Sue's Incomplete List of Rules for RV Living, Part 1

Living in an RV is not for everyone, and requires some important bits of knowledge before embarking on an adventure like this.  So, as a public service, I have created a list of rules you might want to follow if you ever find yourself considering this unique housing option:

     

Sue's Rules for RVing

#1.  Try to make sure the RV park you pick doesn't suck   

We began our stay in Tijeras, a little town in what are called the East Mountains.  Tijeras is about 8 miles east of Abq.  I picked this particular RV park because it was cheap.   In the Albuquerque area, RV parks generally run from about $300 - $600 per month, and we could only consider places on the low end of the range.  The place we chose was quiet, but it was a mishmash of prickly, tall weeds, rocks and dirt.  No club house or pool, and we couldn't connect to their "free" Wi-fi.  Free wi-fi my ass!  

Our lovely RV Park in Tijeras!

After only a few days we realized it was a sucky campground, but we had already paid for a month.  You can pay nightly for a few days until you see if you like it.  Most parks cost about $25-$30 a night.  But when you're poor, it seems crazy to put out $60 or $90 for a few days to make sure you like it there, when you know you could just put down the $350 for the month and be done with it!  So, let me amend my first rule:  if you're low on cash, just pay monthly and deal with it!  



#2.  Be friendly, but not too friendly.   It was a small RV park, but out of about 50 spaces, there were only about 7 RVs camped there.  (That should have been my first clue to Rule #1).  I had imagined bonding with all these older, retired RVing couples, listening to them talk about their travels, the good old days and life on the road.  

But that didn't happen, especially at that first park.  

There was one guy whose family was in Texas but he had a job at Kirtland Air Force Base in Abq.  He lived in a fifth wheel instead of an apartment, and was gone to Amarillo every weekend.  There was a 30's-ish couple who had a lot of visitors nightly, and they would light a small campfire and sit around drinking beers and hanging out, but they weren't friendly to us.   There were a few RVs with people who almost never came out.  I wasn't even sure some of them were occupied until I caught a glimpse now and then of someone opening a door and slamming it shut again.

And then there was Mabel.  


She lived 2 spots over from us, and welcomed us warmly when we first arrived.  She was in her 60s, she said, and had lived there for about 2 years.  2 years!!  People live in RVs for years and years!  The thought made me a little sick to my stomach.  Mabel started coming over on a regular basis:  to give us some basil from her basil plant, to give us a DVD she had already watched, etc.   Not long after we arrived she gave me a loose-leaf notebook and told me it was the book she had written.  She wanted me to read it and tell her if I thought it could be published.  Okay, I thought, I'll read it fast and praise it no matter what.  


Whoa, Nellie!  I was not prepared for this story!  It was a memoir about the years she spent being homeless!  There were many, many personal details that I felt uncomfortable reading (probably similar to how some of you might feel reading this blog!) and knowing about this woman I had just met.  It detailed dumpster diving, breaking and entering, hygiene issues, and much, much more.  It makes me cringe just thinking about it!  This is not because I have an issue with her having been homeless, but because of the forced intimacy imposed on me.   It was as if the natural way of becoming friends was to make a little small talk with someone, and then exchange notebooks with all of your dirty laundry spilled across the pages for the other person to read.  I didn't want to know her that well!  I don't think I want to know anyone that well!  It was depressing and icky.  

Some of you reading this know that I have had a rough couple of years dealing with poverty, foreclosure, surgery for an ectopic pregnancy, unemployment and generally feeling like a failure.  Then we make this cross-country odyssey in order to start fresh, begin anew, and she gives me this piece of dreck detailing just how much worse life can get.  Gee, at least we haven't had to eat garbage yet!  Oh, and we haven't slept in barns yet!  I guess things really are looking up for us!  We're almost at the end of our money, we need jobs, and we're living in a bus, but boy are we lucky!!!  

Between the writing and the endless tales of desperation, I was in hell.  

I felt a little traumatized when I was done, but I managed to tell her it was good but sad and I definitely thought it could be published.  It could, I guess...


After that, I avoided Mabel at all costs.  I had to.  I couldn't deal.  Yet she seemed to be waiting for us every time we came home.  A minute or two after we would drive up to our spot in our car, she would be knocking on the door to Old Gal.  She asked us to watch movies with her, play board games, and just come and talk with her.   I know she was lonely and just wanted some company, but I couldn't listen to more of her bad luck stories.  We did spend some time with her, but it was getting to the point where I fantasized about leaving our car out on the main road and sneaking up to our RV so she wouldn't know we were there!   That might work, but since her rig was only 10 feet away, when we got to Old Gal we would have to come in and sit in complete darkness and silence.


We considered it.  


I'm ashamed to say that on our last day in Tijeras, Mabel happened to be at work, and we not-so-coincidentally forgot to tell her we were leaving.   Okay, I'm not ashamed.  I couldn't take anymore, and even though we were moving across town, I didn't want to take the chance that she would find us.    Maybe I'm the worst person in the world, but if I saw her today I would hide.  Definitely.  Be friendly, but not too friendly.  Please.




#3.  Get someone else, like your husband, to deal with the gray and black water tanks.   This is a very important rule!   First, maybe I should explain about these tanks.  When you get to an RV site, you have a water spigot nearby, which you hook up to your rig with your own hose, like a garden hose.  Then, when you need water, like in the kitchen sink, the water comes through the faucet and everything is grand.  


But what happens to the water after it goes down the drain?


Well, it goes to the Gray Water Tank in the bowels of the RV.  You need to check it periodically (or get your husband to do it) so it doesn't fill up and come back up on you.  


Any of you wondering what happens with the commode???  You don't really want to know, but you're a little curious, aren't you?  Come on, admit it!  Okay, I'll tell you about The Black Tank.  When you use the toilet, you step on the flush mechanism near the floor.  That causes the bottom of the toilet to open up and drop all the goodies directly into the black tank.   This tank is exclusively for toilet goodies.  Before the black tank fills up (and believe me, you'll know when it's time), you attach a large-ish hose on the outside of the RV that goes from the black tank to a hole in the ground.  Each site has its own hole, and I guess each hole leads to some fabulous septic system underground.  


Well, when you want to flush all of this yukky water out of your tanks, both gray and black, you open a valve and the gray water flows through the black water tank (to help clean and empty it) and all of it goes into the hole in the ground.  Or that is what is supposed to happen.  


We went on RV websites like Good Sam (www.goodsam.com) to get tips before we left, and apparently many people have unfortunate incidents when emptying black water tanks.  Sometimes they don't attach the hoses very well, which leads to spilling and spraying of "black water".  Or they forget to wear gloves, or the tank overflows, etc.  

Just thinking about it activates my gag reflex!   Ack!


I'm a girl from suburban New Jersey.  We never had to deal this intimately with the most unpleasant of all bodily fluids/emissions!  We barely even needed a plunger in the 20 + years I lived in my parents' house!   Before I agreed to this nutty, hair-brained scheme, I told Jimmy in no uncertain terms that I would only do it if I never had to deal with the poopy tank.  I never did, thank god!


Luckily, Jimmy is a crack hose-attacher, and I'm proud to say there were no black water tank incidents during our entire 6-month stay in Old Gal.   Whew!  

Don't be a hero - get someone else to do it!  


There are more rules for RV living, but these are the ones I consider the most important for now.  Don't stay at a sucky place, don't talk about your stint as a homeless person until you know someone well, and don't go near the poopy tank & hoses.  Follow these rules - you'll be glad you did!