10/13/00 - From P-A to O-HI-O

From September 2000 to November 2001, I drove around the country in an old 1977 Dodge Apache Class C Motorhome - just me and my Chihuahuas Chewie & Ernie, collectively known as "The Berts." Here's an excerpt from the road diary I kept...
 

Drove from Erie into and then through Cleveland, Ohio. Stopped at the Tourist Information Center along the way and was impressed to find signs for RVs, telling where to park. Usually the signs at rest stops along the Interstate say "Cars and Buses" this way and "Trucks" that way. I'm always confused about what I am. Picked up a campground book and located a campground in Brunswick, Ohio.

For some reason, I wanted a Denny's breakfast, and as luck would have it, there was a Denny's right off the exit I took off the Interstate to get to the campground. But breakfast was over, so I had an egg, ham, bacon and cheese sandwich which wasn't very good. I regretted not getting something with mashed potatoes and green beans.

Went to the Shell station across the street to fill up the tank. Since I have a Shell card, I figured I'd fill it all the way up to the top. As I was topping off the tank, a car pulled up next to me.

"What year is that, if you don't mind me asking?" There were two guys, good ol' boys, leaning out of their car window to look.

"'77," I said and continued paying attention to the fuel pump.

"Mind if we look?" What could I say? Yes, go away? It was broad daylight, a well-trafficked gas station.

"Sure." I said and they got out of their car, asking all sorts of questions about the RV and then about my travels. I tried to give as little information as possible while being polite. I hadn't prepared a "cover story," so I was essentially honest but vague.

One of them smelled of alcohol in the early afternoon. Having been a bartender in North Carolina, I knew how to handle soused good ol' boys. Just be polite and nice, not too nice, but use measured niceness.

"You're leaking gas," a guy across the gas station island called out. "Oh, that's just the water tank," I said, having seen water leaking occasionally out of a drain spigot on the bottom of the potable water holding tank.

One of the good ol' boys went around the other side of the RV. "It's gas," he said, coming back around, sniffing the liquid on his fingers. It was gasoline. The guys introduced themselves to me and extended their hands to shake. The drinker, whose name I didn't catch, held out a fingerless hand. I shook it politely.

The other guy, who called himself 'Stub,' held out his hand, which, too, was fingerless. Was this really happening? I was leaking gas - which was actually pouring out of the bottom of the RV like rain. And I was being assisted by two fingerless men.

"Pull on over there, and I'll get under to look at it" the drinker said.

"He's a good mechanic, works on heavy machinery," said Stub.

"Notice anything about us?" asked the drinker. He held out his hand and Stub held out his hand again.

"Accidents on the job," he said by way of explanation.

I pulled over, and he got under the RV and started saying what he saw. "Fiberglass tank, must be pretty new. Didn't make them back then. Five clamps on the exhaust system. Only really needs two. Leak must be really high up on the tank. Only leaking when it's full. Not leaking anymore."

Their advice to me was to fill it 1/8th of a tank away from full from now on and to use Regular gas, not the premium they had noticed I was using. "It's all the same on the freeway," they said.

Stub was beside himself with awe about my RV and my trip. "I admire you for going out and driving across the country. I've always wanted to do it, but I'm too scared. But I'm looking to buy an RV myself. I'm going to hook the Harley on the back."

He proceeded to offer to me me an RV awning he had. I politely declined. They were nice enough, but I never let my guard down, watching every move they made. The Berts didn't seem too agitated by them and they knew to keep a safe distance from Chewie the Biter. Stub gave me his phone numbers. "Call if you come back this way. I'll take you to lunch. I really admire what you're doing."

I thanked them, started up the engine, and pulled out of the station, watching them in my side view mirror, making sure they weren't following me. I had decided to drive to a big store like K Mart in case they were behind me, rather than going directly to the campground, but they did not follow.