The Big Ds.

“Does that thing look washed to you?” I asked Harry as we followed Casey to his house. Casey was driving The Rig and we followed in the Dogmobile.

“Well, it doesn’t look particularly clean,” observed Harry. “But it doesn’t look like anyone’s driven it down a gravel road lately.”

My shiny hopes and bright ideas dimmed more and more as the evening wore on. The first thing Casey did was climb up on top of the RV with the new shroud I’d brought from Leach Camper Sales. Harry and I stood inside the rig, looking around, as it pitched back and forth from Casey’s energetic efforts to install the cover over the air conditioner.

Finally, I climbed the ladder myself to see how things were progressing. I found Casey, a perplexed look on his face, attempting to fit a shroud that looked to be a good two inches too short and an inch too wide over the air conditioner.

“I’m afraid this just isn’t going to work,” he said, giving me an apologetic smile. “I’m not sure how to rig it, either.”

He climbed back down, and we talked for a while. The conversation condensed down to this: it looks like tomorrow morning, instead of packing the RV and getting ready to leave, I’ll be taking The Rig over to Leach Camper Sales to see if they have the correct cover in stock, and then I’ll be installing it.

And then, I’ll be cleaning The Rig.

Anyone who knows me knows I’m not a stickler for squeaky clean. I mean, I like things tidy, but I’m not a white glove cleaner unless company’s coming. But I guess when I saw a rental agreement that said there’d be a $50 cleaning fee if The Rig didn’t come back clean, I had a different idea of what “clean” was than Casey appears to. I’d say that the carpet under the table and under the hideabed sofa hasn’t seen a vacuum cleaner for a very long time. Which wouldn’t really bother me if I weren’t bringing along a nosy terrier who can get into most small spaces and who likes to investigate nooks and crannies. And who loves to snack on things he shouldn’t. Who knows what’s in that treasure trove of trash I glimpsed as Casey demonstrated how the sofabed opens? I don’t want Tim finding out.

And the disappointment didn’t stop there. I lost count of how many times Casey told me something had to be done “just right” or it wouldn’t work. The air conditioner has to be switched on with a paper clip. He wouldn’t advise using the furnace; instead, if I thought it would be cold, I should just bring a space heater. The propane tank was less than a quarter full; which would be fine unless I wanted to use the stove or the water heater.

We came to an arrangement on the cleanliness of The Rig, though. Casey offered to pay me $100 if I brought it back sparkly clean. Which I intend to make it before I hit the road.

By the time we headed back to Lincoln, the sun was setting. I followed Harry so I wouldn’t have to think about where I was. I couldn’t even figure out how to adjust the mirrors, so the drive home in the dark was a bit unsettling at times, but I began to get used to the feel of The Rig. It has 55,000 miles on it - not bad. It was a bit bouncy, but it didn’t rattle a lot - even with the few things Casey had thrown in the cupboards, and the vacuum cleaner full of dirt that rolled back and forth in the cabinet.

The way I had things figured as far as sleeping arrangements isn’t going to work, but I’m starting to figure out ways to make it work.

When I started this entry, I was in the dark dreaded grasp of the dismal Ds - disappointment, disillusion and depression. Just the act of telling you about it has helped, though.

Tomorrow will dawn, a new day. And so will my attitude.

I hope.