Base Camp in Bradford, Maine on our target departure date to Alaska via RV. We spent two nights in the RV over the weekend before heading to find an inspection station Monday morning.
- Sell boat-check.
- Buy RV-check.
- Buy motorcycle-check.
- Pack all the things—check.
Yesterday Kevin called me from the inspection station to report the RV didn’t pass inspection due to a coolant leak. It’s not a huge repair, nothing catastrophic. I drove over and got into the RV, which was parked inside a garage. I grabbed a few essentials and realized the bedroom slide being in prevented me from reaching our dressers—including all our underwear. So we are back at the camp, comando.
I’m wrapping three-months worth of meals I’ve canned all winter and early this spring in socks, and cozying them up with rolls of toilet paper for safe travels. They are in huge bins that will travel in the underbelly of the RV beast. The toilet paper is a great shock-absorbent and offsets the weight of the large bins full of glass jars, allowing them to be hefted more easily.
I slipped a snuggly sock around each jar to keep them separated yet give them just enough room to wiggle so they will not crack from inevitable backroad torture. A toilet paper roll for every six quart-size jars and fresh socks daily will be just about right. It’s kind of like interplanting beans, squash, and corn—the three sisters. They are separated in canvas shopping bags that can be easily grabbed and brought to the galley—I mean kitchen.
Chip lays on any texture or hight of stuff I stack by the door and makes it look comfortable. Anything. A pile of sheets and books intermixed in a lumpy trash bag? Yup. A package of clothespins and a prickly brush on top of it? Yup. If I open a backpack and turn my head—he’s inside when I look back.
Back at it. Updates to follow.
