The Maintenance Chapter: Holding Things Together

Chapter 121: Warranty Anxiety and Mild-Weather Luxuries

I had an appointment with the Winnebago-certified dealership to investigate the mysterious “one-time” roof leak, the kind of leak that appears once, causes almost no damage, and yet lives permanently in the paranoid corner of my brain whispering, what if this becomes catastrophic the day after the warranty expires? So, naturally, off we went.

Arriving at 8:30 a.m. felt extra given that this is normally the hour I crawl back into bed after dropping Nelson at work. The waiting area sat on a mezzanine above the showroom, where energetic rock music was blasting at a volume appropriate for a Friday night bar, not a sleepy woman clutching cold brew at dawn. No coffee, no donuts... just popcorn, which felt wildly inappropriate before noon.

Staff kept greeting me, which was pleasant, until the manager returned for the third time asking whether anyone had “come to ask me questions yet.” Apparently, he thought I was the annual insurance agent visiting for open enrollment, who traditionally “sits in that exact spot.” I looked down at my joggers, oversized sweatshirt and the red beanie on my head, and briefly wondered what kind of insurance agents he had been meeting. We both laughed once the confusion cleared, though I did feel slightly flattered that someone believed I looked like a functioning professional at that hour.

The actual repair turned out mercifully straightforward. They found the source of the leak, quoted a reasonable fix, and, thanks to their heated indoor workshop, were also able to seal the window gap that had been waiting months for a sufficiently warm day. Walking through the cavernous shop filled with towering RVs, detached toilets, and open wall panels felt like wandering inside a mechanical hospital ward for houses on wheels. A couple of hours later, the van was done, and again, I had over-prepared for a long wait that never materialized, a pattern I am perfectly happy to continue.

The following days unfolded gently, helped by a rare stretch of mild January weather. Warm sunshine justified a paper-plate charcuterie lunch in the van, which somehow tasted far more luxurious than it had any right to. At night I cooked what felt like full-scale Taiwanese feasts in our tiny kitchen: braised pork with shiitake mushrooms, tomato-egg omelet, baby bok choy,  meals that required just enough chopping and sizzling to make the van smell like home.

Chapter 122: Beetles, Ice, and Other Winter Engineering Projects

The first fly-tying class of the year arrived on a freezing Saturday morning. David demonstrated the beetle pattern, and within minutes I learned the critical step that had been missing from my YouTube education: pull the foam really tight so the beetle gets a properly rounded backside instead of looking like a confused ant. Suddenly everything made sense. A kind classmate even shared colorful foam pieces, allowing me to produce a bright pink beetle, a glamorous creation that Nelson promptly lost to the river ten minutes into fishing. Princess Beetle lived a short but meaningful life.

That night I attempted butter chicken, which joined my previous biryani attempt in the category of “technically edible but spiritually disappointing.” To recover morale, we staged a proper Tim Tam Slam using hot Earl Grey tea. On a sub-freezing night, the chocolate biscuit dissolved into something resembling molten cake, and we both wondered why it had taken us twenty years in Australia to finally try this in Missouri, USA.

Winter camping continued to present engineering challenges. The grey-water valve froze solid, leaving a visible cylinder of ice blocking the pipe. Inspired by a previous encounter with an industrial heat gun, I deployed my very expensive Dyson Air Wrap (a birthday present from my dear friend Han), originally designed for hairstyling, as an emergency plumbing device. Five minutes later the ice ring melted, the valve opened, and I felt an unreasonable level of pride in repurposing a beauty appliance for wastewater management.

Fresh-water refilling brought another adventure. Park staff had shut off underground water mains ahead of the cold front, leaving only one neighboring RV still connected. The owner, who bore a striking resemblance to Pedro Pascal, generously let us borrow his hose. While we chatted in the wind waiting for the tank to fill, a thin sheet of ice quietly formed on the pavement from dripping water. Moments later he stepped on it, slipped, and caught himself just before hitting the ground. His young son appeared at the door just in time to hear, “Daddy almost died,” delivered in a tone suggesting this was a routine household update. The child responded by happily sliding across the ice in Crocs.

Pedro's good Samaritan RV leaving the campground

By MLK Day the cold finally convinced even Nelson to skip fishing, which may be the most reliable indicator of extreme weather I know. We spotted the resident bald eagle on our way out of the park, refilled propane back in Bentonville, and ended the day browsing foam and felt at Hobby Lobby... a sentence that, if told to our past selves, would have sounded deeply concerning. Yet somehow, this mix of repairs, small victories, frozen pipes, and quiet winter routines felt exactly like the right way to settle into the new year.

I know how to have fun at Hobby Lobby.  Yes I do!