• T-70 or so

    Long time no type at.

    We’re planning on rolling in early September. We tell everyone we’re going to Louisiana for hurricane season and that’s essentially true. But we expect to bug out if needed. We’re Floridiots but we know about hurricanes.

    Today’s jaunt was to go up to Bryan to get an alignment at Wingfoot. Wingfoot is the truck equivlant of Goodyear.

    I called ’em yesterday and said we’d see them in the ‘moanin. So we got up and Harold had his Bullet ‘Stang parked where we needed to pull out. I banged on the door. I banged on the door again. Again. And yet again.

    Harold appeared blinking at around 10:30; I said no real hurry. But he pulled it out.

    So we pulled out and motored out to Wingfoot. The sign said “Exit Closed” so I put up with Bitchin’ Betty for a few miles; we’d missed a waypoint. The gps wants to do this, that and the other but my ass in the seat sets the course.

    The diagnosis was that Louisiana blew the toe out a little. Fortunately nothing was bent. The important part was the she doesn’t dive for the weeds all the time.

  • The Bathroom People

    I’m not real sure I should be writing about this. After all, it does involve weird observations over many months. And it’s about our neighbors.

    Weirdos that they are.

    Let me lay out the scenario. For the past year and a half we’ve had a site in the RV park that’s catty-cornered from the bathhouse. If you don’t know what catty-cornered means, renew your edumacation in southernese and understand that it means crossways. As in not directly in front of, but a bit cockeyed. Stop laughing, it’s not that funny.

    A guy had a house built and he wanted a sink in every room. The contractor thought that was rather strange but he complied with the request. The new homeowner blew a gasket because the sinks were crooked.
    The contractor said that he’d done what the homeowner wanted, but the homeowner bellowed “Cock-height! I said cock-height!”

    And now back to our regularly-scheduled ramble.

    Right. Bathroom people.

    Since we’re (DON’T SAY IT) across from the showerhouse/bathroom we can’t help but observe the comings and goings. No, I didn’t actually make that pun. But seriously, we’ve observed the same parade of people day after day. The Bathroom People!

    Through the coldest winter in years, through the rainiest spring in years including floods, through rain and tornadoes, through a not-so-cold winter and now through floods that ripped through the park, the county and through the Brazos valley. The Bathroom People! They should deliver the mail!

    I confess that I simply don’t get it. These people truck over to the bathroom from the far side of the CG by golf cart, foot and even car through any kind of weather to use the CG bathroom. Tornado warning, sure.
    Torrential rain, sure. Sleet, sure. Flash flood, sure.

    Here in the CG we have perfectly fine running water and perfectly fine running sewer. And it’s not as if the bathroom people would let something stew in their tank for a month; they LIVE ABOARD. They’re always present and could drain their tanks whenever.

    It just goggles me. There’s one couple who shows up _at least_ eight times a day. I don’t want to think about it. What posesses these people? I’ve never seen the like in any other CG.

    I’m sure there’s some perfectly fine imaginary explanation but I don’t think I want to know what it is. Maybe some things should remain life’s little mysteries.

  • Straighten up and fly right!

    …comes to mind because we’re celebrating our escape from Camp Parking Lot.

    Yes they did have to get the exhaust brake part from BFE overnight, and yes they did have to fabricate the other exhaust brake part that apparently a North Georgia shop said “that’ll do.”

    A previous shop turned the adaptor pipe around, welded a piece to it, just stuck it in the brake housing and called it good.

    Notwithstanding that exhaust gas temperatures hit 1500F.

    We are damned lucky!

    Anyway, they cut us loose or pushed us out of the nest but we arrived back at LOR a bit before dark. Mom got on the radio and manuevered me into our spot, which we obviously can’t get into, with no arm-waving or shouting at all. We usually do it without excitement.