Then Things Got Better

Chapter 78: The $6,000 Running Board and the $120 Hero

Running on three hours of sleep, I dropped Nelson off at work and immediately wanted to crawl back into bed - but no, I was a woman on a mission. A running-board-repair mission.

I started with Daniel, the mechanic who changed my generator oil last week. I emailed him photos; he promised to “take a look.” Encouraged, I drove my battered van around town… only to find that two local body shops were shockingly uninterested in my money. Apparently running boards have the profit margin of expired bananas.

One suggested a Winnebago-certified place. I hesitated - dealership service departments always feel like they’d rather sell you an RV than help you fix one you didn’t buy from them - but desperation won. To my surprise, the guy was pleasant and said he’d talk to his “parts guy.”

Two weeks and several follow-up calls later, I got the verdict: $6,000 to replace a running board (Meanwhile Amazon sells generic ones for $500… OK.)

The two earlier body shops? Never even called back.

Just when I was ready to give up on humanity, Daniel resurfaced as my personal saint. He offered to fix the running board for $120 -  “it won’t look new, but it’ll look a lot better.” At this stage of vanlife, “a lot better” is basically luxury.

Since he knew we lived in the van, he even suggested I come on a day when he had no other customers so we wouldn’t be stranded. I felt relieved, grateful, and mildly terrified he might one day say, “Actually… we have to replace it after all.” But that was a problem for Future Me.

To regain my sanity, I shoved worries into the mental freezer section and enjoyed the gorgeous weather. I picked Nelson up from work, and we finally walked the trails at Osage Park instead of just cooking there. It was stunning, wetlands glowing in perfect golden light, and we even saw people fishing at Lake Bentonville. Nelson immediately began plotting his return.

After dinner, gym showers, and some marital cardio (a.k.a. “looking for somewhere to sleep”), we drove to the truck stop the police officers recommended. It looked far on the map, but only took 10 minutes by highway. It was like stepping into a new micro-country:30+ semis, 15 bobtails, vans like ours, random sedans, everyone tucked into their “spots for the night.”

Some trucks idled to keep warm; others hummed quietly. The place was surprisingly comforting, safe by sheer population density. We put up our privacy screens without the slightest need for stealth, and the rumble of diesel engines became the perfect white noise.  We slept better than we had in days.

Chapter 79 : Bougie Coffee and Parking-Space Drama

The next morning I put on a dress - always the sign of personal optimism, and headed to Sky Bar at The Momentary. The rooftop view was incredible, all sunlight and bougie minimalism. I tried ordering iced coffee, but their menu was basically wine + cocktails. The maitre d’ cheerfully suggested I grab a cold brew downstairs at Onyx and bring it up. Bougie meets small-town hospitality - perfect combo.

Onyx delivered my coffee via conveyor belt (Gen Z enrichment toy?), which looked great next to my laptop but tasted aggressively average. Still, the view above Bentonville made up for everything, and I worked peacefully for hours.

Returning to Blowing Springs felt like coming home: new staff, new Wi-Fi password, same cozy vibe. I did laundry, made dinner, and watched a live-action marriage test unfold next door.

A couple with a gigantic fifth-wheel tried (and failed) to back into their site. The wife was giving directions. The neighbor lady joined in. The husband foolishly listened to “the other woman”… and still couldn’t park straight. My morale soared - as a terrible parker myself, nothing delights me more than someone else’s parking struggle.

Then came the witches’ cones. Tiny plastic witches’ hats, which the two women used to lay out a weird little runway for him. Even with that magical guidance system, the guy was still hopeless. I eventually got bored, went back to my cooking, and somehow the trailer ended up perfectly parked anyway - followed by an argument.

runway at the campground!

Later, when I ran into the husband, he apologized: “I keep forgetting how small these sites are.” (Sir… why do you have such a big rig then?)

I picked up Nelson and drove him to Lake Brittany for some post-work fishing. No catches, but plenty of peace. We did feel slightly guilty ruining what looked like a couple’s romantic lake moment with our giant boxy van : instant vibe killer.

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Chapter 80 : Spa Day for Shoes and Vans

Vanlife hit a new level on Thursday when I found myself sunning Nelson’s freshly washed shoes on the dashboard. The same dashboard that now doubles as:
• solar lamp charging station
• tea towel drying rack
• pumpkin display shelf

Solar power is real power LOL

From Rogers to Lululemon returns to holiday-confusion-mall-wandering (Christmas trees, Halloween clearance, and Thanksgiving turkeys all coexisting), I eventually resumed my mission: find a car wash that fits a 9’6” van.

One attendant marveled, “Your van is massive! Look at that thing!” Sir… don’t body-shame my home.  He ultimately directed me to Castle Bay in Bentonville, a self-wash setup, which I completely misunderstood. I showed up thinking someone would wash the van for me. Instead: DIY. With 20 mysterious buttons. While wearing a skirt.

Enter Jesse, my angel in a Sprinter van.

He:
• explained the system
• let me go first
• and essentially washed my entire van when I froze at the control panel

He taught me the sacred order:
soap → foam brush → high-pressure rinse → tire cleaner (carefully!)

I was so grateful I nearly cried. Every time I feel lost in “The South,” some unbelievably kind person saves the day. No one asks where I “really” come from or what my politics are -  just “Need help?” and “Where have you been traveling?” Truly soul-soothing.

Feeling powerful in my sparkling clean van, I picked up Nelson and we drove to Roaring River for dinner at the Emory Melton Inn, a cozy log-cabin-ski-lodge sort of place. Nelson got meatloaf; I got chicken fried steak, which tasted good but absolutely nothing like steak. The gravy was thick enough to qualify as construction material, but the shell-shaped fries slapped.

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Chapter 81 :Trout Triumphs, Stolen Fish, and the Softest Snake Named Henry

Friday was Nelson’s day off, so I bought myself a trout tag and joined the hardcore early-morning anglers at Roaring River. It was freezing, but by 9 a.m. I’d already caught two gorgeous rainbow trout. I left them tied on my stringer in the river and went back to the van for breakfast.

When I returned, they were gone. My fish had been stolen. At Roaring River, a place I thought was too magical and wholesome for such crimes.

I half-heartedly tried to catch more but my motivation had evaporated. Nelson caught his quota, and we shivered through gutting fish in the icy wind. At least we had six big trout total, which I turned into a delicious Taiwanese-style soy-braised dinner with hot pot on the side. Cozy perfection.

Saturday morning, we took inspiration from 'The Parent Trap' and made trout for breakfast, pan-fried filets in a sandwich inspired by Barbados fish cutters. Shockingly delicious.

We walked the entire “Trout-O-Lantern” campground competition route - three full campgrounds, and admired everything from friendly skeletons (my weakness) to giant inflatable monsters. A kid near our site won, and his pure joy made the whole cold, wet day worth it.

This was my personal favorite!

Sunday was the crown jewel. We finally visited the Roaring River Nature Center and stumbled into a fly-fishing 101 class on the lawn. David, the naturalist, taught everyone to cast. I tried a fly rod for the first time… and was apparently a natural. My ego grew three sizes.

Inside, David introduced us to Henry, the king snake. Henry was described as “sweet,” and unbelievably… he was. When I pet him (somewhere along his three-foot belly), he half closed his eyes like a golden retriever enjoying a tummy rub. I fell in love.  Then we fed mealworms to the skink, who chomped them like Cookie Monster. Pure joy.

Henry and his cozy lean-to

We ended the day making trout congee with mushrooms and century egg, tasted better than it sounds!  Trout '3 ways' felt like the perfect wrap as the catch-and-keep season approached its glorious end.

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