Returning Back To Texas Again

Northside RV Park, 2/14/21 

Hello, from the frozen tundra of Waxahachie, Texas.  Here we are on stop number eight of the Tara’s Travel Nursing National Tour.  We’re back in the Lone Star State, where right now (Sunday, 2/14/21 -- Happy Valentine’s Day!) it’s 10 degrees, it’s windy -- don’t get me started on the “feels like” temperature; that’s one of my pet peeves -- and there’s snow and ice on the ground. By tomorrow night, we might be completely out of degrees, as the low could be near 0.  The coldest temperature I ever remember in Texas was 12/24-25/83 when it got down to 5.  What makes it even more unusual is the fact that the cold temperatures aren’t just here for a couple days.  It dipped well below freezing on Friday and won’t be back above it until this coming Friday.

It’s difficult enough trying to endure this weather in a motorhome, but being in Texas makes it more difficult. Our RV park has shut off the water completely.  We’ve been through this before, in Champaign, Illinois, but it’s expected there, and they were able to keep the water on in the public restrooms/showers, and they had a spigot where we could fill water jugs.  Here, we can use my parents’ house or Planet Fitness for showers, and Tara can shower at the hospital on days she works...at least when the roads aren’t icy.  We might start to get a little ripe in a few days.  And yes, we can use our toilets.  We have jugs of water we use to rinse them.  (I’m sure those were unnecessary details, but I know you were wondering.)  Like most RV’s, we have a fresh-water tank, but it’s even too cold to use that.

Parkland Memorial Hospital, Dallas

Tara is once again tending to Covid patients most of the time.  Her current stint is at Dallas’ Parkland Hospital.  While her patients are generally pretty sick, she doesn’t always get the worst of the worst, as has been the case in other places.   She’s had both doses of the vaccine, with minimal side-effects, but we’ve just about come to the conclusion that we’re both immune.  We had a small family get-together for my dad’s 90th birthday in late November.  After showing Covid symptoms, he ended up in the ER with a positive test.  Thankfully, they didn’t keep him, and he was fine after a few days.  Even though Tara and I had spent a lot of time in close contact (before the positive test, of course), miraculously, neither of us tested positive.  Interesting side note: we both have type O blood.

Ellis Co. Courthouse, Waxahachie

For those of you not from Texas, Waxahachie is pronounced (WOKS-a-HAT-chee).  It’s a town of almost 40,000, located about 25 minutes south of downtown Dallas.  Every day that she works, I drive Tara to and from Parkland -- about a 52-mile round trip.  We’ve decided that we won’t have a commute that long anymore.  Not only does it mean a lot of time on I-35E -- many Dallas drivers are apparently insane, FYI -- but it also puts a ton of miles on our Ford Fusion Hybrid.  (A less interesting side note: you don’t see a lot of hybrids in RV parks.  But we have Oregon plates, so we feel obligated to perpetuate the stereotype.)

Tara’s contract, which was supposed to end on February 12th, was extended through March 5th, so it’s almost time to decide where we’re headed next.  There’s a reasonable chance she’ll stay at Parkland for a while longer, or we could be headed east to Georgia, North Carolina, or a locale between here and there.  Wherever it is, I hope it’s someplace warmer than Texas.

 

Sunshine State of Mind

    

    Greetings from The “Sunshine” State!  “Sunshine” is in quotation marks because we’ve been here over four weeks now and there have only been three or four days in which we didn’t get any rain.  It’s Florida, I know.  Prior to us coming to Gainesville, I’d spent a total of about 20 days of my life in Florida, and there was a total of maybe one day in which there wasn’t at least a little bit of rain.  Most of the time it was just a quick afternoon shower, and for the most part, that’s the way it is now.  But calling it The Sunshine State is a bit of a misnomer; although, I guess it is sunny when it’s not raining (or dark).  Ya know, like pretty much everywhere.  Fun fact: rain hitting the roof of your motorhome is quite a bit louder than when it hits the roof of your house.

    As they say, it’s not the heat, it’s the humanity.  (Yes, I’m still complaining about the weather. Spend a couple decades worth of summers in Oregon (when it’s not on fire) and you’ll understand why.)  I thought the humidity in Texas was bad.  Then we got to Florida.  It’s fine as long as you sit still.   

    In case you lost track, or interest, we were in Waco before coming to Florida.  When you’re a travel nurse like Tara, you don’t get a paid vacation, but you can take some “vacation” time by taking some time between gigs.  She took a week off and we spent a few days in Irving celebrating my brother Allen’s 50th birthday, then headed to Georgia where we spent some time in Augusta with Tara’s side of the family and two of our three kids.  I even got to play golf at Augusta!  Not at THAT course, obviously, but at a different course outside town.  Because we had to drive through Statesboro, Georgia, to get from Augusta to Gainesville, Elizabeth decided to ride with us in the motorhome, and we stopped and saw the house that she and fiance Bryce just bought.

    This is starting to sound like a family Christmas letter.

    As you can tell, our latest move was pretty uneventful.  There was nothing harrowing or funny that happened, the pets haven’t done anything memorable (if you don’t count the two times one of the cats barfed on the sheets two days after I changed them), and things have been pretty routine since we got to our RV park in Reddick, about 20 miles south of Gainesville and 20 miles north of Ocala.  There’s plenty to do here in Florida, as you may have heard.  We’ve been to the beach on both coasts, much preferring St. Augustine Beach and the bigger waves the Atlantic has to offer over Clearwater on the Gulf of Mexico (see photo above), and we visited one of the many springs in the area.  (See alligator photo, which I took at Silver Springs.)  I think there are also some theme parks or something down in Orlando, but we haven’t ventured that direction yet.

    Even though not every business has completely reopened, the state of Florida has, thanks to the complete eradication of COVID-19!  Speaking of, for the second time in a row, Tara is not working with COVID patients.  She enjoyed a much needed break from it in Waco, and that continues, for the most part, here in Gainesville.  (She does have COVID patients from time to time, but their condition isn’t as dire as those she had in the past.)

    We still have about four weeks left in Gainesville, probably leaving here on or around November 5th.  We may be headed back to Texas, but we won’t know for at least a couple weeks.  Having lived in all four time zones before Tara and I even met, Eastern Time has always been, by far, my least favorite, especially during football season.  On the west coast you get up on weekends and watch football first thing in the morning.  In the East, though, you have to wait until noon on Saturdays and 1:00 on Sundays.  And don’t get me started on those late Monday Night Football games.  First-world problems, I know.

 

Texas, Part II

Well, after a short stay in San Antonio, here we are in Waco, the latest stop on the Tara Travel Nurse Tour. But at least we’re not in New Jersey anymore. I should probably back up, since the last time I blogged we had just arrived in Jersey.

We were supposed to spend 13 weeks in Lakewood (Ocean County), New Jersey. Instead, we spent eight weeks there. And actually it wasn’t that bad -- my opinion, not Tara’s. The temperature was a little cooler, and after our first trip to the shore, I couldn’t wait to go back. (In some coastal states you go to the “beach” or the “coast”; in New Jersey you go to the “shore”.) Unfortunately, we didn’t have a chance to return to the shore, because Tara’s contract was again cut short. This was the second time in a row that happened. In Champaign, Illinois, when COVID-19 was ramping up, the vein and vascular clinic where Tara was employed had a decrease in patients -- many of whom were having elective procedures -- and, therefore, had to cut some nurses’ hours.

In New Jersey, her contract was cancelled for the opposite reason. Thanks in part to masks being required in all public places and the state’s slow reopening, Coronavirus numbers decreased, so Tara’s contract, along with those of many other travel nurses, was cut short again.

Something we were disappointed about not being able to do while in Jersey was taking a day trip(s) to New York to see the sights. It was pretty closed up while we were there, but we did go up one day and just drove through the streets of Manhattan. I expected that to be pretty daunting, but it actually wasn’t bad at all. I didn’t get honked at a single time! When researching driving in Manhattan, I found two key pieces of information, one of which was surprising, one of which was not. 1) When the light turns green, go! You will get honked at if you don’t. I made sure I was ready for the green light every time, especially since our Oregon license plates made us look like tourists, I’m sure. 2) No right turn on red in Manhattan. I would imagine that was to protect the pedestrians.

For a couple of reasons, we were hoping to go to Texas after New Jersey, so, we headed to Tara’s next gig in San Antonio. One thing San Antonio has that New Jersey seems to be lacking (besides the Alamo and good Tex-Mex): freeways. In Ocean County, New Jersey, it’s almost all surface streets, most of which are quite curvy. A guy I met on the golf course said the streets are that way because they’re 200 years old. I already knew that, but it didn’t mean I had to like it. I couldn’t imagine moving there and trying to find my way around in a time before GPS. 

After four days on the road, we pulled into what has so far been our favorite RV park: Green Lake in San Antonio. If you’re ever looking for an RV park in southern Texas, they have several properties under the Quality RV Park brand. Our only complaint was lack of shade. But the pool was nice, and their catch-and-release pond had catfish as long as your arm, and all you need for bait is corn. Several of those catfish have hooks in their mouths due to the fact I wasn’t using very strong fishing line, but I’m sure they’ll be fine.

So why were we in San Antonio for only three weeks? I can’t get into the specifics, but between the hospital where Tara was working and the recruiting company she was working for, it wasn’t a good fit. There are plenty of good-paying jobs for travel nurses right now, so it was an easy decision to leave and find something else. It was really nice only having to drive our motorhome a few hours (instead of a few days) to our next stop in Waco.

When we arrived in Waco, it was the first time we’ve gotten to an RV park and didn’t like it. Even though the amenities weren’t bad, it was a little too rustic for us. So, that night we checked out the North Crest Manor RV Park on the north side of town. As we drove through the park, we apparently looked a little suspicious in our Ford Fusion Hybrid with Oregon plates. We were approached by a gentleman in a golf cart who very politely asked if he could help us. He then proceeded to show us around like a salesman on a used car lot. Not only did we decide we would stay there, we even bought the extended warranty. We’re a pitching wedge away from I-35, so it can be a little noisy, but we have a nice shaded concrete site that’s pretty close to everything we need. Tara’s back working for Baylor, Scott, and White, which has a lot of facilities here in Texas. She’ll be working for Covid patients at least some of the time, but she’s not yet sure how much.

We’ve been in Waco almost a week and still haven’t run into Chip and Joanna Gaines. Other than the Gaines, Baylor University, and construction on I-35, there’s not much going on in Waco.

Since our travel nursing adventures began, we’ve driven in 21 states. While New Mexico’s roads are still the number-one worst, Tennessee and Arkansas have moved up to numbers two and three, respectively. Congratulations to Virginia, which debuts at number-two on the best highways list, just behind Oregon. To be fair, driving a 36-foot motorhome exacerbates any roughness.

A lot of people ask if it gets boring being a ‘kept man’.  How can I get bored when TBS has reruns of Friends on all day? There are some days when I don’t have much to do, but between fishing, golf, and keeping track of the pets -- yes, both cats and the ferret are still alive -- I stay pretty busy. I was supposed to officiate sports more than I have been, but obviously that hasn’t happened much. I did manage to umpire four high school tournament games in San Antonio weekend before last. It was great getting back out on the field. I’m sure I sweated off at least 10 pounds during the two games I was behind the plate. Between Tex-Mex and barbecue, I doubt they stayed off very long, though.

We're Definitely Not In Oregon Anymore

As I’ve mentioned on here before, one of the things I like about Tara being a travel nurse is figuring out where we’re going next. A couple of weeks before her 13-week contract is up, she starts talking to recruiters and seeing what’s out there. She basically takes the following into account: jobs that she’ll enjoy and are beneficial to her career; location; and how lucrative it is.

Since we live in a motorhome, though, another factor is whether or not there’s a RV park nearby and if they have spaces available. Tara will mention possible cities where jobs are available. I’ll give her my thoughts and check out the RV parks. What excites me is the thought of going someplace new, which is why I was looking forward to our last stop: Champaign.

I’m not sure what I was thinking. Okay, Champaign really wasn’t that bad. We actually lived at the Tincup RV Park in the quaint bedroom township of Mahomet. (In certain parts of the country, you run into a lot of townships. I’m still not sure what distinguishes a “township” from other places.) It was only about a 13-minute drive to Tara’s job at a local vein and vascular clinic. Here are some interesting things -- and there aren’t many -- about the Champaign-Urbana area. As far as I can tell, they share a downtown area; and the border between the two towns runs through the University of Illinois campus.

I think you’ll agree the coolest thing, though, is ‘80s (soft) rockers REO Speedwagon have a street named after them...sort of. Main Street is also called Honorary REO Speedwagon Blvd. If you mailed a package to 123 REO Speedwagon Blvd., I don’t know if it would get there or not, but it would certainly get the attention of any postal carriers who handled it. (And Kevin Cronin and his band do have higher billing than Honorary Roger Ebert Blvd., which is a couple blocks away.) Side note: one of the lighter moments of the current season of Netflix’s “Ozark” involves REO Speedwagon. The only other things you’ll find in eastern Illinois are wind and cornfields. And it doesn’t just get a little breezy; it gets really, REALLY windy. It makes for some really good times when you’re in a motorhome. And it’s not just a few acres of cornfields: it’s cornfields as far as the eye can see. I really wish we could’ve seen it when the fields weren’t bare.

So, that was Champaign. When it came time to start thinking about our next stop, it was all but certain we were headed to Medford, Oregon. Tara had found a good, well paying job there. I like southern Oregon and was looking forward to it, except for the five-day drive. The day she was to sign the contract, due to reasons I won’t get into, it fell through. It was back to the drawing board. A few days later, I picked her up from work. We stopped to put air in a tire. Because it was only one tire and the air was free, I was out of the car for less than a minute. When I got back in the car, she was on the phone saying, “Let me check on the RV parks and I’ll get back to you.” And just like that, we were headed to Liquid, New Jersey. (At least I thought that’s what she said.)

We can now say our journey has officially taken us across the country.  Jackson Township -- see, there’s another township -- was only a two-day drive. It’s not as close to the Jersey Shore as I’d hoped, but it’s still only about 30 minutes away. It’s an entirely suburban area, which is an oxymoron, because there’s no big city in the immediate vicinity. For my radio friends, the Monmouth-Ocean County area is large enough to be market #55. (For my non-radio friends: NY #1, LA #2, DFW #5, Eugene #146.) We’re hoping things will get back to normal while we’re here so we can take day trips to New York and Philadelphia, as we’re about 45 minutes from each of them.

We’re residing at the Tim Tam RV Park. By government order, it was officially closed when we called to reserve a spot. But because they are able to grant availability to essential personnel, we had no trouble securing a space. By the way, when you’re a travel nurse working with COVID patients, you hear a lot of “Thank you for your service”-type comments. It’s really cool.

And yes, Tara is working with COVID patients at a hospital in Lakewood (not Liquid). She sees patients die almost every day. Here in New Jersey, you have to wear a mask anytime you’re out in public, and that seems to have flattened the curve, as her hospital isn’t as busy as it was. She takes extensive precautions to make sure she doesn’t bring it home to me. We’re not certain, but we wonder more and more if we had the virus back in February. Tara was diagnosed with the flu, even though her flu test came back negative. I was also diagnosed, but it was via Teladoc. We’re not taking any chances, though, especially since pets are supposedly susceptible. What a tragedy it would be if the ferret contracted it.

A worse tragedy: if I contract a New Jersey accent while we’re here.

Two Cats and a Ferret

**No animals were harmed in the making of this blog entry.**

First of all, an update on how COVID 19 has affected us. Tara is not working in a hospital and is not around virus patients...in theory. She works in the vein and vascular area of the Christie Clinic (above) in downtown Champaign, and while there was one patient who possibly had been infected, most of the procedures they do are necessary but not emergent. Because of that, some of Tara’s hours have been cut, as the clinic is seeing fewer patients. Thank goodness for guaranteed contracts.

But the main subject of today’s blog entry is something I’ve been wanting to write about for a while: two cats and a ferret.

If you ever decide to live full-time in a motorhome, like we’ve done, I strongly recommend doing so without pets. Okay, I’m sure it’s fine to have a dog in your RV with you. Many, if not most RV-ers have dogs. But when you’ve never owned a RV before and are now living in one full time, there are going to be quite a few frustrations due to the learning curve. Those frustrations have been multiplied by 10 thanks to the aforementioned two cats and a ferret.

Munchkin

First, let’s meet the culprits. The two cats are supposedly sisters who came from the same litter. Munchkin (“Munchie”; aka Chica) is the most low-maintenance of the pets. Although she can occasionally be a bully toward the other cat, she generally has a good disposition until one of the other pets gets in her space. She’s also the only one of the three that hasn’t gotten “lost” in the motorhome.

Spazz

Spazz (“Spazzycat”, aka Nannycat, aka Nanners) is aptly named. She has spent the majority of her life freaked out. She is the textbook definition of “skittish”. That said, she'll sometimes sit in my lap while I’m watching TV/napping, and she’ll lie on Tara’s chest while she’s reclined on the sofa or sleeping in the bed, then put her face less than an inch from Tara’s.

Coco

The ferret, and queen of the house, is named Coco. Almost four years ago, our oldest daughter,, Kristen, dropped off Coco at our house so we could ferret sit while she and her family were at Disneyland. We’re still waiting for them to pick her up. Normally, you’d keep a ferret in a cage, but in a motorhome there’s not room for a big enough cage. So, the motorhome is her cage.

Both cats are indoor cats, so in order to accommodate their litter box and keep it out of the way, we cut and installed a cat door into one of the bench seats under the dining room table. (Thanks, JC!) Thankfully, they always get everything completely inside the litter box and never make a mess, otherwise a meltdown by certain humans in the motorhome might ensue.

As I mentioned, two of the three pets have gotten themselves “lost” in our motorhome. When we were shopping for our rig, we looked for crevices they -- especially the ferret -- could get into. We didn’t account for the cab area of the motorhome. Spazz and Coco have both managed to climb into the dash and get themselves behind the a/c and stereo console. It was likely an adventure for them, but it was definitely beyond stressful for Tara and me.

Then there was the one time Coco managed to push her way outside. The screen door was closed,, but the main door wasn’t. I momentarily went to the rear of our RV to talk to Tara. During that time, Coco managed to push the screen door open. Tara found her a few minutes later on the ground on the other side of the motorhome. She actually came when Tara called her, which indicated she might’ve been at least a little regretful of her decision. Coco is nothing if not durable, though. She’s been accidentally stepped on countless times and keeps bouncing back.

But the latest incident happened just a couple weeks ago and involved Spazz. It was 11 PM, we were about to go to bed, and Spazz was nowhere to be found. We thought she was in her usual spot under the sofa, but she wasn’t. We knew there was no way she could’ve gone out the door. After looking every place she could possibly be inside the RV, we checked to see if she had gotten into the dash again. Believe it or not, we have an endoscopic camera we purchased just for that purpose. There was no cat in the dash, so we came to the only logical conclusion possible: she had gotten into the dash, crawled up into a vent or some other crevice, and managed to worm her way out of the RV. (To be clear, we have no idea if it’s at all possible for a cat -- or even a spider, for that matter -- to do this, but since we couldn’t find her, we figured that must’ve been what happened.) I combed the premises and inspected the underside of the motorhome, but couldn’t find Spazz. We went to bed hoping she was somewhere within the bowels of the RV and would emerge sometime in the middle of the night. After turning off the lights, we soon heard something in the walls.

All cabinet doors and drawers in a RV automatically latch when you close them. This is to keep them from coming open while driving. (This includes the refrigerator. If you ever have a RV, be sure and latch the refrigerator before driving anywhere. Trust me on this one.) After hearing some movement and a “meow” -- at least Tara thought she heard a “meow” -- coming from the walls behind our bedroom dresser, we were pretty sure Spazz had somehow gotten in there. Tara removed a couple drawers. There was some plumbing along with a duct that runs the heat from the back of the RV to the front, but no cat. And we hadn’t heard any more cat noises.

So now the only plausible explanation is Spazz has gotten between the interior and exterior of the RV. (Again, we don’t know if this is actually possible.) This time it’s Tara that goes outside. She ends up on a blanket on the ground under the RV trying to locate the cat, to no avail. At this point we’re at a complete loss for what to do, especially since it’s so late. We try to go to bed again. As soon as it got quiet, we heard the cat incessantly scratching from behind the wall. Tara removed the drawers again, and, voila, there’s Spazz! So the nightmare was over. As I mentioned, this all started at 11 PM. The time now: 2:26 AM

What exactly happened? The area behind the drawers is one common space. Spazz has been known to jump upon a drawer if one of them is left even slightly open. We deduced that she jumped upon a partially open drawer on my side. Her wedging her way toward the back of the drawer caused it to close, and she was stuck. We didn’t see Spazz the first time we took the drawers out, because she hadn’t yet made her way over to Tara’s side of the dresser.

Since that night/morning, it’s been pretty obvious that Spazz was not at all freaked out by this. She still occasionally goes into the bedroom and puts her paws on the drawers just to see if one of them might happen to be ajar. At least now we know where to look for her next time she disappears.

A Toast To Champaign

One of the things I love about Tara being a travel nurse and the fact that we relocate every 13 weeks is the randomness of it.  The fact that she’s not yet licensed in every state is about the only thing that could keep us from ending up almost literally anywhere in the country.  So, how does it all work? A lot of people have asked, so here’s a basic rundown.

Tara finds jobs through recruiters.  I’m not sure how many recruiters there are in the medical field, but there seems to be no shortage.  While these recruiters could be based anywhere, the one who found her jobs in Redding and Denton happens to be based in my hometown of Irving, Texas.  About three weeks before the contract ends -- and assuming she doesn’t want to extend at her current job; and, no big surprise, they always want her to extend --  Tara starts contacting these recruiters and checking out their Facebook pages to see what’s out there. For her it’s all about the job that she feels will give her the best experience and challenge her the most.  Pay also factors into it. (Texas seems to pay the least; California, and maybe Alaska, the most.) As she’s looking for jobs, Tara will randomly call out cities to get my thoughts. I’m a geography nerd, so for me it’s interesting to think about different places we might be living next.  But Tara’s the one with the job, so ultimately it’s up to her. The only place I nixed almost immediately was a job south of Boston. The closest Ah-V Pahk, as they call it in Massachusetts, was half an hour away, and driving that twice a day to take her to and from work was not something I was interested in.

With her last contract, Tara intentionally looked for jobs in the DFW area so we could be close to family for the holidays.  Even though Tara’s family lives in Georgia, being in Texas allowed us to drive to Augusta to be with them at Christmas. With her latest job, we were trying to get to Augusta, but it didn’t work out.  Other possibilities were the Bay Area, Woodland, California, Panama City, Florida, and Rancho Mirage, California, just to name a few. The big winner this time, though, was Champaign, in the east-central part of Illinois, where Tara will be working in Interventional Radiology.  

The biggest thing going on in the Champaign-Urbana area is the University of Illinois. (Yesterday, Tara learned how to pronounce “Illini.”)  It’s cold here right now, and flat. And windy. The corn hasn’t started growing yet, but I’m sure it will before we leave. The RV park where we’ve docked our motorhome only has a few guests this time of year.  Due to temperatures that are generally below freezing at night, the water is turned off throughout the park, and we’re limited to what we have in our freshwater tank, as well as jugs of water we’ve bought. This means going to the RV park’s bath house for showers.  It’s really not as bad as it seems. The guy that runs the park is hoping the weather will warm up enough to turn the water back on within a couple weeks. And Tara has already made a friend in the bath house. We’re supposed to get together and play cards with them at some point.  It’s all just part of our big adventure.

The Beast

According to spell check (and Webster’s), “motorhome” is two words, not one.  But I feel like motorhomes have been around long enough that the good people at the dictionary should’ve made it into one word by now, kind of like they’ve done with “basketball,” “sunflower,” and “watermelon.”  Even though I consider myself a rule follower, I will continue to use “motorhome” as one word. Some might consider me a rebel, but a real rebel would just do it and not bother with an explanation as to why he’s breaking a rule.

If you ever meet a travel nurse, there’s a good chance he or she is single and rents an apartment or room.  Many travel nurses, however, have an RV they take from city to city. It keeps them from having to pack up their stuff every 13 weeks, not to mention trying to find a place that will rent to them for three months.  Taking this into account, as well as the deposits we’d have to pay for our two cats and a ferret, we decided the RV option would work best for us.

Our decision to purchase a recreational vehicle was not made on a whim.  We spent hours exhaustively researching what kind of RV would suit us best.  (By “we” I mean Tara.) Then we had to figure out the most suitable RV for our price range.  Once we settled on a motorhome (instead of a travel trailer or fifth wheel), we headed to a local RV dealer.  We stepped inside a class C motorhome and immediately decided class C’s weren’t going to be big enough. So, these people who had never owned any kind of RV before were going to go big or go home (which we hadn’t yet sold).

We spent a couple months checking out different motorhomes.  One thing we had to keep in mind when looking at the various makes and models was whether or not there were any crevices the ferret could get into.  I can guarantee there aren’t many people who had to think about that before purchasing their RV. I hope not, anyway. (In a future post I’ll tell you about the time the ferret got into the dash.)

After a lot of research, discussion, and consideration, we purchased a 2020 36’ Entegra Emblem from a dealership in Sacramento, about 2 ½ hours south of Tara’s apartment in Redding.  Since there’s no sales tax in Oregon -- order a $5.99 value meal at McDonald’s and you pay exactly $5.99; it’s a beautiful thing! -- we couldn’t take delivery of the coach in California without having to pay thousands in taxes.  But, because our tax home was still in Oregon, they let us take delivery in Ashland, which is just north of the California border.

When you start looking into buying an RV, you quickly discover that, in general, RV’s are pretty shoddily manufactured.  (I’m sure there are some exceptions to this, possibly with the really high-end coaches.) It’s not a matter of ‘if’ you’ll have problems, but ‘when.’  So, we hired a certified RV inspector. Yes, that’s a real thing. Not only did he inspect the motorhome before we took possession, but when we got the motorhome, he and his wife also spent the weekend putting us through what they call RV Boot Camp.  It wasn’t nearly as intense as it sounds; we didn’t have to do pushups or get up early or anything like that. Being brand new to RV-ing, this was (a lot of) money well spent. I can’t imagine trying to navigate the ins and outs of this thing without having gone through boot camp.

Pat, our inspector, did discover several issues, some which were fixed immediately after inspection, others which are covered by our warranty.  He also told us something we’d never thought about: every time you drive a motorhome, you’re basically putting it through an earthquake. And that was certainly the cause of some of the problems, as the vibrations cause light covers to pop off, wires to come loose, etc.

Pat also taught us the BOAT rule. BOAT=Break Out Another Thousand.  If you think after buying an RV you’re finished spending money, think again.  Once we knew what motorhome we were purchasing, we just assumed we could put my RAV4 on a trailer and tow it behind the coach.  Due to weight restrictions, that was not an option. Not only did we have to trade it in for something we could flat tow (with all four wheels on the ground) -- we ended up with a Ford Fusion Hybrid, which we really like -- we had to rig the new car for towing.  And that wasn’t cheap. Our new home was now complete.  Well, complete-ish. There were still many accessories and things of that nature we needed to acquire.

Many RV owners have a name for their RV.  Without any discussion whatsoever, Tara and I each decided ours would not have a name.  However, Tara mentioned “the beast” in a text message to her sister Lisa, who said that’s what we should call our motorhome.  We both thought that was pretty humorous, but we literally haven’t called it that since then. Apparently, we just aren’t name-your-motorhome people.