RVs come with a special type of fridge that doesn't need electricity — it runs on propane gas, so it can keep running while you're driving down the highway or parked overnight somewhere without electricity. That much is actually quite handy. However, a gas fridge is fussy — in order to function, it has to be nearly perfectly level, and since it's attached to the RV, that means the RV must be quite level. So each time the RV is parked, it must be shimmed with boards under its wheels until it's nice and level (a real pain).
The fridge built into the RV was as old as the RV itself, 29 years, so it was pretty amazing that it still worked, continuing to perform for us. Until, one June day, it quit. After having a fridge for a year, it was a bit of a hardship not to have one, since we couldn't keep milk or cheese, and I was forced to drink warm beer.
What to do?
When a gas fridge stops working, one option is to replace it with a new one, but they're expensive — over a thousand dollars. Even having the old one rebuilt would cost over half that, if I could find someone who knew how to do it. It would cost much less to replace it with an ordinary electric refrigerator, but that would work only when we were stopped and plugged into electricity, not when we're driving down the road.
I scoured the web for other ideas and came across one, an "iceless" ice chest — just like a regular camping ice chest, except you don't fill it with ice, you plug it in to twelve volts and it gets cold. This seemed like a possible solution, since it would run off the battery when we were on the road, and plug into an adapter when we were parked. I searched Minneapolis stores but couldn't find it, so I investigated ways to order it and have it shipped. I was about to order it when I stumbled upon one.
One July afternoon I was wandering the aisles of the Pamida discount store in Two Harbors, and there it was, sitting on a shelf in the camping department, the very brand and model I'd picked out. It was the last one in stock, and it was (marvellously) marked down for seasonal clearance. After the cashier took another 10% off because it was Tuesday, it was ours for a pittance. It has worked flawlessly for us ever since, keeping cold all the milk, cheese, yogurt, beer, and apples we could want, on the road and when we're parked. Without propane and without all that levelling!
The old fridge
Then there was the question of what to do with the old fridge. It could just be left in place, built into the RV, but it takes up a lot of space that could be put to better use. Unfortunately, it's big and heavy and awkward to handle, not to mention totally fastened to the RV with screws. Back in the Twin Cities, my friend Judy was optimistic about the project and willing to help with it.
One Saturday afternoon we removed all the screws we could find and tentatively wiggled the fridge. It moved an inch, so it was loose and we knew we could get it all the way out. By this time it was 4:30, and the recycling center would close at 5:00, so I suggested waiting for another day. But Judy was optimistic that we could make it, so we decided to make a mad dash for it.
Now, the fridge being loose, we didn't want to make any high-speed maneuvers that might topple it onto the floor, so we gingerly drove thirty blocks south on surface streets. We arrived at ten minutes to closing time and got in the door, which was good. We paid the $15 recycling fee and got a receipt, which was also good.
Then we drove over to the drop-off spot where some men were working. They explained that they were prohibited from entering the RV to help us with the fridge, so it was up to Judy and me! We picked up the fridge and staggered with it down the aisle and around a sharp corner to the RV's door, but it wouldn't fit through.
At this awkward moment, they informed us that since this was a gas fridge, we'd have to pay another $15, so I did. By now it was 5:00 and they were officially closed, and the situation looked glum, but we were in the door and had paid the proper fee. What would happen next?
Thankfully, they didn't kick us out, and were actually quite accommodating. They peered in through the door and suggested unscrewing the trim around the front of the fridge, so we did that. No luck. Next they suggested rotating it ninety degrees and it just barely squeezed through the door! They lifted it down, put it on a forklift, and drove it away. We waved goodbye to it and breathed a big sigh of relief. Many thanks, Judy!
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Autumn in Minneapolis
When Labor Day had come and gone, and after thousands of convention Republicans had left the Twin Cities, we returned for the month of September. The weather was beautiful again, we settled back into the comfortable life parked in a suburban driveway, and Menominee resumed her quest to find mice.
One day, Menominee wandered away. Now, she's a good cat, and isn't inclined to run away from home, but she is interested in exploring. And I'm not a bad kitty dad, either — Whenever she goes out, I buckle her harness and attach her leash. This time, her leash was anchored to a stake in the ground, but evidently the leash slipped off the stake, and in the middle of the afternoon she wandered off, trailing her leash behind her. I wasn't too concerned, as I figured she was still nearby and would be easy to find. I walked up and down the block, calling her name and talking to her, without luck. Then I did it twice more, with the same result. When it got dark, I gave up and decided to wait for morning.
About 11:30 pm I walked out the door into inky blackness, in sandals and shorts. I felt something... it was fur rubbing against my ankle. Without even looking down, I knew Menominee had returned. There she was, minus her harness and leash. Probably her leash had caught on something, so she wiggled out of her harness and left leash and harness behind. And now there she was, her tail in the air, pleased to have gone exploring, proud to have found her way home, hungry and thirsty, ready for bed, happy to be home. I was happy too.
One of the high points of September was taking the motorcycle driving test. I made an appointment and showed up at a DMV site where a course was laid out on a parking lot. One by one the examiner tested the applicants, explaining how to ride through the maze, what to do, where to stop. We gave it our best shot, and although it was a difficult test and I didn't make a perfect score, I did pass, and am now officially a Minnesota-licensed motorscooter rider.
One day, Menominee wandered away. Now, she's a good cat, and isn't inclined to run away from home, but she is interested in exploring. And I'm not a bad kitty dad, either — Whenever she goes out, I buckle her harness and attach her leash. This time, her leash was anchored to a stake in the ground, but evidently the leash slipped off the stake, and in the middle of the afternoon she wandered off, trailing her leash behind her. I wasn't too concerned, as I figured she was still nearby and would be easy to find. I walked up and down the block, calling her name and talking to her, without luck. Then I did it twice more, with the same result. When it got dark, I gave up and decided to wait for morning.
About 11:30 pm I walked out the door into inky blackness, in sandals and shorts. I felt something... it was fur rubbing against my ankle. Without even looking down, I knew Menominee had returned. There she was, minus her harness and leash. Probably her leash had caught on something, so she wiggled out of her harness and left leash and harness behind. And now there she was, her tail in the air, pleased to have gone exploring, proud to have found her way home, hungry and thirsty, ready for bed, happy to be home. I was happy too.
One of the high points of September was taking the motorcycle driving test. I made an appointment and showed up at a DMV site where a course was laid out on a parking lot. One by one the examiner tested the applicants, explaining how to ride through the maze, what to do, where to stop. We gave it our best shot, and although it was a difficult test and I didn't make a perfect score, I did pass, and am now officially a Minnesota-licensed motorscooter rider.
Friday, November 7, 2008
Summer in Northern Minnesota
Midwestern summers are hot and humid. By July, Minneapolis was becoming uncomfortable, so we headed north to Lake Superior, way up in northeastern Minnesota and not all that far from the Canadian border.
Our first stop was Two Harbors, a small town on the lake, where we found a private campground we liked so much, we stayed for a month. Two Harbors has a decent grocery, a good hardware store, several restaurants, and enough local people that tourists don't obscure the genuine character of the town. I walked out to the end of the breakwater between the harbor and the lake, and one day toured an old, retired tug boat, the Edna G, with its coal-fired boiler and steam engine.
Next we spent a week in Grand Marais, an even smaller town, even farther north on the lake, whose principal business is tourism — it has the kind of restaurants that tourists can afford but locals can't, souvenir shops that sell fudge, and a picturesque bay that draws tourists like a magnet.
Our last stop was Duluth, an old and busy terminal for Great Lakes shipping. I walked along Canal Street, visited Duluth's iconic lift bridge, and toured the William Irvin, a retired Great Lakes freighter that had seen decades of service.
The scooter came right along with us, pulled behind the RV on its tiny trailer. Wherever we stayed, I really enjoyed the convenience of using the scooter to buzz into town for lunch or shopping.
Our first stop was Two Harbors, a small town on the lake, where we found a private campground we liked so much, we stayed for a month. Two Harbors has a decent grocery, a good hardware store, several restaurants, and enough local people that tourists don't obscure the genuine character of the town. I walked out to the end of the breakwater between the harbor and the lake, and one day toured an old, retired tug boat, the Edna G, with its coal-fired boiler and steam engine.
Next we spent a week in Grand Marais, an even smaller town, even farther north on the lake, whose principal business is tourism — it has the kind of restaurants that tourists can afford but locals can't, souvenir shops that sell fudge, and a picturesque bay that draws tourists like a magnet.
Our last stop was Duluth, an old and busy terminal for Great Lakes shipping. I walked along Canal Street, visited Duluth's iconic lift bridge, and toured the William Irvin, a retired Great Lakes freighter that had seen decades of service.
The scooter came right along with us, pulled behind the RV on its tiny trailer. Wherever we stayed, I really enjoyed the convenience of using the scooter to buzz into town for lunch or shopping.
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Springtime in Minneapolis
We spent two glorious months, May and June, in a southern suburb of Minneapolis.
Green was everywhere. In spring and summer, Minnesota's default color is green. The grass, the trees, the shrubs, the flower beds, the vegetable gardens, all lush and green. (It was a welcome sight for us, having spent the previous six months in the southwest looking exclusively at the earth tones of sand and rock.)
Menominee spent many enjoyable hours patrolling the shrubs in the yards, proving time and again what a Great Hunter she is.
We marvelled at the magnificence of an apple tree in full bloom.
We saw baby ducks and geese paddling in the lakes.
Especially, there was the bliss of riding the new scooter. The scooter turned out to be ideal for buzzing around the city and ran perfectly, right from the start.
Now we needed some way to bring it along with us on our travels. So we ordered a trailer kit on the web, and eventually seven cartons of steel parts arrived. They provided many days of amusement with wrenches (like a giant Erector Set) to get it assembled into a tiny trailer with just enough room on it for one motor scooter. Exactly what we needed!
Green was everywhere. In spring and summer, Minnesota's default color is green. The grass, the trees, the shrubs, the flower beds, the vegetable gardens, all lush and green. (It was a welcome sight for us, having spent the previous six months in the southwest looking exclusively at the earth tones of sand and rock.)
Menominee spent many enjoyable hours patrolling the shrubs in the yards, proving time and again what a Great Hunter she is.
We marvelled at the magnificence of an apple tree in full bloom.
We saw baby ducks and geese paddling in the lakes.
Especially, there was the bliss of riding the new scooter. The scooter turned out to be ideal for buzzing around the city and ran perfectly, right from the start.
Now we needed some way to bring it along with us on our travels. So we ordered a trailer kit on the web, and eventually seven cartons of steel parts arrived. They provided many days of amusement with wrenches (like a giant Erector Set) to get it assembled into a tiny trailer with just enough room on it for one motor scooter. Exactly what we needed!
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
Minnesota
When we crossed the border into Minnesota, it felt momentous to be back. Eleven months. 24,000 miles. That's a long time we'd been away, and a long, long road we'd traveled.
We started noticing familiar sights and sounds — cardinals singing in the trees, Canada geese honking overhead, mosquitoes, metered on-ramps, tornado warning sirens, and all the familiar stores where we used to shop. Tulips were blooming, the grass was green, trees were beginning to leaf out, and all the snow had melted. Springtime is a beautiful season in Minnesota.
We stayed overnight in a campground in a far suburb, far enough out in the sticks that it abutted a woods. I unhooked Menominee's leash and let her roam a little way into the woods. When she became very still, I looked where she was looking and saw a chipmunk frolicking around, unaware of her presence, and a little naive about the dangers of the woods. Menominee saw her chance, pounced, missed, and chased it. The chipmunk dashed helter-skelter with Menominee right behind her — it was like watching a Tom & Jerry cartoon! Then Menominee caught the chipmunk, brought it out of the woods in her mouth, set it down and played with it. The chipmunk kept trying to run away and Menominee kept knocking it down with her paw. Finally, the chipmunk became desperate and began attacking Menominee! It bared its tiny teeth and lunged at her! Menominee was momentarily taken aback, giving the chipmunk just the opportunity to dash over to a tree and up it to safety. The chipmunk's survival strategy had worked, and the Great Hunter had learned another lesson.
Casting about for a place to stay, we found RV parks neither conveniently located nor affordable, and we ended up in the driveway at a friend's house in a near suburb. It turned out to be convenient and friendly. Ideally, we wanted to park the RV there and get around by some other means. Such as a motor scooter.
So we shopped for a Yamaha Vino 125, the scooter we had tried to buy last June, when we couldn't find a salesman to buy it from. This time, shopping at a different dealer, we found a friendly, middle-aged salesman who walked over to us and struck up a conversation — a salesman who liked scooters, enjoyed selling them, and wanted to sell me one. So I bought it from him! My dream of owning a motor scooter had come true! The blue Vino 125 was mine!
We started noticing familiar sights and sounds — cardinals singing in the trees, Canada geese honking overhead, mosquitoes, metered on-ramps, tornado warning sirens, and all the familiar stores where we used to shop. Tulips were blooming, the grass was green, trees were beginning to leaf out, and all the snow had melted. Springtime is a beautiful season in Minnesota.
We stayed overnight in a campground in a far suburb, far enough out in the sticks that it abutted a woods. I unhooked Menominee's leash and let her roam a little way into the woods. When she became very still, I looked where she was looking and saw a chipmunk frolicking around, unaware of her presence, and a little naive about the dangers of the woods. Menominee saw her chance, pounced, missed, and chased it. The chipmunk dashed helter-skelter with Menominee right behind her — it was like watching a Tom & Jerry cartoon! Then Menominee caught the chipmunk, brought it out of the woods in her mouth, set it down and played with it. The chipmunk kept trying to run away and Menominee kept knocking it down with her paw. Finally, the chipmunk became desperate and began attacking Menominee! It bared its tiny teeth and lunged at her! Menominee was momentarily taken aback, giving the chipmunk just the opportunity to dash over to a tree and up it to safety. The chipmunk's survival strategy had worked, and the Great Hunter had learned another lesson.
Casting about for a place to stay, we found RV parks neither conveniently located nor affordable, and we ended up in the driveway at a friend's house in a near suburb. It turned out to be convenient and friendly. Ideally, we wanted to park the RV there and get around by some other means. Such as a motor scooter.
So we shopped for a Yamaha Vino 125, the scooter we had tried to buy last June, when we couldn't find a salesman to buy it from. This time, shopping at a different dealer, we found a friendly, middle-aged salesman who walked over to us and struck up a conversation — a salesman who liked scooters, enjoyed selling them, and wanted to sell me one. So I bought it from him! My dream of owning a motor scooter had come true! The blue Vino 125 was mine!
Thursday, May 15, 2008
Eastward and Northward
The Texas Panhandle
Crossing the Texas Panhandle, we stopped in Amarillo for a meal at a Route 66 landmark, the Big Texan Steakhouse, famous for its beef, its old-time decor, and its sassy attitude. They offer a free 72-ounce steak (that's four and a half pounds of meat!) to anyone who can finish it in one hour, and for every six who have tried, five have failed. They brag, "This ain't no franchise or chain," and will even pick you up at your hotel in a stretch limo with a longhorn bull's horns mounted on the hood! I chose a modest portion of prime rib and found it delicious. Recommended.
Oklahoma
After watching so many miles of desert, cactus, and tumbleweed, our eyes were soothed by the green grass, green bushes, and green trees of Oklahoma. Our travels followed historic Route 66, the U.S. highway that once ran from Chicago to Los Angeles, a single ribbon of asphalt that guided so many migrants to California. Route 66 is still remembered and celebrated across Oklahoma.
At one RV park, we parked next to a small travel trailer which turned out to be occupied by Jeb, a 76 year old man in well-worn bib overalls who grew up on a farm in Arkansas and had a lifetime of experiences working outdoors, including drilling for oil in Texas and harvesting timber in Oregon. His gentle drawl and and the stories he told about himself were delightful.
We noticed that we were entering Tornado Alley, famous for the number of tornadoes each season, and were headed for Oklahoma City, which has been hit by more tornadoes than any other city. But this wasn't tornado season, and we made it out of the state without seeing so much as a funnel cloud.
Iowa
The curious thing about Iowa was that the price of mid-grade gasoline (89 octane) was actually less than regular (87). As we drove across the state, I kept my eye on the prices at gas stations, and mid-grade was always less, usually by ten cents a gallon. Now, this seems to somehow contradict a law or nature (dusk comes after sunset, not before), or at least a business rule (you put the scoop of ice cream on top of the cone, not the cone on top of the ice cream). After some web research, it turned out that Iowa mid-grade gas contains ethanol, but regular doesn't. Why? Good question.
As we continued north, we got closer and closer to the Minnesota border.
Crossing the Texas Panhandle, we stopped in Amarillo for a meal at a Route 66 landmark, the Big Texan Steakhouse, famous for its beef, its old-time decor, and its sassy attitude. They offer a free 72-ounce steak (that's four and a half pounds of meat!) to anyone who can finish it in one hour, and for every six who have tried, five have failed. They brag, "This ain't no franchise or chain," and will even pick you up at your hotel in a stretch limo with a longhorn bull's horns mounted on the hood! I chose a modest portion of prime rib and found it delicious. Recommended.
Oklahoma
After watching so many miles of desert, cactus, and tumbleweed, our eyes were soothed by the green grass, green bushes, and green trees of Oklahoma. Our travels followed historic Route 66, the U.S. highway that once ran from Chicago to Los Angeles, a single ribbon of asphalt that guided so many migrants to California. Route 66 is still remembered and celebrated across Oklahoma.
At one RV park, we parked next to a small travel trailer which turned out to be occupied by Jeb, a 76 year old man in well-worn bib overalls who grew up on a farm in Arkansas and had a lifetime of experiences working outdoors, including drilling for oil in Texas and harvesting timber in Oregon. His gentle drawl and and the stories he told about himself were delightful.
We noticed that we were entering Tornado Alley, famous for the number of tornadoes each season, and were headed for Oklahoma City, which has been hit by more tornadoes than any other city. But this wasn't tornado season, and we made it out of the state without seeing so much as a funnel cloud.
Iowa
The curious thing about Iowa was that the price of mid-grade gasoline (89 octane) was actually less than regular (87). As we drove across the state, I kept my eye on the prices at gas stations, and mid-grade was always less, usually by ten cents a gallon. Now, this seems to somehow contradict a law or nature (dusk comes after sunset, not before), or at least a business rule (you put the scoop of ice cream on top of the cone, not the cone on top of the ice cream). After some web research, it turned out that Iowa mid-grade gas contains ethanol, but regular doesn't. Why? Good question.
As we continued north, we got closer and closer to the Minnesota border.
Friday, May 2, 2008
The Arizona–Utah Border
Bright red mountains, bright red dirt. This is Ed Abbey's territory — sunbaked, windswept, harsh, and unforgiving. Have you read about it in his Desert Solitaire ? Or The Monkey Wrench Gang ?
At a small, desolate Utah state park campground, as we were taking a morning walk across the sand and scrub brush, Menominee suddenly leaped and caught a lizard — her first! She's a Minnesota cat, and didn't grow up learning about lizards, but somehow her hunting skills include lizard-catching, subduing, and playing. The legend of the Great Hunter lives on.
Continuing east, we came to Four Corners Monument, where Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico all meet at one point, at right angles. You can walk right up to the very point, stand on top of it, with parts of your body in different states, and pose for pictures. Nearby, friendly Navajo Indians sell jewelry, pottery, and made-to-order Indian Fry Bread.
Cartographic trivia: The monument's location was set by an early survey which determined the state boundaries. Decades later, the survey was found to be in error. What to do? The Supreme Court ruled that the incorrect survey results would continue as the legal boundaries between the states!
We checked the weather forecast and found that Colorado was too cold and snowy for our taste, so we continued east across New Mexico.
At a small, desolate Utah state park campground, as we were taking a morning walk across the sand and scrub brush, Menominee suddenly leaped and caught a lizard — her first! She's a Minnesota cat, and didn't grow up learning about lizards, but somehow her hunting skills include lizard-catching, subduing, and playing. The legend of the Great Hunter lives on.
Continuing east, we came to Four Corners Monument, where Arizona, Utah, Colorado, and New Mexico all meet at one point, at right angles. You can walk right up to the very point, stand on top of it, with parts of your body in different states, and pose for pictures. Nearby, friendly Navajo Indians sell jewelry, pottery, and made-to-order Indian Fry Bread.
Cartographic trivia: The monument's location was set by an early survey which determined the state boundaries. Decades later, the survey was found to be in error. What to do? The Supreme Court ruled that the incorrect survey results would continue as the legal boundaries between the states!
We checked the weather forecast and found that Colorado was too cold and snowy for our taste, so we continued east across New Mexico.
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