Storming RV Land, Day 3

Friday, 13 September 2013

OK. Who stole my batteries? ‘Cause I can only run if I’m plugged in right now. No. Not the Chromebook, silly. Me. The human. That old song, “The thrill is gone, baby” applies here. “The stress is gone, momma”, and I’m useless without it. All I wanna do is take a nap. Lean back the car seat, and wake up hours from now.

And yes. You guys have no idea how my brain cells work. Didn’t you hear Sheryl Crow singing the last sentence in the first paragraph? Hey! She’s coming back from her walk.

We told stories to each other this morning about the RV show, while we ate breakfast at the “Base Station”. Her’s was the best one. The one about the guy that said, “I’m retiring in 5 days, and I plan to hit the road.” Pat said you should have seen the RV sales people pop out of the woodwork. Poor guy was swamped.

Of course, I was my own brand of humor. Twice. The two sales reps in one of the expensive RVs saw Pat come in, and everything was normal. They saw me follow her in, and just had to observe that I looked just like an old hippie. Of course, being a 54-year-old, wearing camo cargo jeans, a tie-dyed (purple) fairy t-shirt, gray Skechers with fire-engine red panels all over them, glasses, the hair on the top of my head that almost isn’t there, and my 5” ponytail… Well. OK. The description fits, doesn’t it.

The two cute girls working the Progressive RV Insurance display (No, silly. Not that kind of working. They were actually selling insurance) noticed me as I walked by. “Hey! T-shirt guy!” OK. So maybe I don’t blend in too well.

So, we are on the road home. About to merge onto 322 West, heading toward 81 South at Harrisburg, PA. Which, Pat just informed me, is the capital. OK. So, I’ve been to another state capital now.

It’s 1415 hours. I’ve been gagged. Her words. “It’s official. You’ve been gagged.” Yep. Shoulda seen that one coming. I looked. I saw “Potomac Mills”, and did what I always do, “It’s Pot-O-Mac Mills.”

She responded, “With the Ick-E-A store.”

And I said, “Home Fur Nishings.”

“That’s it. You’re officially gagged.”

Can you say, “All Stop!” Sitting on the last mile of the I-95 HOV lanes, waiting to merge into traffic on I-95 proper. The 2 HOV lanes are crawling along. So are the three regular lanes. One of those times where, if you’re in a hurry, you’re going to be unhappy. Or, if you have to drive, you’re going to be unhappy.

Yeah. I haven’t driven the car anywhere on this trip. Last time I drove any car anywhere was Tuesday. It’s Friday now. I probably won’t drive anything, anywhere, until I head to work on Saturday.

Wow. Look around at all the unhappy people. Guys! The sun is shining. We have big, white, fluffy clouds overhead. The trees have green leaves on them. It’s 79 degrees Fahrenheit. enjoy the relaxed pace life has decided to grant us. Especially since there ain’t a thing you can do about it. Other than enjoy it. I mean, do you really want to spend 20 minutes getting through this while you’re pissed off, and stressing out? Really?

Humans. Geeze.

We stopped for a break at the Maryland Visitor’s Center on US 15. It was a needed break. Pit stops. Then walking around a bit, stretching the legs. She’s already stiffer than I am. And we’re not even to Saturday yet. I’ll be fine, but I’m worried about her. She’ll be one hurting camper on Saturday.

We stopped for gas at a Sheetz station, and for food at a Roy Rogers. I think I’ve eaten at a Roy Rogers something like 4 times in my life. I discovered I don’t really like Fanta Birch Beer soda. So, I replaced it with Sprite. She kept her Birch Beer. We’ve talked about the RV show a bunch of times. She’s still mulling over the problems of the Class Bs. They’re small, fairly economical, and easy to drive. But, she wants something she can live in for a long time. So she’s thinking Class A (bus) or Class C (Truck chassis with body shell on it). And she’s been happiest with things in the 30 to 34 feet long size class. She’s thinking something in the $80K price range will work.

I’m thinking, “We can trade down to a trailer in a park somewhere, and get her what she wants.” But I’m not known for my optimism, you know.

So, here we are, riding along on I-95 South, heading toward Richmond. We’ve been on this strip of road dozens of times. I couldn’t begin to give you an estimate of how many times. I just know it’s a lot of times.

Just like I know, somehow, someway, I’ll help her get the RV she wants. Because. It’s just who I am. And how I feel about her.

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