of this scene, a storm to the south of us created the oddest rainbow. It swelled and then grew thin, and appeared to shoot straight down out of the clouds. No arch: just a wall of color from desert to cloud. Part of our journey also took us through a Navajo reservation. Signs advertising pottery, rugs, blankets, gifts and food of all sorts lined the highway sporadically. I only wish we had more time on this journey east, but the deadline for the great journey west was fast approaching. 
Finally at 10 pm, we arrived in Albuquerque. What a sight! This is a huge sprawling metropolis, with its yellow lights twinkling ahead as we descended into the valley that is the city. It was much bigger than I ever imagined. Soon we came upon the KOA/Central Albuquerque, which was our temporary home for the night. We knew it was the right spot when we turned onto Juan Rd. before the road that was home to the KOA. And what was on the corner? A Wells Fargo store!

September 13:
After a restful night in Albuquerque and our first cooked meal in the RV (scrambled eggs and bacon), we were on the road again. The drive through the remainder of New Mexico was uneventful but beautiful. Next a short—yes I said short!—ride through Texas. (We were only going through the top half.) Amarillo by morning! For the George Strait fans, a tune is no doubt playing in your head now.
After Texas we were greeted in Oklahoma by a magnificent rainbow. We hade made great progress up to that point, diving nearly 8 or so hours, so the rainbow seemed like a prophetic sign of good things to come. We were nearly to Oklahoma City when we turned for Tulsa. And that’s when things started to go bad.
First, it began to rain. So, I put on the windshield wipers only to find that they were so worn they barely worked. We would have to stop for new blades. Next, I tried putting on the defroster, and guess what? No heat!
None. Nada. Zip. No heat whatsoever in the cab. And the rain was starting to pour.
Only now, we were on one of those stretches of interstate without a truck stop or gas station or anything, for that matter. We continued to drive mile after mile, carefully making our way toward Missouri and the nearest truck stop for new wiper blades. And still the rain came down and still no truck stop. Nothing. We seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.  Pulling over would have not been a safe option because there was barely a shoulder to pull to. So we drove and the rain poured.
After a short while, Juan made his way toward the back of the RV and slush! Water rushed over his toes with every step. We had a leak—a very bad leak. He feverishly sopped up all he could with the towels we had, when we finally reached a truck stop. After we purchased the blades and 4 rolls of extra heavy duty shop towels, we drained the last of the fresh water from our tank thinking this was the source of the leak. In the pouring, ice-cold rain, Juan changed the blades while I continued to dry the carpet. After twenty or so minutes and thinking we had fixed the water issue we were off again this time to find the next RV campground. We had had enough and were cold and wet.
As Juan drove, I continued to sop up the wet mess, but to no avail.  More and more, it was getting wetter. I was frustrated and I realized that draining the fresh water tank was not the problem, so I began to try and find the source of the leak.  I opened the storage bin under the fridge where I had stored Eddie and Charlie’s food and supplies. Pulling everything out, I saw to my horror what to me at that moment looked like “Old Faithful.”
The plastic fender was cracked in two—not one but two places! The cabin was completely exposed to the freeway passing below and the tires were acting like waterwheels, shooting water (and lots of it) straight into the cabin behind the bench. From there, it was seeping under the bench and flooding the carpet, smack dab in the middle of the living area and kitchen.
“Juan, we gotta stop! We have a major problem,” I yelled. But again, we were between here and nowhere. We had hoped to make it to Joplin, Missouri with our new wiper blades and drained water tank. But Joplin was an hour and a half away and out of the question. We had to stop fast.
As I worked feverishly to control the leaking, taking advantage of my long-ago damage control training in Navy boot camp, Juan searched ahead for signs of life. After a few minutes there were lights in the distance, so toward the lights we headed. We just had to stop, and at this point it didn’t matter where. But lights were a good sign. Upon exiting and paying our toll we were directed by the toll booth operator to an RV/Motel about 4 miles off the highway. None-too-soon, we pulled into our spot, hooked up our electricity and began again to sop up water.
By this time it was nearly midnight and the rain and wind had picked up again. A quick check of weather.com on my IPhone and I realized we had met up with a weakened—but no less angry—Hurricane Ike.
As I lay in that lumpy bed with the rain pounding and the wind rocking the RV, I reflected on everything that happened that night. Despite having rented an obvious lemon, I decided to try and make the proverbial lemonade. After all, we are recreating a route that was the essence of roughing it. Waterman Ormsby, the only through passenger on that first trip along the Butterfield 150 years ago, and my guide from the past on this trip, said upon his arrival in San Francisco that he’d come to know what hell was like.
I don’t know if this night was hell, but if so, I’m not interested!