Red Bay and the Tiffin Experience

In Red Bay, Alabama...


I had read a lot about the Red Bay experience for Tiffin motor home owners, but I still wasn’t quite prepared for it.  The town is a sleepy little burg of some 3500 souls, most of whom doubtlessly are employed by Tiffin.  After checking in at the factory service center, we were placed in the queue with about a hundred other Tiffin coaches that were lined up in rows along an abandoned airport runway.  The local airport was closed and swallowed up by Tiffin, but still more room was needed to accommodate the visiting coaches. An overflow area was created a few blocks away, and it was in this lot that we were assigned a space, joining eight other Tiffin motorhomes waiting for service.

Upon arriving in Red Bay, we followed signs to the service center and checked in at the office.

Tiffin Service Center Office

A small part of perhaps 100 Tiffin motorhomes parked for service.  See the old runway?

Only a few of the 42 service bays at Tiffin

Tiffin's response to customer demand for service at the factory has been amazing.  No other motorhome manufacturer I can think of has devoted 42 service bays exclusively to motor home repairs.  Also amazing is customers' willingness to accept waiting onsite perhaps as long as month for their turn to pull into a service bay, all the while living in their coaches lined up on an abandoned runway in the middle of nowhere.  Given the demand for instant gratification among most of society today, this laid-back phenomenon at Red Bay is not easy for me to figure out.  I think the only explanation is that Tiffin is renowned in the industry for standing behind its products, and this long queue of customers patiently standing by is a testament of their desire to have the work done by friendly factory service techs who know what they're doing.  Most have worked for Tiffin for decades. Another contributing factor is that most of the owners of these motorhomes are retired (like me!), thereby having more time on their hands than most younger folks who are still in the rat race.

Another surprise is that the owners usually don't have to exit their coaches during service! In fact, Tiffin encourages owners to watch the techs as a means of learning more about their motor homes. The techs are perfectly comfortable with owners' wandering around in the work area, watching what is going on and conversing with them.  Frankly, I've never heard of this being allowed anywhere else.

This sort of unconventional thinking comes from Bob Tiffin, the legendary but unassuming patriarch of the family who owns the company.  He maintains an office at the factory, and his door is always open to customers. Because of the folksy way he does business, taking personal interest in every customer he meets, he is generally revered by Tiffin owners, for whom he often makes special repair cost adjustments for chronic mechanical problems.  His willingness sometimes to absorb some repairs--even for rigs that are well out of warranty--has earned him a very loyal following of his brand.  Bob Tiffin is a pretty smart guy, in my book.

A Memphis Overnight

In Memphis, Tennessee, if memory serves...


Memphis was just an overnight stop for us en route to Red Bay, so we didn’t plan any sightseeing.  We chose the Tom Sawyer RV Park in West Memphis, a rather unique park right on the bank of the Mississippi River, mentioned in many of the blogs I read.  The entrance to the park was a little spooky, but we enjoyed our campsite, which was just a few steps from the riverbank. We sat there and watched the river traffic as the tugboats threaded their way around the sand bars. The water level of the river was extremely low, perhaps as low as we've ever seen it.

Although clearly not in Texas, Sandy displays Texas pride with her purse, don't you think?.

Dawn from our spot at Tom Sawyer RV Park

Since we had earlier done a tour of Graceland, about which I’ve already posted, we decided to eat at Gus’s “World Famous” Fried Chicken, an iconic joint in downtown Memphis. Typically, we like to try new restaurants during our travels, and fried chicken sounded good.  However, I really should have reread that earlier post, because it was obvious when we saw the building that we had already eaten at Gus’s during the earlier trip! Admitting this memory lapse is a trifle embarrassing, but I suppose we are not alone as we get older. I often tell people that I have a great memory, but it is extremely short!

We decided to go ahead and give Gus’s another try, because we didn’t remember whether we liked it the first time. (Gosh, this memory-loss thing is getting painful to write about.) The verdict:  The chicken was hot and tasty and very spicy (which I loved..Sandy not so much), but we thought it was way overpriced. The price issue was probably our perception during the first visit, but we didn’t remember that either.  Egad!

Fried green tomatoes at Gus's; we must be in the South!

After eating, we were pleased that we remembered where Phannie was parked, so we viewed that as something positive and skulked back to Tom Sawyer, now more mindful that, although getting older means getting wiser, it also means getting more clueless.  What’s-her-name thought so, too.   

Launch Day

Shady Pines RV Park, Texarkana, Texas...


Since we haven’t had the option before of preparing for an extended RV trip with no firm ending date, we were a bit unsure of how much “stuff” we should take.  For Sandy, “stuff’ equals clothes and shoes, and it is always a mystery.  

Sandy insists that, due to the existence of a vast undefined conspiracy, the clothes and shoes she chooses will always be the wrong ones. So, I made what I thought was a logical suggestion:  Take only those items that she knows are inappropriate.  She’ll be sure, then, to have the right ones.  This was met with an icy stare, followed by hands on her hips and then a general admonishment against my ever verbalizing a thought again. 

After much of what I assume were meditation and prayer in her closet, she chose a collection of outfits that I dutifully loaded into Phannie, wisely without further comment.  Surprisingly, the items she chose occupied slightly more than half of the available closet space, leaving more than enough room for my things, which numbered about a dozen and were selected in about five minutes...but who’s keeping score?

Food items are my responsibility.  In dealing with food, I think it is much easier to be a full timer than a part timer.  Since we don’t leave any perishable food in Phannie between trips to help reduce the likelihood of spoilage and pests, we must refill the refrigerator and restock missing items from the pantry before each trip.  We wind up transferring all of the perishables from the house fridge to Phannie at the beginning of a trip and vice versa at the end.  I try to guess what pantry items will be needed, but this is not hypercritical, as we don’t do boondocking in the wilderness; there are always grocery stores around. Neither of us likes to be very far away from all the amenities that civilization has to offer.

In consideration of the above, departure day went surprisingly well.  We left a trifle later than usual but traversed quickly the short leg on I-30 to Texarkana, arriving in the late afternoon at Shady Pines RV Park, perhaps one of the most manicured places we have ever seen.  An uncut blade of grass would die of loneliness here, and it was a bargain at $25.

After setting up, we enjoyed a fine catfish dinner at Wayne’s Family Cafe, a real hole-in-the-wall place where the people are friendly and they know their way around a deep fryer.  

So like me to take a photo of the food and nothing else today.  How lame is that?

On the road again...and retired to boot!  It was a good day for sure.

Getting in the Groove

At home in Fort Worth (actually, we are already enroute to Red Bay, but I'm still trying to catch up my posts...)


Another bonus of retirement is finally having the opportunity to take care of those piddling little chores that I put off because of lack of time or energy--since those things were always usurped by work.

One of those nagging chores was a cleanup of my desk area in our study. I won’t show you a ‘before’ photo because it would be too embarrassing.  It should suffice to say that the surface area was not recognizable before starting the project.  And now, voila! My desk has never looked better, and the sense of accomplishment is a rush.  (I know, it’s not that big a deal but, for retirees, whose influence in the business world is largely over, we celebrate small things.) See how quickly I’m adjusting to my new life? 

(Not sure why the yellow tint; the room is beige, but I couldn’t seem to correct it with Picasa.)

Retirement Afterglow

At home in Fort Worth...

Small pleasures abound in retirement.  The nefarious alarm clock that has controlled the beginning of my day for decades sits there, mute and dejected, as if it knows its sadistic six o’clock ritual has been banished forever. I simply arise when it suits me now.  Sandy and I can have a leisurely breakfast or, if there’s some adventure waiting, we can  get going quickly and grab something on the road. And under no circumstances do I allow my route of travel or the timing thereof cause me to mingle with the several hundred thousand commuters in the demolition derby known as rush hour on the DFW traffic arteries.  Only a week ago, I was among these poor slobs, grinding my teeth and hoping my defensive driving skills would be adequate to save me from any number of zombies talking on their cell phones or even texting as they hurtle mindlessly along the interstate in their two-ton projectiles. 

I had heard that the date and time of day become less relevant to retirees, and it is indeed true.  It is almost a given that I will pull out my cell phone now whenever I have a need to know the date or the day of the week.  One of the most popular items available online to retirees is a clock with only the days of the week on it instead of the time.  I think I need one.

When I need a nap, I take one.  I used to take naps at the office, too, but they weren’t necessarily intended.  One bright note is that the older you get, the more likely your coworkers are to overlook the old guy who nods off occasionally. This only gets really embarrassing when you are in a meeting in which you are the featured speaker.

I wonder if I will reach a point in the future when I will renounce this slothful existence and make something of myself?  

I doubt it.

Retired!!!

At home in Fort Worth...

It was not a particularly poignant moment when I shut off my FAA computer for the last time and handed in my ID badge and door access card.  There were few co-workers left in the office late on this Friday before Labor Day (it WAS a government office, after all), so the parting gestures were finished quickly, and I strode out the door into the scorching August heat.  Still it had not struck me as particularly momentous that I was officially retired, not only from a great job with the FAA but from my entire aviation career of 45 years. As I turned the car onto Freeport Parkway and headed home, I thought how great it is that I will no longer have to dodge the buckled pavement of that street, whose repairs had been ignored by the city of Irving for years.  That was it…no dramatic chords from Beethoven’s Fifth in my head, no sense of regret, no sense of loss...just a sneer at the rough spots in the roadway that I would not encounter again. 

My thoughts immediately turned happily to Phannie (Phaeton), the big gray motorhome I would be retrieving shortly from the Cummins/Onan service center in Fort Worth.  They had finished the yearly service on the genny, during which they had also replaced the fuel pump. The diesel engine that runs the generator had developed a problem of suddenly shutting down for no apparent reason and needing priming to restart.  After checking everything else, it was decided that a new fuel pump would be the answer, and they proved to be right. The genny ran perfectly all the way home.

My long countdown to retirement was made easier by planning for a long RV trip immediately afterward. For years I had pored over hundreds of posts by RV bloggers describing their idyllic lives on the road and the wonderful places they’ve been, and I was more than ready to join them. It was with that anticipation that I had planned a month-long tour of the mountain west that would include a stop in Colorado Springs to visit Ed and Marilyn and ending up in Yellowstone. It was not to be, however. Ed wrote me a nice note apologizing for needing to leave their mountain retreat earlier than planned, but that turned out not to be the issue in canceling that outing.  On a recent trip to Houston to visit our “kids” (as we call our daughter Mindy, her husband Tyler and our grandson Mason), we noticed a leak in Phannie’s black tank. The leak was apparently not located at the bottom of the tank, for it would not appear until after a couple of days’ use. Now if you are an RVer, you know that any kind of leak from a black tank is not something that you can ignore. We dealt with it by dumping the tank daily, but that is not the desirable method of managing a black tank.

I decided that the best thing to do would be to take Phannie back where she was born, at the Tiffin factory in Red Bay, Alabama.  Bob Tiffin has built a huge repair facility there, and we also wanted to see if Phannie was subject to a recent wet bay floor recall by the factory. Since we had a number of other small issues to be looked after at the same time, we decided this would be a good time to head to Red Bay and experience this legendary gathering of Tiffin motorhome owners taking advantage of the highly respected factory repair shop.  We knew, of course, that a wait is usually involved in Camp Red Bay, as the factory RV campground is known, but we thought we could make some side trips in the interim or afterward.  We’ll get underway in a few days and see how it goes.

As it turns out, I don’t really care where we go on our first trip in retirement. It will be so nice not to have to be so time-conscious as we were while I was working. For the first time, we will have the luxury of moving around when and where we choose, spending extra time at some places if we wish. That will be something to be savored, for sure.

The End is Near

At home in Fort Worth...

No, I'm not talking about the end of the world (although sometimes I wonder if it will survive the politicians), I'm talking about the end of my work world.  Since I have been working continuously for about 45 years, I really don't remember what not working was like.  I do remember that I was young and full of ambition then, and I wondered where that would take me.  When I retire at the end of August, I'll know.

Almost all of my time in the work world was centered around airplanes.  I knew from a very young age that I wanted to be a pilot, and I achieved that goal, retiring from flying as a Boeing 727 captain.  After that, I joined the FAA and became an inspector, supervisor and office manager.  After 17 years with the FAA, I'm finally bidding goodbye to a profession I have enjoyed and that has treated me well.  I only hope that whatever influence I may have had toward others along the way was more positive than negative.

I'm a little unsure of what to expect as I lurch toward retirement, but my initial impression is that it's much the same as I feel about getting old.  You see, I've never gotten old before, so I'm often surprised when I'm confronted with new limitations on activities, body parts and brain function that I thought happened only to others.  The same can be said about retiring; since I've never retired before, I suspect that I might be a little clunky at it until I get the hang of it.  I think it's a little like taking your first flying lesson: The first thing your instructor says is, "Don't touch anything."  Well, that's not going to work here, as I am, basically, my own instructor.  (This doesn't work well when learning to fly, by the way.)  

However, I know that Sandy will not hesitate to give me guidance, as she has ten years' experience at being retired.  Come to  think of it, she doesn't necessarily need experience in something to offer her opinion on it, so I think I'm covered.

Perhaps the first consideration is, can we afford it?  The answer, hopefully, is yes. As we have gotten older, we are well beyond the ‘acquisition’ phase and into the ‘downsizing’ phase, so we don’t buy as much stuff as we used to.  In fact, we found that efforts toward simplifying life are increasingly rewarding in our later years. Without any concerted effort to do so, we've also become, well, cheap. More and more often, I may be in a store and start an argument with myself as to whether I really need to purchase an item I think I want. (My hope is that the argument will remain nonverbal, so as to save the family from embarrassment.)

Full time or part time? Part time won. We recognize the freedom that would come by jettisoning the house and its associated upkeep and expenses, but we're not quite ready to give up the home base, especially a custom built RV home like ours. 

Phannie is comfortable here, and so are we!

What we don't know is what part time will look like. I am looking forward to extended travel, the ending point of which is undefined by having to return to work on a date certain. That will be a really big deal for me. 

Besides, we've learned that we are to be grandparents again!  Mindy and Tyler will be welcoming a new brother or sister for Mason in January, and that exciting event will certainly keep us nearer home for a while this winter.

More later on retirement preparations!   

Doing an End Run: I Had My Colonoscopy Today

At home in Fort Worth...

If you’ve been keeping up with this rag, you know that Sandy and I have been trying to get our medical issues taken care of in anticipation of my imminent retirement and road-hitting.  After her two knee replacements, a rhinoplasty (nose job to open nasal passages) and one carpal tunnel hand surgery, she has only the other hand to be done and, oh yes…a colonoscopy.   I needed one of these as well and, as of today, mine is behind me, so to speak.  I know that writing a post on this subject may be a bit off topic in a travel blog, but I believe so strongly in the life-saving value of this procedure that I hope it influences anyone over 50 to take advantage of it and to repeat it every few years.

Now there are few medical procedures I dread more than a colonoscopy.  I must submit to these far more often than I wish, as I tend to develop polyps, an unwelcome little appendage that grows from the interior colon wall and which, if not removed, can become cancerous.  Sandy and I are at somewhat higher risk due to an incidence of this kind of cancer in our family.  Sandy’s father, a dear man, succumbed to the disease before his time, a loss that could probably have been prevented with a timely colonoscopy.

Those who decide to do the right thing and fulfill this obligation should be prepared for a few occurrences beforehand that are relatively unpleasant.  Dr. Mills (no known relation but probably a distant cousin anyway), knowing what a foodie I am, fiendishly prescribed eating exactly…nothing...for the entire day before the procedure.  I could have clearish liquids, he said, but nothing that would have any chance of being transformed through digestion into, shall we say, something that would need to be discarded from the body. 

The day of fasting made me highly respectful of our religious forbears whose participation in praying and fasting was undertaken with great deference to Biblical instruction.  On the other hand, when I try to do fasting, I become acutely cranky and even resentful of others who are eating.  Sandy, who waited as long as possible to eat something herself, surreptitiously slipped some sandwich makings out of the refrigerator. She sweetly ate it cold so as not to risk any cooking odors.  I discovered a few remnants of her meal and, obviously having forgotten how food tasted, I asked her if she enjoyed her custom-smoked turkey sandwich on an artisan baguette smeared with a decadent garlic-basil aloli and topped with fresh greens and garden tomatoes. 

“Disgusting,” she said with a scowl and sticking out her tongue.  (I don’t think I’ve ever loved her more.)

Alas, the fasting finally began to affect my mental state as my body weakened. While driving in Fort Worth later in the day, I passed a Dairy Queen and nearly lost control of the car as I hallucinated that our black Escalade was a chunk of Oreo cookie in a giant Dairy Queen Blizzard.  I decided this was a sign that I may not have fasting as a spiritual gift.

Having endured the entire day on this ridiculous fast, I was then faced with the necessity of taking a laxative and drinking within a couple of hours what appeared to be a 55-gallon drum of chemical-laced water that tasted oddly of a lubricant of some kind.  The “prep,” as the druggist called it, included little packets of flavoring that could be added to make the taste more palatable.  I added orange flavoring, which only made it taste something like mineral oil and bath salts into which someone had added a teaspoon of Tang.  It was beyond revolting.  Fortunately, my gag reflex had been suppressed by the shock, so I managed eventually to get it all down.  It wasn’t 55 gallons, of course, but it surely seemed like it.  I think I will never be thirsty again.

I won’t even mention what took place in the bathroom as a result of the ingestion of these materials.  But suffice it to say that, at the end (sorry), my alimentary canal was clear all the way to China.

The next morning’s procedure was a piece of cake compared to this.  Dr. Mills found only a very small tag that he clipped, saying it was nothing to worry about.  He also gave me a photo of the inside of my bowel, but so far no one asked to see it.  

Poor Sandy’s colonoscopy is scheduled for next week.  I hope I am as gracious and helpful as she has been for me.  Now, doesn't this make you want to go out there and get one for yourself?  

In all seriousness, please do this; it isn't as bad as I have made it out to be, and it could very well save your life.

Thieves Steal More Than Stuff

At home in Fort Worth...

Arriving home from work a couple of weeks ago, I turned the key in the front door and found it was unlocked.  This was highly unusual, as I knew Sandy was gone and that she is a stickler for locking all the doors and setting the burglar alarm.  However, thinking this was one of those rare omissions on her part, I opened the door, only to hear the unmistakable beeping sequence from the burglar alarm indicating that it had been tripped.  If I had had my wits about me, I should have gone outside immediately and called the police, for I didn’t know at the time if some unwanted person was still in the house.  Obviously, I hadn’t accepted what the alarm was telling me, for I simply walked over to the keypad, entered the code and shut off the urgent beeping. It was when I walked into the den and saw the back door ajar with remnants of the door latch strewn across the floor that I began to realize what had happened. 

Stupidly, I still didn’t leave the house, even though the intruders could still have been in another room waiting for me.  Instead, I calmly began to look around to see what was missing.  I noticed that none of the electronic gear or computers had been taken and that a new pistol in its case was still on my desk in the study.  Walking into the master suite, I noticed that the drawers in Sandy’s jewelry case were strewn about the floor, all empty.  It was only then that I called 911, wondering why the police had not already arrived after the alarm was tripped.  I later learned that, while the alarm system activated the interior siren upon the break-in, the system failed to contact the alarm monitoring center.  The company immediately sent out a technician who replaced the controller that had malfunctioned.  This revealed another mistake: I had not tested the alarm in a very long time.  It was probably because the siren was sounding that the thief (or thieves) went only for the jewelry and didn’t look for other valuables.  I’m told a burglar knows that he has about six minutes on average before a police response to the location is likely.

While waiting for the police, I called Sandy, who was en route home herself, and told her what had happened so that she wouldn’t be alarmed to see a police cruiser in front of the house when she arrived.  She was mortified, of course, over having our security violated and the loss of jewelry worth many thousands of dollars, almost all of which I had given her on special occasions over the past 36 years.  It was not until we began taking an inventory of the pieces that were missing and assessing the replacement value that we realized how imprudent we were for not having nearly enough insurance for this kind of loss. 

After moving through several stages of shock, anger and grief, we realized that it was just stuff, after all, and that we were not harmed was what was important.  What will never be the same is a sense of security.  We now realize how vulnerable most of us are, considering how easy it was for a thief to gain entrance with one kick to the rear door.  It was all the more shocking because no one in our neighborhood could recall any trouble of this kind for many years. 

We installed a new, stronger door, of course, along with a barrier bar, and we upgraded the security system with an outside siren.  We also installed cameras on all sides of the house and at the entrances with a digital interface for the images to be visible from our smart phones.  I’m not sure what will be gained from this, other than having the capability of watching a break-in in real time, but maybe it will provide some kind of deterrent and perhaps help in identifying criminals if, God forbid, something like this happens again.  

Even as I am writing this, it is difficult to accept that our culture has come to this.  Growing up in the fifties in a small town in east Texas, we had no concept of crime.  Our doors were never locked, our parents often left the car keys in the ignition when parked, and my friends and I roamed the neighborhoods at will with no fear of any evil befalling us.  The answer is fairly simple, however.  Considering the degree to which God has been pushed out of our institutions and our lives, it is no surprise that ungodly things take His place.  I am very fearful for our children and grandchildren.

I read the blogs of many fulltimers out there who have jettisoned their S&B houses and don’t have to worry about criminal mischief at their residences while they are gone.  I envy that freedom, but I’m thinking now that we’re not really safe anywhere these days. I suppose that feeling will lessen over time, but I really miss the days of my youth.

Stuck at home? Why not buy more toys?!

At home in Fort Worth... 

I enjoy a fairly generous leave allowance in my government job, but I burned a good deal of it recovering from hip surgery. Until the leave balance accumulates again, I will be on a pretty short leash in terms of time available for travel in the next several months.  This means we will be restricted mainly to short trips taken over extended weekends.  We took Phannie to San Antonio recently in a caravan with Bubba and LouAnn in their new coach that he has named “Woody.”  (You’ll have to ask him about the name; I’m not going there.) 

We enjoyed the trip immensely, and it was my first time driving Phannie after rehab.  The only casualty was a broken end cap on the entrance door awning, that damage having happened as we left home and struck a low hanging tree limb not far from our neighborhood.  The awning still works, but the broken end cap is being ordered by Bobby, my new mobile RV service tech.  If you ever find yourself in need of a first class RV repair service in the DFW area, I strongly recommend Bobby Dowdle at (972) 697-6325.  He’s also an expert satellite TV technician.

Corralled as I am by the leave gods, I am using this time to add more improvements to Phannie.  (What better thing to do with my money since I’m not spending it on diesel fuel right now?) 

The first “toy,” as Sandy calls these things, was a Pro Fill battery watering system, sorely needed in Phannie because Tiffin didn’t see fit to install the batteries in a pull-out service tray in 2006 Phaetons—in my book, a major oversight! This makes checking the water levels in the house batteries very difficult and the engine batteries almost impossible, because these are even further out of sight behind the house batteries!  I'm thinking about having the engine batteries moved to a small compartment adjacent to their current crowded location.

The Pro Fill System

Phannie's crowded battery compartment with Pro Fill installed

The next improvement was to replace the cockpit map lights.  The cheap plastic ones with tiny bulbs that Tiffin installed at the factory were almost useless in terms of brightness.  The only value of these things was perhaps to enable you to find a map; you certainly could not use them to make out any map details.  Lighting a candle would have been an improvement!  I ordered a couple of nice LED lights from Camping World, and they fit perfectly in the space available over the front cockpit seats.  They cost about $100 for the pair, but they are obviously of high quality and provide more than enough light for map reading (not that we do much of that now, with GPS and all).

The original two-bit map light over copilot's seat; Tiffin should be ashamed.

The solution:  About $50 from Camping World

Installation - A Snap!

Light galore - What an improvement!

The next “toy” was an induction cookplate.  I had been reading about these for some time, waiting for the prices to come down and, being a gadget freak, I just had to try it.  It is truly a marvel, and I’ve added a video here.

Induction Cookplate

So, what’s shaping up here with Phannie and all of her new accouterments is a very expensive static display.  We've got to get on the road so we can try out all the new stuff!  By the way, you may have noticed that I haven’t mentioned retirement day in a while.  The date I had set is not far off!  Will I actually take the plunge?  Who knows… I can’t wait to find out!

It's Bubba's Fault!

At home in Fort Worth...

You may have read earlier in this rag about our previous trip to MCD Innovations in McKinney, Texas when we had them install custom day/night shades in Phannie’s living area.  At the time, we elected not to install shades in the cockpit in deference to our budget but, as time went by, we couldn’t help but bemoan the fact that the cockpit looked so shabby in comparison to the rest of the interior of the coach.  The old sliding curtains filled the need for privacy, but they were becoming faded and droopy, held together by clothespins where they met in the middle of the windshield.  In this regard, Phannie was sort of like a well-dressed lady who had toilet paper stuck to her shoe.

We knew it was only a matter of time until we returned to MCD for the full shade treatment, but it was Bubba who actually made it happen.  If you’ve read this blog for a while, you know that longtime friends Bubba and LouAnn often caravan with us on our RV trips.  We both owned fifth wheels for years before Sandy and I acquired Phannie, an upgrade in travel comfort that certainly was not lost on Bubba and whose merits I lorded over him good-naturedly but constantly.

Not long ago, I invited Bubba to drive Phannie on a short local jaunt, and it was easy to tell that he was smitten; in fact, I thought he was going to gnaw the door handles off the coach.  It wasn’t long afterward, then, that he was flogging the internet in search of his own “Phannie.”  Suddenly, he located a real steal at the very dealer—Motorhomes of Texas—where we had purchased Phannie.  Within a couple of days, Bubba and LouAnn were the proud owners of a 2012 Thor Tuscany, forty-two feet of unfettered luxury with a tag axle, four TV sets and two bathrooms! As happy as I was for them, I was already hunkering down for what would be a major payback from Bubba in the gloating department. 

Bubba and LouAnn's New Coach

Now in comparison with Bubba's new rig, Phannie began to look something like an ugly duckling—especially the old cockpit curtains with the clothespins.  I couldn’t help but envy the Thor’s motorized windshield shade that moved almost silently up and down with the touch of a button.  Frankly, it became more than I could take!  I called MCD for an appointment and drove Phannie up to McKinney on a recent Monday morning.  I told them I wanted their best day/night shades, motorized on all cockpit windows--front and side.  (I knew Bubba’s coach didn’t have power shades on the side windows. Yes, that’s pathetic, I know, but I was desperate.)  The following Thursday, we picked her up, hardly able to wait to see the transformation.  It was everything we expected.

The new shades are wonderful, of course, but what did this little fit of jealousy cost me?  Well, I won’t be so crass as to mention numbers, but the cockpit shades cost more than twice the price of all the rest of Phannie’s unpowered shades in the living area.  A good deal of the extra cost was the installation of custom wood valances to conceal the rollers and power mechanisms.  Am I glad I did it?  Absolutely!  The powered feature is really handy; I can’t imagine not having it now.  I’m already wondering if Sandy will let me do a retrofit to powered shades in the cabin…

Here's a video and some photos for you:

Josh from MCD measures for the windshield shade.

Wilson comes in to measure for custom wood valances. Wilson doesn't work for MCD, but they recommend him highly...for good reason!

 Windshield Day Shade

 Windshield Night Shade

Door and Side Window Night Shades--check out Wilson's wood valances.  Nice job!

While Wilson was doing the woodwork on the valances, we hired him to replace the the bedroom clothes hamper with drawers.  Mui of Two to Travel's Phaeton Journeys recently had this conversion done at Red Bay, and we really liked the idea.  It's not clear why Tiffin put this hamper here; most owners we know don't use it, and the extra storage is most desirable.

Before Wilson's modification

After Wilson's Handiwork

No Cane, No Pain!

At home in Fort Worth...

I suppose it’s about time for an update on the new hip.  I ditched the cane a couple of weeks ago because I’m walking without limping most of the time now.  There are a few exceptions, as when I have sat for a long time or had an exceptionally active day; but that is to be expected for a few more months.  Oddly enough, the only limitation remaining is my ability to put a sock on my right foot; the range of motion needed is just not sufficient yet.  Physical therapy will soon take care of that and, in the meantime, I have a very effective sock installer in Sandy, God bless her. 

All in all, the experience has certainly had positive results.  The prosthesis will never be the same as the original joint, of course, but it’s pretty close, and it’s certainly a blessing to be rid of the arthritis pain.  Strangely, I have a slight sensation—not painful at all—of the presence of my prosthetic device instead of the natural feel of the original hip joint.  I don’t know if the sensation will eventually go away, and it doesn't really matter.  It’s just a gentle reminder of the miracles of modern medicine and my good fortune to still have access to good healthcare.  I hope it remains so, but I’m not at all confident, given what’s going on in Washington. 

I’m even driving Phannie again!  Last week we took her up to MCD Innovations in McKinney, Texas to have new shades installed in the cockpit.  But that will be the subject of the next post, which will be out in a couple of days.

As you might imagine, it was so good to get on the road again, even for such a short drive!

Look ma, no cane!

Hip, Hip, Hooray (and Goodbye)!

At home in Fort Worth...

I was standing in the shower a couple of years ago when I first noticed something was wrong with my hip.  I had just turned slightly when I felt an agonizing pain in my right hip socket.  This caused me to retreat quickly to the stance I had before I turned and, when I did, the pain went away.  There was no recurrence for a couple of weeks, so I promptly forgot about it, thinking it was just one of those age-related anomalies to be expected now and then as I get older. The next occurrence was also in the shower, but the pain did not immediately go away then.  As time went by, the episodes became more frequent and longer lasting.

A visit to Sandy’s orthopedic surgeon confirmed the diagnosis:  Arthritis.  Dr. Williams offered me  steroid injections to gain some temporary (a few weeks to a few months) relief, and I agreed to that.  But only twice.  The first time was without anesthesia, and I decided that was not something I wanted to do again.  The second time was with general anesthesia, but I thought that if I was going to be subjected to that much fuss and expense for relief of such short duration, I may as well go ahead and have the hip replaced and be done with it!  The only question was...when?

Sandy had not yet ended her physical therapy from her second knee replacement in August, but my condition was rapidly deteriorating--to the extent that I was limping significantly and having trouble sleeping at night.  Finally, we settled on January 14 for my hip surgery.

I must say, I am so thankful to be living in a time and in a country where such medical techniques are (for now) readily available.  It was not too long ago that an arthritic knee or hip meant immobility for arthritis sufferers--but no more.  My procedure was performed in a boutique hospital here in the DFW Metroplex that specializes solely in orthopedic surgery, and my care was first class by any measure.  I was astonished to be released on Wednesday following the Monday surgery.  Dr. Williams said that my new prosthesis' fit was especially successful and stable, even though the old joint was in pretty bad shape, as the surgery confirmed.

One day after surgery:  Grandson Mason does not seem sufficiently concerned about my condition!

I would not say that the recovery has not had its painful moments.  However, the painkillers are generally effective and their side effects are manageable. Fortunately, Sandy has been fully engaged as my nurse, and she is largely responsible for the speed of my recovery, to say nothing of fulfilling all of my whims, no matter how numerous or infantile.  She is truly wonderful in this role and the myriad of others she performs for me and our whole family.  I am truly a blessed man!

Did I leave out physical therapy?  There must be a reason that I tried to blank out of my mind the visits by Chuck, the physical therapist assigned to my case.  Chuck, a stocky, muscular guy of about 40, comes to the house and tortures me three times a week.  Obviously having been trained by Al Qaeda, Chuck appears to take great delight in forcing my bum leg to do things that God never intended even before I had any problems with it!  (I wonder if Chuck knows I have weapons in the house?)

Actually, the foregoing was a bit of exaggeration, as you might imagine.  I am convinced that the more effort you give toward physical therapy, the better your results will be.  So, I’m paying attention and doing what I’m told, but I still don’t particularly like it.

Since this post covers about two weeks of recuperation after the surgery, I am adding a couple of photos to show my progress.  In this one, my purpose is to garner sympathy from you, dear readers, over Sandy's forcing me to vacuum the house in my weakened condition just a week after surgery.  I'll leave it to you to decide whether this depicts a true representation of the facts or a cheap hoax.   (I know, it's hard to tell, given my innocent face.)

So abused!  Can you believe the suffering?  Oh, the humanity!

After a couple more days, Sandy allowed me to take her out to dinner, even though I hadn't vacuumed the house very well.  (That was so sweet of her; it was so hard to get in all those tight places with my walker...)

Mike's First Outing!

So, this finishes the medical issues Sandy and I have been working on for the last couple of years.  Compared to her four surgeries, my one procedure hardly measured up as anything significant.  But thankfully, it appears we are getting repaired back to normal with nothing serious remaining that we know of.  We are very grateful for the skill of our medical caregivers and all of the kind thoughts and prayers of loved ones, friends we have met and those out there whom we have yet to meet.  And we are very mindful that, even with all we have been through to get to this point, there are many others who are struggling with more serious health issues. To those fine folks go our heartfelt thoughts and prayers for healing.

Washing a Big MoHo Windshield-Help Has Arrived!

At home in Fort Worth...

Every now and then a cool thing comes along that makes RVing easier, and I just have to tell you about this one:  The Shurhold Flexible Water Blade (Squeegee).  In terms of favorite accessories, this comes in second place. (First place is, and will always be, my electric shoreline reel.)

Let’s face it; if you own a motor home, you are going to have to clean the windshield from time to time, and a squeegee (for me, at least) is an essential tool for this endeavor.  Now I can’t tell you how frustrating it has been for me to squeegee the big curved glass with my standard non-flexible squeegee; it is an exercise in futility. Cleaning the curved edges of the windshield with the straight blade was almost impossible.  Until now.

Bubba and I made a little video (with Sandy as the cinematographer and wannabe announcer) to show you this handy device, and you can see it here. With this squeegee and the simple method demonstrated, you can clean the entire windshield spotlessly without using a ladder or water hose.  In fact, in the video, Bubba and I are standing about 18 inches lower than ground level in front of Phannie, and we can still reach the top of the windshield without a ladder.  See what you think.  (A word of warning for slow internet connections:  The video was shot in HD on my new Canon SX-40 camera, so it is a really hefty file.)

By the way, you can get this squeegee at Amazon for about $25, but I would recommend that you also buy the telescoping handle made especially for it.  I don't think any other handle could be made to fit.

Robin Hood Planning (Or Taking From Rich Planners and Giving to Poor Planners)

At home in Forth Worth...

Now, about the teaser from the end of my last post regarding our upcoming RVing plans:  It appears, Lord willing, that I will indeed be able to retire in June!  That is, unless the loopy politicians in Washington finally kill off capitalism and our investments all go south.

Sandy and I have given much thought to the kind of retirement ours will be.  It would be easy for me to toss the S&B and all of its expenses and irritations.  However, we both think we would need to have a home port somewhere with at least a modest bungalow that we could call home, with Phannie parked a few steps away when we aren’t on the road.  And since that’s essentially the living arrangement we have now (although it’s perhaps not quite a modest bungalow), the operative question is whether we can afford the expense of keeping the property and putting up with the worry factor when we’re away.  We think the answer is yes, but we’ll have to confirm that in actual practice.  So, we’ll see.

Now, back to the planning thing:   As I explained in the previous post, planning is not something that comes easy for me.  I occasionally have to do planning for the sake of avoiding chaos, but I generally keep it to a minimum, preferring spontaneity as I do.  Basically, my planning is limited to financial matters and trips.  Sandy isn’t particularly interested in planning either of these, so that’s where I have to man up and do it.  Luckily, the financial planning was largely done a long time ago and is more or less on autopilot; I don’t have to tweak it much.  As far as trip planning goes, I’ve always thought that less is more.  For me, planning a trip is simply envisioning a part of the country I would like to see and then considering what major attractions we might encounter along the way. But this is minimalist planning, done from a very high level and requiring rest afterward.  I could not possibly include at the same time planning about how to get there; that would be much too laborious.  I’m just smart enough, however, to know that picking a route is necessary at some point; after all, I probably need to know what direction I should point Phannie on the day of departure.   

With this in mind, it occurred to me that I might get blog readers to do some planning for me on our trip to Yellowstone this summer.  This will be our first trip after retirement—and the first one that will be open ended in terms of when we must return.  That in itself is a fantasy for which I’ve waited during my entire working career.

Departure from Texas will be in July, and we will be making haste toward Colorado to escape the blast furnace that is a Texas summer.  I don’t need much planning to get to Colorado, as that is pretty much a no-brainer.  I just point Phannie north by northwest and stop when we see mountains—piece of cake!  Near Colorado Springs, we’ll drop in on Ed and Marilyn for a few days at Mountaindale.  From there to Yellowstone, it gets a little fuzzy.  We love mountain scenery, but we’re not too interested in being frightened in our big rig on narrow roads with hairpin curves. We love bucolic settings such as those found in national and state parks, but sometimes we just don’t fit.  It’s a sacrifice we don’t mind making, however, for the sake of traveling comfort. 

We like small town settings, historical venues and eating in restaurants frequented by the locals.  We don’t follow sports, golf, fishing or hunting, and we can’t do much in the way of long walks or hiking (bad joints).  We like music, museums, festivals, rallies, tours, roadside stands, waterfalls, rivers, creeks and lakes.    

So, here’s where the Robin Hood thing comes in:  We would like for those of you who have more planning than you need to give us some since I'm too lazy to plan.  Somehow this seems entirely appropriate these days; even Warren Buffet thinks so! 

We would love to hear your ideas about a good route and attractions from Colorado Springs to Yellowstone, given the criteria I’ve described.  We’ll get to the rest of the trip later; I can only take so much planning right now.

Are You A Planner?

At home in Fort Worth...

I’m not; but I married one.  Sandy loves to plan things, and I don’t.  Here’s an example:  In preparation for our wedding day and honeymoon, Sandy spent weeks planning and packing her things for our trip to Hawaii.  Judging by the luggage she had placed in the trunk of our getaway car, she had prepared for every possible contingency of weather, activity and act of God, including perhaps even another attack on Pearl Harbor.

When we left the church at the conclusion of the wedding, we drove to what would be our apartment where I had already moved my things in preparation for our setting up housekeeping.  (Yes, I know it was very provincial to be living apart before marriage, but Biblical principles were important then, and they still are to us today—although we now seem to be in a rapidly shrinking minority.)

After carrying her over the threshold, I put her down and went to the bedroom to pack my bag for the trip.  She stood, mouth agape, in utter disbelief that I had given so little forethought to our honeymoon.  Within ten minutes, I was ready to travel without even once changing my mind about the few things I was tossing into my suitcase (note my intentional use of the singular form of this noun).

Sandy was initially hurt, I think, that I had devoted so little time to planning and preparing my wardrobe for our honeymoon.  Actually, she probably should have given me more credit:  In a very uncharacteristic and uncomfortable fit of planning, I had actually secured the reservations and tickets for the trip to Hawaii. (I really needed our honeymoon vacation to recover from this.)

Sandy soon came to realize that she had in her life partner a person desperately in need of her gift of planning expertise and, like most nurturing women, she definitely liked to feel needed.  At that moment, she probably said—under her breath—“Don’t worry, honey, I’ll take it from here.”  And so she has.  And it has worked, oh so well, for 36 great years.  I admit, somewhat sheepishly, that my honeymoon suitcase was the last one I ever packed.  She considered me so inept at planning that I could not possibly be trusted with packing even my own things for a trip.  Did I put up any resistance to her usurpation of my packing responsibility?  Are you kidding?  I was happy as a clam and still am.

That is not to say that my preference for spontaneity has not had a beneficial effect on Sandy. One more than one occasion, I devilishly announced that I was taking her on a surprise trip to an undisclosed location.  While her initial reaction was delight at the prospect of flying away on a romantic holiday, her giddiness quickly turned to panic as she contemplated how she could possibly prepare for such a thing.  My fear was that we would not be able to afford the excess baggage fees, as I fully expected her to pack, well, everything.

Over the years, however, Sandy has mellowed a great deal in her penchant for preparedness.  It’s a good thing, too, as the aging process has dramatically lessened my capability to tote around a massive number of suitcases.  In this regard, having an RV has proved a godsend, as we really don’t have to do much in the way of power packing when we go on a trip.  Much of the stuff we need stays on board when we're not traveling.  For several days in advance of departure, however, I’ll take a few things out to Phannie as instructed by Sandy, where they will stay—organized, thanks to her—until our return.  And on other trips not taken by RV, Sandy has also mellowed in her packing obsession.  One of the (few) benefits of getting older is attaining a greater discernment over what is important and what is not.  Comfort and simplicity trump just about everything, and there is a certain satisfaction in having attained that wisdom.

Why, you may ask, did I feel the need to go into this epic piece of reminiscence? Well, there is a reason, and it has to do with Phannie and planning, hence its appearance in this travel blog.  But that will have to wait for the next post.  This one is long enough.