Maintenance
How being a better RV owner and being a better me are intertwined
At about the time this hits your inbox, my RV tech* is scheduled to alight on my doorstep for a round of inspection and maintenance before I hit the road in…checks calendar…23 days.
(*—So he’s not my RV tech. I don’t have him on an exclusive retainer. But I’m committed to engaging his services every six to eight months, depending on my scheduled returns to Billings, to ensure my rig remains in tip-top shape. That makes me his customer and the best possible kind. We’ll get into that below. Anyway, his name is Randy Singer of I Know a Guy Mobile RV Repair, and he’s great.)
One thing I swore, when I bought my first camper, was that I’d perform rigorous maintenance on this rolling home on wheels. I simply couldn’t understand why anyone—anyone—would spend tens of thousands of dollars on one of these vehicles, would commit to a multiyear monthly payment on a depreciating asset, but would not do everything possible to ensure it lasts as long as possible.
And yet…
You see it all the time: RVers who don’t observe weight limitations. RVers who fly down the highway at 85 mph on tires rated for 65. RVers who never climb up on the roof and check their seals, then wonder why their rig collapses like a deck of cards three years in.
I am not going to be that guy.
I’m also self-aware enough to realize that my attitude toward the RV, laudable as it is, has rarely been matched by my attitude toward myself. I don’t have a good explanation. I suspect no good explanation exists.
In an essay published this month in Montana Quarterly, I touched on my previously lax approach to my own well-being and how I’m turning the corner on it.
The handful of years that led to the iffy health and preceded the walks and the bicycle rides and the golf and my relationship with Tony Roamo were difficult ones. Each of these new things I’ve picked up has been a manifestation of what’s happening with and to me and an undeniable move toward some new destination and the version of me who’s going to live in that place when I get there.
I have made inroads. As I observed in the Quarterly piece, I’m the lightest I’ve been in more than 30 years. That’s good. But I’m not the only thing that shrank in those 30 years; so, too, did my remaining days on this spinning orb. The passage of time that carried me from my twenties to my fifties was a big factor in my decision to get the RV and embark on the journey that beckons me. Haven’t I waited long enough?
I’ve made no secret, here or in conversations with friends and loved ones, that I have high expectations for the coming adventure. I want to reacquaint myself with my country. I want to see new things and places, and I want to revisit old haunts. I want to discover new friends. I want to light new fires in my old soul.
I also want to become a better version of me. A healthier version. One who eats less and better. One who exercises more. One who sucks out more of the marrow of life. I’ve always gravitated toward fun. I’ve never enjoyed being idle. But I want to be fun and busy in ways that are better for my head and my body. I haven’t always done that.
And I want to do those things not in a self-improvement way, as part of a regimen, because those efforts are usually doomed. I want to instead become this person I envision, without boxing him in too much before we meet.
Easy, right?
The RV is a metaphor for my intentions.
It’s in fine shape now. But it won’t be for long if I don’t tend to its needs, if I don’t heed the signals it sends me and respond appropriately.
Just as I can go to the doctor for a check-up, I can deliver the RV into the waiting hands of my RV tech. He can test its systems, take measure of its vitals, pull the wheels off, and service its moving parts. He can spot trouble ahead and intervene.
But he can’t make me do the little things between visits that will make a difference. That’s on me alone.
My friend Bob Kimpton once astutely observed that RVs are not unlike delicate flowers. Using them and eschewing maintenance hastens their death. The only worse thing is not using them at all; they then deteriorate before your eyes.
Social media has made quasi-celebrities of several RV techs who often cover this ground, pointing out how ignorance and neglect can ruin these beautiful structures.
Consider:
And this:
And this:
It’s a lot to stay on top of, right? But I also paid a lot for the privilege of doing it. I don’t want to squander the opportunity.
I plan to let Randy have a go at my rig a couple of times a year, tend to the in-between tasks myself, and keep Sunny around for a long, long time.
Let’s go!
Loved this. I really cannot tell you how much I look forward to your weekly posts. You inspire me, Craig. I wish you well on your journey.
Age forces us to be smarter. Or else... Happy to see you making these good choices. Congratulations on the weight loss. Remarkable!