A few notes about Rocinante...

Yes, I love our little home on the road; she's a great vehicle, and even better in theory. But let's get real for a minute...

There are just some things that aren't meant to be taken on the road. A house is one of them. Week 1 of the trip the microwave kept spontaneously turning on, and it took us days to figure out it was the glass tray sliding around, pushing the door slightly ajar. (I don't know why this would be the cause, but it was.) I warned my dad that he should take it out while we were riding and store it safely somewhere. The next day, as we were bouncing over snowy, dirt, pot-holed roads in the campground/ghetto outside Flagstaff... (you can finish the story yourself from here, can't you?) Yes. The tray came flying out and shattered on the floor. There was glass in the sink, in the burners, in the bottom of the coffee maker, in the fruit basket, on the couch, and all over the floor of every "room" in the motorhome. And all we had to clean it up with were strange and ERRONEOUS inventions of compact cleaning supplies: a broom that folded down to be about a foot long with an attachable brush at the end that kept swinging around and detaching itself. A tiny little vacuum cleaner with a removable handle (also lots of fun), and a thin trash bag to put the shards of glass in (which also worked quite well).

The RV is known for its convenience, for the fact that it has everything you could ever need to live all under one motorized roof. But as convenient as it is to be able to pull over the RV and cook a quick lunch, try grilling a sandwich in a frying pan when all your butter slides down to one side. Or eating grapes when they keep rolling all over your plate. I love to be able to pee while riding, but honestly, it's not as easy thing to do and rather dangerous. And as much as I like being able to sit at the kitchen table while we're going down the road, so that I can spread out books and maps and plan our next stops, nothing can put me in a worse mood than all that stuff catapulting to the floor every 10 minutes, while my gut is thrust into the edge of the table. I can hardly read, I can hardly write, I can hardly type, with Rocinante bumping along on these broken up pieces of road we've been driving on. So what's the point, really?

Parking? Ha! I can't believe we've only gotten one parking ticket. We've had to make our own parking. And let me just say: there are a whole lot more hotels than there are campgrounds. Sometimes we drive thirty minutes out of the  way to stay for one night. Sometimes we have to cut our driving hours short because there's only one place to be found for hundreds of miles.

Was bringing this thing a good idea? You ask my dad and you get one answer; you ask me, you just might get another. Something like... "HELL NO!" Driving the old open highway wasn't a problem, but trying to get this thing through the cities, up and down mountains, and around these coastal towns, is a bit like trying to push a straw through a toothpick. 

So don't let my dad fool you. This RVing isn't all it's cracked up to be.

A tip for traveling...

Walking around in a moving RV is a lot like water skiing. Keep your knees slightly bent (to avoid the shock of the road) and shoulder-width apart (to prevent yourself from falling face forward). But even still, sometimes you will falter, and the floor is a lot harder than water.