(In today’s header image, snapped yesterday, you’re lookin’ at turkey barns. A whole bunch of ’em. They’re not far from The Mountain.)
Creepers — the kind mechanics employ, not the social-media voyeurs — were invented to ease the pain of crawling around under a vehicle parked on a hard surface like concrete. I’ve used them myself. I’ve also done without. After a day of the latter, even in my younger years, I could count the bruises the next morning.
Worse than concrete is gravel. And creepers don’t work on gravel.
I’ve spent a lot of time the last couple of weeks rolling around under our fifth-wheel — on my back, on my side, on my knees. Yeah, the rig sits on gravel. And I mean to tell you, the exercise has taken a toll on this old man’s body, bruising the bony parts in particular.
Shoulders. Hips. Knees. Ribs. Tailbone.
Now before you say it, sure, there are ways to prevent (or lessen) the pain. I could put a mat down (like our mobile tech did the other day while replacing Ernie’s inverter). Over the last two years I’ve also used knee pads for crawling around outside the motorhome during setup, teardown, maintenance or whatever.
But a mat isn’t practical unless I’m doing a whole job in a small area. Though kneepads are great, certainly convenient, I actually have to remember to put them on.
Anyway, I’m banged up right now. This morning I could barely move.
The work continues despite my whining, of course. Fortunately, not all of it has to happen underneath the fifth-wheel. The next couple of weeks should be all about small stuff, tweaking and repairing, moving in and getting settled. That’s the plan, at least.
Tuesday looks like it’ll be another big day. Our electrical contractor will be out to get eyes on where he’ll plant the temporary meter pole he’s built. The guy who put in our septic system is scheduled to bury the tank and put down gravel in a few places. The only other contracted work on the horizon is the electric utility setting their transformer pole and connecting it to our meter.
The rest — a well pump, a house and all that entails — will have to wait awhile longer.
I neglected yesterday to mention that in addition to getting the rig’s fresh water flowing again, the water itself is no longer nasty. Just one treatment with my sanitizing cocktail — two cups of chlorine bleach in the 60-gallon tank, left overnight — did the trick. Running plain water (from the refill) through the fixtures afterward eliminated any hint of swimming-pool odor.
Deb and I did laundry today at the campground. When it was done tumbling, she stood at the dryer and sorted, keeping what was hers and handing me mine so I could fold it according to my preferences.
I fold my jeans. I fold my t-shirts. I fold my underwear and I fold (and stretch) my socks.
I fold my shop towels. We are not the same.
A closing word now on the subject of politics.
No true American wants to see Chris Christie running for president, much less winning the 2024 election. Ditto Mike Pence, Asa Hutchinson or Nikki Haley. None of those declared Uniparty candidates would take our crumbling country in the direction it must go.
I suggest that you watch closely how the GOP hopefuls react to Trump’s (latest) indictment. All of them, as Americans who believe in equal justice under law, should unequivocally condemn the federal charges. Those who don’t, by hedging or soft-pedaling or remaining silent, have no business running for president.
That’s not a pro-Trump position — it’s pro-America.
Take care of yourselves, Patriots. Stay calm. Stay sharp. Stay free.