Phannie's Back!

Fort Worth Freightliner called and said Phannie was ready after nine days in their possession.  The good news is that the problem was with a broken wire in a connector near the engine bay.  The bad news is that it took them enough hours of troubleshooting to snag $700 from my wallet.  Following the regular troubleshooting guide led the mechanics down a rabbit hole to the throttle sensor, causing them to replace the accelerator assembly ($1232 plus overnight express fees), only to discover that wasn’t the problem. 

Astonishingly, Fort Worth Freightliner initially tried to bill me for the $1232 part that didn’t fix the problem.  After a non-productive conversation with a service manager, I called up Freightliner’s corporate headquarters in Gaffney, South Carolina and let loose with a stream of invective that I struggled—successfully, thankfully— to keep clear of expletives.  They agreed this was not according to their corporate policy but stopped short of any suggestion of relief, as Fort Worth Freightliner is an independent franchisee.  However, my conversation next day with the local facility was much different; the $1232 charge for the ineffective part had been removed from the bill.  I’m not sure if Freightliner headquarters had influenced the decision, but I’m grateful for the reversal.

I’ve already droned on in the previous post about the breakdown and what I’m learning about motorhome ownership, so I guess I could best serve the reader by describing my experience with the repair facility and the extended warranty that I purchased along with Phannie.

Fort Worth Freightliner is a very large and very busy place.  It is open 24/7 and, parked on the acres of concrete surrounding the facility at any time, there are more than a hundred vehicles in some stage of repair.  I had asked the wrecker driver to take Phannie to this place for two reasons:  1) Phannie has a Freightliner chassis (kind of a no-brainer), and 2) it was open on the weekend so that the coach could be secured behind a locked gate and monitored by video.  (With $12,000 of new electronics, I didn’t want to leave her parked just anywhere in this urban area.)  When I arrived at the facility with the wrecker, I figured it would be weeks before Phannie could get in line for service, given the huge number of Freightliner trucks parked on the property.  I was surprised to see that only one other motorhome was there—an older Phaeton like Phannie that looked kinda tired. 

I was astonished when the service writer said they could probably start work on Phannie in a couple of days.  I asked him about all the other vehicles that appeared to be ahead of me, and he told me that most of them had already been repaired but were awaiting pickup by their owners or drivers.  Intrigued, I quizzed him further, because I was incredulous that businesses could allow so much rolling stock to sit idle instead of being on the road making money.  The service writer said that I would be surprised how many of the units were not being released due to non-payment of repair bills.  I hadn’t expected that answer, but I guess no business has escaped the bad economy.

Fort Worth Freightliner is a facility that services heavy trucks almost exclusively, as was evidenced by the dearth of motorhomes on their property.  Behind the service desk was a harried service writer, a young man in his mid-twenties who darted in and out of the small area on his side of the stainless steel counter.  Behind him was a starkly bare and well-worn open area with tables against the walls where two computers were set up.  Other unidentified employees, most of whom wore soiled clothing, would wander through here from the shop area, perhaps sitting at the computers for a few minutes or just stopping to chew the rag.  

The distraction of this parade of unkempt personnel and the incessant ringing of the unanswered telephone gave evidence of a facility that was poorly designed, poorly managed and anything but customer-oriented.  I had entered a steel door to the service writer’s office and found myself in a closet-sized alcove across the counter from him.  There were no seats in this tiny space, and I took my turn, standing among several other men who, judging from their attire and conversation, were obviously truck drivers attempting to transact business with the service writer.  To the young man’s credit, he made an obvious effort to be pleasant to those present, although he was clearly overloaded.  This was evidenced by his occasional curtness with the drivers, some of whom were pressing him unmercifully for updates.  And again, there was the constant ringing of the telephone that was hardly ever answered.  The service door opened directly into a large shop area with perhaps 30 service bays, all of which contained Freightliner trucks in various states of disassembly.  Customers had to make their way along the periphery of the shop area to enter and exit the service writer’s office. 

Outside the building, a wide concrete apron extended to the customer parking area, and upon the apron had been placed several picnic tables where drivers and Freightliner technicians tended to congregate for a smoking break while looking out over the parking lot.  I sometimes stopped by to check on Phannie after leaving the office, and I couldn’t help but feel out of place, judging by the stares of these picnic table-denizens as I arrived or departed.  I guess I would have blended in better if I had changed from my business attire into jeans and swapped the Escalade for a pickup.  My point is, this is a facility for trucks; servicing motorhomes is obviously a rarity, and a motorhome owner is considered, well, just another truck driver.  Don’t expect special treatment from this place just because your motorhome is being serviced.   

Another unpleasant surprise came as I attempted to make use of the extended warranty that I purchased at the time I bought Phannie.  It seems Interstate National Dealer Services, the provider, elected to pick up only $96 of the repair after the deductible was applied.  I didn’t fuss too much about this, as I guess I don’t expect much more than a ripoff with these things.  That’s why I almost never opt for an extended warranty on anything I buy but, in the case of something as complex and expensive as a motorhome, I just thought I needed to roll the dice.  I suppose I will just hope for the best from Interstate if something really expensive breaks during the remaining warranty period.  I would be interested in hearing from others who have these kinds of contracts as to which ones perform well for them.

Sorry this was long and rather humorless, but there wasn't much about this experience that made me laugh.  Next weekend should be a hoot; we’re taking a bunch of family and friends to First Monday in Canton.  Look for a post after that, for sure.

At last, back home and put to bed.

Oh, the Humanity!

Okay, perhaps the title of this post is a tad over the top.  My alarm over the indignity suffered by Phannie last week could hardly compare to the anguished phrase famously uttered by WLS reporter Herb Morrison as the Hindenburg burst into flames as it landed in New Jersey in 1937.  Even so, it was indeed painful to see the proud coach towed away ignominiously from the shop where I was having another gauge installed (you know how I hate the idiot lights).  When the installation was done, I fired her up and noted that the dreaded “check engine” light was on, causing me to emit an audible gasp!  For modern vehicles like Phannie, increasingly controlled by computers, this light can strike terror in the heart of the driver, much like the horror of the “blue screen of death” so well known by PC computer users.  I prayed that the fault announced by the light was something relatively innocuous like a filter obstruction or that Phannie was just miffed at having been parked outside all day.  Alas, it was not to be.  Noting that the engine was idling smoothly, I put Phannie in gear, released the brake and pressed on the accelerator.  Nothing.  Pushing the accelerator to the floor failed to advance the rpm at all.  

I  shifted back to neutral, set the brake and turned off the ignition, hoping it was all a bad dream.  Then I cranked it up again, hoping for something different.  No dice; there was the nefarious yellow light, taunting me.  Sure enough, there was no response from the accelerator; nothing had changed.  


The longer I stared at the light, the more I came to realize that the engine computer (which I have now named Hal) had decided to lead a mutiny against me, having determined that I was too stupid to deal with whatever condition was making it uncomfortable.  (While this may be true, I resent Hal's sudden evolution from what I thought was a provider of helpful information to becoming a member of the Gestapo.)  I mean, really!  What did Hal think I was going to do, take out my pistol and fire a slug into the radiator?   

Since it was late afternoon on a Saturday, I knew any attempt I would make to find help on my own would be a challenge, so I turned to my membership in Good Sam Emergency Roadside Assistance to find it for me.  This turned out to be a revelation in just how inept this service could be.  Without going into the maddening details, I suffered eight hours of indifference and incompetence from this dreadful outfit.  A mechanic showed up about 1:00 a.m. on Sunday morning, hooked up a computer to the data port, flashed Hal (I think the pervert liked it) and determined, after consultation with Caterpillar, that Hal's disablement could not be fixed in the field.  


Good Sam could not explain how it could possibly have taken eight hours to get assistance to me, perched in none other than the middle of the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex and surrounded by dozens of road service providers.  I had planned to switch to Coach Net when my Good Sam’s contract runs out in February, and now I wish I had done it earlier.  For years, I had had fairly good service from Good Sam for minor things like locked keys or tire changing, but when it comes to a big rig, I don’t recommend them at all.  I'm now thinking that Good Sam is somehow in collusion with Hal.  It's all very troubling.   

Is this not sad?

As perhaps their last service for me, I had Good Sam arrange for a wrecker at 10:00 a.m. the next day to tow Phannie to the Freightliner facility in Fort Worth.  This, surprisingly, went off without a hitch (pardon the pun) and, as of this post, the problem is still not resolved.  We’re at one week and counting, and we missed an RV trip we were planning to Houston this weekend.

So, what how does this event play into our observations so far from our new relationship with Phannie?  Well, let's see:

We love the ride, comfort and convenience of a diesel pusher.  However, it is a complicated piece of machinery with a myriad of systems that will, inevitably, need repair at times.  When repairs are necessary, they are usually expensive; that's why most owners purchase a maintenance agreement, in case there is a catastrophically expensive repair required at some point.  


Fuel mileage is abysmal; you have to be prepared for breathtaking numbers on diesel fuel pumps and try not to think of how much fuel costs per mile driven.


I really resent the degree to which the manufacturers have dumbed down the engine operation.  They use a computer and idiot lights instead of good ol' gauges to allow the driver to use his intelligence and determine what's going on.  On the other hand, I understand why the manufacturers do it:  They have to build these coaches for the lowest common denominator among the potential owners, and there will always be a few who would have no clue what the gauges could tell them and could indeed damage the engine needlessly.  Even though I know all this, it still ticks me off.  I suppose that is because I spent an entire career operating machines of far greater complexity--turbojet airliners--and I seem to have made the correct operating decisions when things went wrong.  (And this was before the proliferation of computerized systems among modern airliners that you see today.)  My flying career did just fine without Hal, thank you.


We've learned that the handier you are with mechanical things, the less expense you will have in keeping up your rig. Unfortunately, I am not particularly gifted in this area, so my wallet usually takes a hit. 

We’ve also learned that RV repair facilities generally do not operate with the same sense of urgency as those that service automobiles and pickups.  I suppose this is because there is a conception that RV travel is a leisure-time activity and that timeliness is not necessarily a priority.  This has proven true in all the years we owned fifth wheels, and it is certainly true with Phannie.  How do you deal with this if you're in a hurry?  It presents a dilemma when negotiating with RV repair shops:  Do you get better results from being aggressive, demanding and threatening or can you do better with smiling, stroking and charm?  I think that, in most cases, the charm thing works better for me, but I’m not particularly given to polemics anyway.  The bottom line is that most everything you do with an RV is time-consuming and expensive, so it may not be a good fit for folks with double type-A personalities or those with a modest travel budget.


It's really too early to determine the level of dependability of Phannie; I'm still taking a bit personally Hal's treachery (especially galling after all the praise I have lavished upon Phannie in this rag) and I'm still a little worried that Western Freightliner has not yet rendered a diagnosis.  We will be standing by, however, chewing our fingernails, and we'll keep you posted.

Discovering, Uh, Our Home Town

It was all due to a Groupon.  I don’t know how many people use these things, but we just can't resist them.  Half off of stuff is just too good to pass up, so I guess we’re just cheap.  We mostly use the restaurant coupons because we eat out, well, too much.  A few months ago, a Groupon popped up for admission to the Japanese Garden at the Fort Worth Botanical Gardens, so I bought it.  I kept it, downloaded into the iPhone, throughout the summer because the weather was just too hot to enjoy outdoor activities.  Since it turned out to be a beautiful autumn day yesterday, we decided to go take a look.


I am almost embarrassed to admit how long I have lived in this area without visiting the botanical garden complex in Fort Worth, but that seems to be the case regarding quite a number of attractions in the DFW Metroplex.  For some reason, owning an RV seems to have given me the impression that it is necessary to travel somewhere else to enjoy new sights and adventures, so it hasn’t really occurred to me before that I may have missed something in my own back yard!
 
We drove Mae (our toad) to the garden complex off University Drive.  Why?  Well, it’s a matter of miles per gallon.  Phannie gets 7, the Escalade gets 13 and Mae gets 26.  (I told you I’m cheap.)  We were struck by how large an area is occupied by the gardens, and on this Saturday there were many townfolk wandering around the manicured grounds.  There were few parking spots left at the Japanese Garden, as two wedding parties were there holding ceremonies.  We learned from the gate attendant that four weddings were booked on the day of our visit.  It’s easy to see why this is a popular wedding venue:  The place is beautiful!  Sandy and I have always enjoyed the simplicity of Japanese gardens; I know of no others that evoke such a sense of serenity.  I’ve included a few photos to illustrate:

New bride at her photo shoot

My bride, still beautiful after 35 years!

After enjoying the garden, we were (naturally) hungry, so we checked the old iPhone for our Groupon collection and, lo and behold, found Tres Jose's, a fine Mexican restaurant nearby that we had almost forgotten about.  We enjoyed an excellent meal with fajitas, enchiladas and tacos, and after applying the Groupon, the bill was eleven bucks!  (Yes, the Groupon cost a small amount, but we were able to knock $15 off the bill with it. Not bad!)

What a great afternoon!  When we pulled into the driveway later, we noticed Phannie, nosed into her RV port, as though she had been sent to the corner by a schoolteacher.  We felt, oddly, a little guilty.

A Night on the Town...in Phannie?!!

Having only recently transitioned from a fifth wheel to a motorhome, it hadn’t quite occurred to me that this rolling carriage could have a use other than transporting us over long distances to places we want to go when on vacation.  It was Bubba who, in an uncharacteristic frenzy of neuron activity, came up with it.

Sandy and I had been talking about a day trip to Sherman, Texas, a bit less than a hundred miles northeast of Fort Worth, to eat dinner and attend a gospel concert. (Yes, we are fans of some of the groups.)  We mentioned it casually to Bubba and LouAnn, and that’s when Bubba’s pilot light was lit.  He knew his mother and dad were coming to visit that weekend and that he and his family would like to spend some time with them.  They all enjoy gospel music, so why not make it a two-family event, he thought. 

I really didn’t clue in to Bubba’s thought process until he began asking how many passengers Phannie would hold.  I knew that, as an avid RVer himself, he was dying to take a ride in our new coach, and it finally dawned on me that he was trying to conjure up a road trip for all of us in Phannie!

The more I thought about it, the more the idea appealed to me, and Sandy thought it would be fun, too.  So, we ordered concert tickets for everyone and settled on a departure time. 

Shortly after two o’clock, I fired up Phannie’s engine and backed her slowly out of the RV port attached to our house, up the driveway and into the street, curbside.  Now it is worthwhile to explain that the departure and arrival of this leviathan is not something that goes unnoticed in our neighborhood. The houses are built fairly close together, and the rumble of the big Caterpillar diesel engine can be felt as much as heard in the houses adjacent to ours.  This usually results in the appearance of an impromptu gathering of observers, perhaps out of curiosity to a degree, but more likely in anticipation of some calamity as I carefully negotiate the very tight 90-degree turn onto the street.  I don’t like to think of my neighbors as bloodthirsty, but why else would a NASCAR race be so popular if there weren’t some anticipation among the fans that a horrific crash could occur at any moment? 

When we built our house, it was designed to accommodate the storage of our fifth wheel under the RV port.  We hadn’t anticipated trading up to a class A motorhome, so the navigation of Phannie into and out of the driveway is fraught with hazards like rocks, trees, shrubbery and mailboxes—not just ours, but our neighbor’s across the street as well.  It takes very precise maneuvering to avoid these hazards, and I can truthfully say that if we had acquired a motorhome even one foot longer, it would have to be parked elsewhere. 

Phannie's Snug Quarters at Home

On this day, my neighbors would be disappointed; I got the geometry right, and Phannie settled obediently at the curb with no mayhem involved.

Sandy, as is her custom, joined me in the cockpit once the demolition derby was over, and we motored over to Bubba and LouAnn’s house, which is located in a rather hoity-toity neighborhood, and whose homeowners’ association enforces a ban on RV parking longer than 24 hours.  As we rumbled through the streets toward Bubba’s house, it was clear that the residents were unaccustomed to having their peaceful and manicured surroundings invaded by such a monstrosity as Phannie.  People working in their yards dropped their tools, and I’m pretty sure I saw one guy pick up a rope and make a noose with it.  Bubba’s house is situated on a corner lot, and I had to park in a configuration on the street that made it difficult for cars to squeeze through.  Although traffic is almost nonexistent in this neighborhood, this would be the day that several cars came along, and some of the drivers vented their frustration by honking their horns at the notion of having to drive carefully for 40 feet as they navigated past Phannie.  It is not clear what they expected the horn-blowing to accomplish, as the driverless Phannie paid little attention to the noise and certainly made no effort to move.  Although I could not read the lips of the drivers, I could tell from their animation that I was not particularly high up on their dance card. People have such short fuses these days!

In short order, everyone piled into the coach, with LouAnn providing beverages in a cooler and trays of snacks for the road.  Everyone oohed and aahed appropriately over Phannie and then settled in for the trip.  

The Barkers Check out Phannie:  Barry, LouAnn, (Sandy), Breann, Algene and Baby Carter  Duniven

The Old Captain Awaiting a Snack

I must say, it was a great deal of fun for our group to be together in roomy and comfortable surroundings as we cruised smoothly and silently toward our destination.  Being served our drinks and snacks up in the cockpit reminded Bubba and me of our former careers as airline pilots, when a flight attendant would appear on every leg to bring us food or drink.  We both agreed that the flight attendants of yesteryear were somewhat more cooperative than our wives, who, oddly enough, were not inclined to pay us the same deference as that to which we were accustomed as airline captains.  For example, we never once heard a flight attendant tell us to “get up and get it yourself” as we did on this trip.  While Bubba didn’t have much of an excuse to stay in his seat, I finally convinced the ladies that, in order for me to get up out of my seat, I would have to leave the steering wheel unattended at 60 miles per hour.  When this tidbit of information was finally processed, they reluctantly brought me my snack. (They brought Bubba's too, but only because he was wearing an arm sling after recent shoulder surgery.)  Tough bunch of stewardesses, these gals.

Fortunately, we had not consumed enough goodies to shrink from eating a fine catfish dinner at Huck’s in Denison, Texas, just north of Sherman.  This legendary catfish joint was almost full of patrons, even though we arrived before 5:00 p.m.

My Plate at Huck's (I'm so ashamed.)

Bubba and Catfish (Not sure which is which.)

Barry and Sandy Make Out at Huck's (She's so fickle!)

Algene and LouAnn Boarding at Huck's 

Upon our arrival at the concert hall in downtown Sherman, Phannie made such an impressive entrance that the parking attendants directed us to a VIP parking spot.  Do you suppose they thought we were one of the groups to perform that evening?  Maybe, but we didn’t say anything and kept our spot all evening.

The gospel group we had come to see was Ernie Haase andSignature Sound.  If you like gospel music and haven’t seen these guys, you are missing a treat. 

After the concert, we cruised back home, driving Phannie for the first time at night.  This proved to be a beneficial exercise, because I had not previously figured out all of the lighting controls on the coach.  By the time we rolled in the driveway, I was an expert.

Bubba, of course, was smitten with Phannie…bigtime.  My guess is that he will make the leap to a motorhome as soon as LouAnn lets him.

Things We Do Between Trips: Hatch Chiles and Hot Stuff

This will appeal to all you lovers of spicy foods.  I am a true pepperhead but, unfortunately, Sandy is not so much.  Often when I cook spicy stuff, I make separate batches--one for me and one for normal people.  


As the legendary Hatch chile harvest is in full swing, our local Albertson's had received several cases of Hatch chiles and was selling them by the case for $19.99.  I couldn't resist.  Snagging a case, I proclaimed to Sandy that I would roast these suckers and freeze them, and we would have Hatch chiles all winter.  She was a bit muted in her enthusiasm, but she smiled sweetly anyway.


Once home with my prize and an afternoon to waste, I fired up the gas grill and my Traeger smoker and loaded up both with the Hatch chiles.

Traeger Smoker

Hatch Chiles on the Gas Grill

Now I should take this opportunity to tell you that, while I have roasted these peppers before on the gas grill, I had not previously tried to roast them on the Traeger, so this was, in fact, an experiment.  For those of you who are not familiar with Traeger grills, you can only hope that Santa brings you one this Christmas.  If there is a better or easier way to do outdoor BBQ, I can't imagine what it would be.  You just put wood pellets in the hopper and turn on the switch, setting the desired temperature.  The Traeger does everything else, from lighting the fire to feeding itself the wood pellets, keeping the cooking temperature you have selected.  Amazing!  (I told you I love gadgets!)

Traeger "Lil Tex" Smoker

Wood Pellet Hopper and Temperature Control

So why do I still have the gas (well, it's really propane) grill since I'm so ga-ga over the Traeger?  Well, if you're looking for the kind of direct heat that will develop a sear, char or crust on something, the Traeger is not very good at that.  So, what's better than one BBQ cooker gadget?  Well, two of course!


All went well with roasting the peppers on the gas grill, but not so much with the Traeger.  The problem was that the Traeger cooked the peppers without charring the outside (see above).  This is the opposite of what was desired--a char on the outside to loosen the skin, but with the flesh of the pepper left somewhat undercooked underneath.  Because of this, the peppers roasted in the Traeger were more difficult to peel and were skimpier after peeling.

Charring Desired When Roasting Complete on the Gas Grill

Skinning and Seeding the Cooked Peppers

The Final Product After Roasting, Peeling and Seeding

Chopping the Cooked Peppers in Food Processor

After roasting, peeling, seeding and chopping the peppers, it was time to prepare them for freezing in small portions.  First, we chopped them slightly in the food processor, then Sandy suggested that we freeze them in muffin tins and afterward place the frozen chile "muffins" in a freezer bag.  That sounded good to me, so that's what we did.  When we ran out of muffin tins, we froze the last few in foil cupcake papers placed on a cookie sheet.  We discovered this was the best way to go, as the cupcake papers were definitely easier to remove after freezing.

Chiles in Muffin Tins for Freezing

Well, that's about it for this chile adventure.  One note of caution:  We learned the hard way to use latex gloves when doing the peeling and seeding.  We didn't this time, and we regretted it.  Duh!


So, what will we be cooking with all these peppers?  Well, we'll be sharing some recipes with you as we go along.  And, of course, we'll be giving some to friends, as well.  


That's enough for now; I need to find something cold to drink!

More Gadgets

Okay, I admit it.  I love gadgets. My earliest recollection of this addiction is from 1968, when I purchased from an office supply store a new digital electronic calculator.  It was probably the first one sold in Nacogdoches, Texas, the small town where I grew up, but I had to have it.  It cost me $175, which was something like $400 in today's money.  Mind you, it had only the basic four arithmetic functions and no battery or printing capability, but it was so much cooler than the old "adding machines" with all the clunky moving parts and which couldn't multiply or divide.  I remember being mesmerized by watching the little LEDs instantly displaying the result of the most fiendish calculation I could come up with.


Things haven't changed much.  You can tell from reading this rag that I am still a soft touch for techie stuff.  Phannie, for example, has a newer, techier, entertainment system and a newer, techier, mattress than we have in our house!   


Fortunately, I have had the means to support this addiction over the years. I'm not sure what our family may have been deprived of if I hadn't been able to support them and the habit at the same time.  Perhaps another saving grace may be the fact that nowadays, I don't always buy new gadgets when they first come out.  I suppose the calculator ripoff in 1968 was indeed a teachable moment for me.  Such was the case when I switched to Apple computers, HD television and Blu-Ray DVDs.  These had all been on the market for a while when I jumped in.  Such is the case with my latest gadget, a Logitech Harmony 700 universal remote for the entertainment system in our house.  


It's not clear why I put up with using three remotes to control our TV, our A/V receiver and our DVD player for three years, but I did until one of the remotes went on the fritz the other day.  A friend had recommended a Logitech universal remote to bring peace and harmony to our entertainment system, and that's all the encouragement I needed.  I hopped right down to a nearby Target store and apprehended the Harmony 700 model for 120 bucks.  A little pricey, you say?  Well, I thought so, too, but my friend was insistent that this was what I needed.  And why the top of the line 700 model?  Well, it has a little video screen so that the remote can communicate with you...a techie feature that definitely pushes the buttons of us addicts! 


What's neat about this remote is that it is programmable via the web.  You just attach it to your computer using the included USB cable and log into Logitech's site.  You supply the makes and models of the TV/audio equipment you're going to control, and Logitech downloads to your remote all the drivers needed.  Simple, but effective.  After one false start (I had a hard time finding the model number of the DirecTV DVR and entered the wrong one), the new remote worked perfectly.  Now it's one remote for everything and the old ones are in a drawer.  Oh, by the way, the batteries in the remote are rechargeable.


Phannie?  Oh, yes, she will undoubtedly need one of these things for her system.

Logitech Harmony 700 Remote

Into the World of Apple

I resisted as long as I could. Having lived and worked in a Microsoft-based computer environment ever since MS-DOS was invented, I knew Windows like an old friend, having upgraded and upgraded until I reached Windows 7. That one was my Waterloo!  My attempts to step up from Windows Vista carried me into strange new worlds where even tech support could not go. I finally gave up, disgusted, and returned the software upgrade. Then I unceremoniously tossed the offending old HP laptop onto the computer junk heap in my storage shed.  (I'm still not sure what to do with those old relics.)


I had become aware of the Apple iMac computer from our friendship with Gordon and Juanita that began a few years ago.  Gordon is a rabid Apple user, and it was plain to see that his new iMac was a very different animal and super advanced over my PC.  The massive, brilliantly clear screen is a marvel, but no more so than the absence of clunky parts:  The screen IS the computer, and that's all there is to it, except for the small but sleek wireless keyboard.  The gorgeous graphics and the speedy processor, combined with a high-quality, modern minimalist design--the comparison with my PC was...well, there was no comparison.  


The worst part, however, was my perception that Apple aficionados like Gordon secretly sneer at pathetic, unwashed PC users (like me) who they probably think really need to be euthanized after their old steam-powered computers are confiscated and smashed to bits.  Mind you, Gordon, who can be impish at times, has never exhibited such a mindset for a moment, but I'll bet he can't help being a little smug from time to time.  Other Appleheads I know don't even try to hide their disdain for lower life forms with PCs.  They make me feel like I've pulled up to the Waldorf Astoria in a 1951 Crosley.  (How many of you remember those?)  

Now, back to the present:  I knew I needed to replace Sandy's desktop PC and my laptop, both of which had serious issues that could only be solved by Divine intervention.  However, I was very reluctant to abandon my familiar Windows PC and learn a whole new computer and operating system.  (News flash for other seniors:  As you get older, stepping out of your comfort zone becomes less and less appealing.  At this point for me, it's about on a par with constipation.)


For me, the tipping point was my recent purchase of an iPhone, whose capabilities are so mind-boggling that I have the urge to burn incense when I hook it up to its charger.  I knew the other Apple hardware had to reflect the same genius, so off I went to the Apple store.


Upon arriving, the first thing I discovered was that Apple thinks very highly of their stuff.  What I paid for a new iMac and Macbook Pro would probably get a post office named for me if I donated it to a crooked politician.  (Sorry; crooked and politician are redundant.)


Fortunately, the transition has been much less of a hurdle than I imagined, and Apple lets you take all the familiarization classes you want for free.  So, just for you inquiring minds, here are my thoughts   as a new Apple user:  


Ease of use:  Like falling off a log; just plug it in and turn it on.  Many clunky Windows-like tasks are automated with Apple, so it seems much more intuitive.  However, figuring out the file manager ("Finder," they call it) and customizing menus, toolbars and screen icons have proved to be a bit of a challenge.  I'm sure it would be much less of a problem had I not grown up with the PC.


Virus protection:  This doesn't seem to be an issue with Apple.  It is surreal not to have to do constant battle against viruses and hackers, but I still remain vigilant.


Quality and design:  These, along with superior software and uncountable applications, seem way ahead of the PC.  We would certainly never go back.


Since my old AT&T wireless card wouldn't work with the new MacBook, I replaced it with a new AT&T MiFi modem.  This is the coolest little device, smaller than a deck of cards, that creates a wi-fi hotspot from cell phone signals wherever you happen to be.  It has a rechargeable battery, so it is completely portable.  Works like a charm.  What will they think of next?

My New iPhone, MiFi and MacBook

Sandy's iMac

In closing, let me assure you that I will never be condescending toward users of those "other" computers.  Perhaps you'll forgive me if don't make eye contact, though.  (grin) 

Water Droplets Falling From The Sky...What Is It?

Oh wait, now I remember...it's rain!  I can forget a lot in two months, and that's how long it's been since any of it fell here.  And, I might add that it hasn't been particularly helpful to read the blogs of you folks who are writing about your adventures in picturesque places while enjoying near-perfect weather.  


Oh, yes, the majority of you are blissfully unaware that your photos of mountain scenery and your reports of "chilly" mornings cause my brow to wrinkle and my eyes to narrow while I read.  You are forgiven.  But there are a few out there who know me and delight in posting about their idyllic settings entirely too often, seemingly just to needle me.  I know who you are, and I will get even.  (grin)


Then why do I keep reading, you may ask?  Well, it's sort of like watching Sandy parallel park; I know nothing good will come of it, but I feel compelled to watch the carnage anyway.


One thing this summer in Texas has instilled in my mind is that I'm going to try my best to be elsewhere when the next one comes along, so I can taunt with my blog the other poor slobs who can't escape.  


RANT WARNING:  And just for the record, I don't attribute any of this weather to global warming, which I think would be a laughable hoax if it were not for the thievery its proponents are exacting from us in the name of saving the planet.  The crowd promoting this lunacy seems mostly represented by smelly young indolent and vacuous malcontents with too many pierced appendages, influenced by too many Marxists in academia and courted by guileless politicians who need their votes to ensure further perpetuation of the nanny state.  They seem conveniently to forget that it was only a few decades ago that the big worry was that a new ice age was coming!  I don't deny that climate changes occur over the millennia, mostly due to natural effects, and I don't doubt that man's activity may affect localized conditions to a degree, but I would not be so full of hubris as to espouse the notion that we mere mortals could actually thwart with a few smokestacks the power and perfection of what our Creator waved into existence.  Give me a break.

Bathroom Checks Out Okay

It had to happen.  In six years of RV travel, we have been fortunate in avoiding a debilitating illness that would disrupt our plans.  Until now.  On our planned day of departure from OKC, I awoke with terrible stomach cramps and began the series of, uh, rituals that are generally associated with gastric distress.  After thinking back over the previous day's food ingestion, it seems likely that I picked up a bug from a real dive featured in a segment of Food TV's Diners, Drive-Ins and Dives.  There were a couple of items I ate that Sandy didn't, and we suspect one of those was the culprit. 


Anyhow, I was in no condition to drive, so we advised the park that we would be staying an extra day.  Although I felt quite weak the next morning, I decided to drive Phannie home, and the trip was completely uneventful, thankfully.


At one point, Sandy sweetly offered to drive, but she quickly withdrew that suggestion, perhaps upon noticing all the color drain from my already pale face.  Now, my dear Sandy has many gifts and talents, but dealing with machinery, especially vehicles, is not one of them.  She will be the first to admit that she hates driving and has no sense of direction, and I'm pretty sure she has avoided a significant accident this long because of the many prayers that go up when people find out she is driving somewhere.


Garages are particularly challenging for her, and it should be noted that she has managed to collide with a center post, a side post, a freezer (twice), and she has even collided with a vehicle I was driving!  Some time ago, she called my office in a panic because, in attempting to back out of the garage in our Suburban, she had struck the right side of the garage door frame and tore the tail light assembly off the car.  When I arrived at home and raised the garage door, I found the Suburban parked sideways in the garage, a configuration she somehow attained while trying to maneuver farther away from the side of the garage.  After sitting immobile in my car for some time, staring at the image before me, I finally strode over to the Suburban and extricated it from its position.  Sandy appeared at the door about that time, visibly miffed--not because of damaging the car, but because she had missed her hair appointment.  She quickly called her hairdresser and explained what had happened, to which the hairdresser replied, "Oh, this is not good, girl; you need to find a way to make it your husband's fault!  That wasn't difficult at all, as I heard Sandy say back to her, "Well, it WAS his fault; he parked too close to the wall!"  


You may now have discerned that it is not entirely necessary to feel sorry for Sandy as I relate her escapades in this blog.  She gives as good as she gets, and I get away with less than you think.


Perhaps now it is clear why it might not be the best idea to put Sandy behind the wheel of a 40-foot, 32,000-lb. motor home.   The things that could happen in such a circumstance are limited only by one's imagination.


We had only one other hiccup while we were in OKC.  At one point, we lost power to all the AC plugs, and when I attempted to reset the circuit breaker in the coach, I found none of them tripped.  An RV tech happened to be in the park that day and showed me where to reset the inverter circuit breaker in the battery bay.  I guess the PDI was not as decent as I thought when we picked up Phannie.


How did Sandy occupy her time when I was attending training classes?  Well, she has some favorite TV shows, and she's reading Laura Bush's memoir.  She also likes to keep up with friends and family with e-mail and Facebook. 

Sandy checks Facebook

So this closes out the shakedown cruise.  We got to know Phannie a good deal better, and we think we're going to be great friends.    

In OKC

The 220 miles to OKC were smooth, comfortable and uneventful, but the temperature outside proved to be even hotter than in Texas!  Much to my delight, Tiffin installed a high-volume dash a/c on the Phaeton, and we didn't have to augment with roof air until the last hour or so of the trip.  If it hadn't been so miserably hot, we probably wouldn't have needed the extra boost.


We pulled into the Twin Fountains RV Park, recommended by Ed and Marilyn, and got a nice level pull-through spot with good satellite TV reception.  Then we went about getting things organized in Phannie, moving our stuff around as we found the right place for the household items we use.

Twin Fountains Office

Nice clean park with level paved site

While Sandy was taking care of "pink" things inside (where it was cool), I did the "blue" things outside, breathing only as absolutely necessary so as to not parch the inside of my lungs in the oven-like atmosphere.  Yes, I suppose I am a little spoiled due to my almost total existence within air conditioned surroundings, but I don't care.  When autumn weather gets here, I think about breathing again.


One of the recurring themes in changing to a motorhome from a fifth wheel has been to reduce the physical demands of RV travel.  To that end, I added a purely "blue" accessory:  A motorized rollup reel for the electrical shore power cord.  This thing is so handy!  No need now to crouch on bad knees and roll up the heavy cord on the spindle provided by Tiffin inside one of the cargo bays.  Just press the switch on the electric motor and the cord rolls up quickly with no exertion.

We discovered a burned-out halogen light bulb in the bedroom, and I was then able to initialize my plan to replace all of these halogen bulbs with LED lights as the halogens burn out, one by one.  I had a spare LED, and voila!  Brighter light with none of the heat put out by the halogen bulb--another great example of modern technology improving our lives.  These LEDs will far outlast the life of this coach, and they will use much less electricity while providing better lighting.  The only problem is that they are currently about six or seven times more expensive than the halogens.  Thankfully, I won't have to replace them all at once.

Halogen Lights

Burned-out halogen bulb

New LED bulb

We had some good Thai food for dinner and relaxed in Phannie's new recliners while we watched TV before turning in.  By the way, we love the great new I Comfort mattress.  The first day of the shakedown cruise comes to and end as a success!

Shakedown Cruise: Departing for OKC

As much as we hate to do road trips in Texas (or anywhere in the South, for that matter) when the weather is so miserably hot, the three-day FAA training session at the academy in Oklahoma City seemed a good opportunity to launch the dynamic duo of Phannie and Mae and see exactly what our efforts--and cash--had brought us.  


True, we had driven Phannie and Mae home from Nacogdoches when we completed the purchase, but that didn't count, because we really didn't know what we were doing.  Even though we had had a test drive and a pretty decent PDI, driving Phannie solo was much like trying to fly a new airplane without reading the operating manual and making only one flight around the airport traffic pattern.  I felt pretty uncomfortable fumbling for the myriad of switches and controls; at one point, I accidentally hit the air horn and startled the heck out of both of us.


Once home, I pored over the owner's manuals (there are many of them--for the coach, the chassis, the engine, the transmission, the entertainment systems, the appliances, etc., etc.), and slowly I began to be more comfortable with my knowledge of the systems and operating limitations.  Following that, I drove Phannie to the local Allison transmission and Caterpillar engine shops for some tweaking.  (Warning:  Techno-speak ahead; if you're not into that, you might want to skip the rest of this paragraph and a couple that follow it.)  I had the transmission downshift reprogrammed to fifth gear instead of second gear when the engine exhaust brake is engaged.  The automatic downshift to such a low gear seemed entirely too radical for my liking and caused the engine to speed up over 2500 RPM unnecessarily.  The tamer downshift to fifth gear is much more reasonable and, if I need a lower gear, I'll simply select it myself.


At the Cat shop, I had the technicians set the engine computer to soft cruise and latch mode.  Soft cruise allows a gentler automatic throttle control when in cruise, making for smoother speed and power changes when going uphill and downhill.  Latch mode causes the engine exhaust brake, if selected on, to actuate any time the throttle is closed above a certain speed and to disengage whenever the throttle or braking is applied, adding a desirable degree of automation to exhaust brake usage.  After this, I asked the Cat technicians to do a computer download for me, and I learned that that was the first time a download had been done on this engine.  There was a lot of information on the printout, and I was careful to include it in the maintenance record after studying it for a while.  I was happy to learn that the previous owner seems to have taken good care of the engine, as everything looked perfectly normal.  By the way, I learned about these adjustments from reading the Tiffin and Caterpillar forums, and I'm very pleased how useful the information was.  Phannie is now a smooth driving machine with excellent manners and easy power control.


In preparation for the OKC trip, I did my usual check of fluids and filters, washed the windshield and checked the tire pressures.  I made good use of the heavy duty truck tire inflator/guage that I had purchased earlier.  It's the kind that has a forward/backward valve necessary for dual wheel installations.  Fortunately, I already had a 150 psi air compressor, which now couldn't be considered overkill. (End of technospeak.)


Next came the checklists, which I fashioned from note cards and taped to the left driver's console.  If I learned anything from thirty years of flying, it was that checklists are indispensable as a means of self-preservation; those pesky airplane crashes usually don't turn out well.  And, since all sorts of ugly things can happen if a motorhome launches without ensuring all its appendages are tucked in and its systems ready to go, it would be foolish not to use a checklist.  The thought of Phannie's expensive satellite antenna being left up and getting taken out by a tree limb sends chills up my spine and down into my pocketbook.  So, I use a checklist for loading the coach, a pre-driveoff checklist and a checklist for using the leveling system, which is not particularly user friendly.

Homemade Checklist Added

With all the pre-departure stuff done, I backed Phannie with great care out of her snug RV berth and parked at the curb to hook up Mae.  Having previously only observed the dealer's employee hooking up the Blue Ox towbar between Phannie and Mae, I was a little uneasy about performing the process myself, a task that must be done correctly if I indeed want Mae to arrive at the same destination as Phannie.  So, what do you do if you need a quick primer on something?  Bring up YouTube on your computer, of course!  A quick search on "Blue Ox" brought a very informative demonstration video that lasted about five minutes.  Perfect!  Armed with this refresher, I nudged Mae up to the towbars behind Phannie and, in a few minutes, everything was connected and the lights tested, just like on the video.  Is there anything you can't find on the Internet?  What a great time to be alive for information junkies like me!

All Hooked Up!

Next came the final chore before departure:  Making sure Phannie was suitably cool and comfortable when the lady of the manor herself, the lovely and gracious Sandy, made her way out to Phannie and ascended the stairwell to her oh, so comfortable throne--the luxuriously soft leather Flexsteel power recliner that is the copilot's seat.  Knowing that Sandy recoils from summer heat like a vampire from a crucifix, I cranked up Phannie's diesel generator and turned on all three air conditioners to the coldest setting to precool the rig.  It didn't take long for the coach to cool down to a temperature which you would expect in, say, Anchorage.


In due time, when Sandy finished all of her own little rituals in the house, like triple-checking each door lock and closing the shutters, she strode out to what was now about fifty feet of connected rolling stock and climbed aboard.  Feeling the cool air rushing down the stairwell brought a smile, and when she kicked back in the recliner with an iced tea in her hand, I'm pretty sure I heard a contented purr.  Life is good, and we're off to OKC!