Another “Top Gear” RVing catastrophe
The BBC-America show, Top Gear recently featured a “caravaning” (RVing) trip in a light-weight trailer pulled by an undersized vehicle. For hilarity, the three hosts on this television show can’t be topped.
This time, Jeremy, James and Richard, along with their Top Gear dog pulled the trailer to a caravan park (similar to our American RV parks) in the English countryside. James managed to back the trailer over a tent in the next site, and then he and Jeremy tried to straighten the supports up since the owners weren’t around. Next morning Jeremy set their trailer on fire while cooking breakfast, burning it, plus the tent next door that they had previously knocked down, to a crisp. Watch their latest catastrophe at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0GZRmzuiig8&feature=related.
If you haven’t caught this show on TV, you really should check out the fun provided by the hosts’ unending automotive-related competitions and misadventures.
Meanwhile, our next misadventure may be getting kicked out of an RV park late one night for laughing too loud and keeping the neighbors awake while watching the riotous antics on Top Gear. The show appears on Monday nights on DirecTV, but may be on at a different time on Dish TV or your cable company. And you can still watch the hilarious motorhome race that took place on the show by clicking on this link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gourYCpaJLU&eurl=http://rvvideos.blogspot.com/2008_04_01_archive.html.
Showing posts with label RVing calamities. Show all posts
Showing posts with label RVing calamities. Show all posts
Sunday, June 01, 2008
Another RVing Misadventure!
Our next stupid RV trick happened when we were in West Virginia and hubby needed a part for our brand new, larger RV. Everything in town was on a hillside, so his only choice was to turn into a downhill or uphill lot. So he found an auto parts store with a large parking lot on the downhill side of the road. There was another drive where he could exit back out onto the road, so no problem. Ha!
We were towing the car, so when he finished shopping and started out the drive to the road, the hitch became embedded into the blacktop and wouldn’t budge. It looked as though we were permanently, deeply rooted in the exit drive. We managed to get the car unhitched and I moved it away from the RV, then called the emergency road service once again! They finally arrived and hoisted up the back end of the motorhome to free it from the blacktop and get it moving. Somehow we once again got back on the road with everything but our dignity intact.
Then there was the time in Kentucky when we wanted to visit a park just outside a small town. We made it to the park and had an enjoyable lunch in a quiet, peaceful setting beside a bubbling creek, then when we left, hubby decided to save some miles by going through the nearby town and joining back up with the freeway. The town was a nice little place and we made it fine until we were almost back to the freeway. Looming ahead was one of those bridges with a metal sub-structure, and no clue about how high the clearance was. We knew our new motorhome with the air conditioner and other vents was tall, so we stopped and pondered what to do.
Then we thought of the 25-foot metal tape measure we had with us, and hubby climbed out to go measure the clearance, leaving the motorhome parked by the road. Only thing, the wind was howling and he couldn’t get the tape measure to stay put while he inched it up the skeleton of the bridge. Finally, we decided I would have to block traffic while he attempted to turn the motorhome around and head back through town. Did I mention that we had just topped a hill and were headed downhill when we spotted the bridge ahead?
Well, I managed to stop what little traffic was traveling the road, and somehow he got 34 feet of motorhome with a car in tow turned around on a two-lane highway. Yet another misadventure under out belts.
I will have to say that we learned from those first few mistakes. Traveling has been a lot more pleasant (and safer) since 1995. Oops, I forgot about the metal pipe sticking up out of the asphalt in a parking lot that hubby managed to not see and sideswipe, scraping up all of the storage compartment doors on one side. Or the time he was directing me back to get propane but forgot to notice the overhang that I couldn’t see in the rearview side mirrors before I bumped it, bending our ladder.
Looking back, I believe we’ve had more misadventures that most RVers, but seriously, none that we can’t look back on and laugh about today. Okay, so we’ve developed a perverse sense of humor. And amazingly, we’re still together.
Our next stupid RV trick happened when we were in West Virginia and hubby needed a part for our brand new, larger RV. Everything in town was on a hillside, so his only choice was to turn into a downhill or uphill lot. So he found an auto parts store with a large parking lot on the downhill side of the road. There was another drive where he could exit back out onto the road, so no problem. Ha!
We were towing the car, so when he finished shopping and started out the drive to the road, the hitch became embedded into the blacktop and wouldn’t budge. It looked as though we were permanently, deeply rooted in the exit drive. We managed to get the car unhitched and I moved it away from the RV, then called the emergency road service once again! They finally arrived and hoisted up the back end of the motorhome to free it from the blacktop and get it moving. Somehow we once again got back on the road with everything but our dignity intact.
Then there was the time in Kentucky when we wanted to visit a park just outside a small town. We made it to the park and had an enjoyable lunch in a quiet, peaceful setting beside a bubbling creek, then when we left, hubby decided to save some miles by going through the nearby town and joining back up with the freeway. The town was a nice little place and we made it fine until we were almost back to the freeway. Looming ahead was one of those bridges with a metal sub-structure, and no clue about how high the clearance was. We knew our new motorhome with the air conditioner and other vents was tall, so we stopped and pondered what to do.
Then we thought of the 25-foot metal tape measure we had with us, and hubby climbed out to go measure the clearance, leaving the motorhome parked by the road. Only thing, the wind was howling and he couldn’t get the tape measure to stay put while he inched it up the skeleton of the bridge. Finally, we decided I would have to block traffic while he attempted to turn the motorhome around and head back through town. Did I mention that we had just topped a hill and were headed downhill when we spotted the bridge ahead?
Well, I managed to stop what little traffic was traveling the road, and somehow he got 34 feet of motorhome with a car in tow turned around on a two-lane highway. Yet another misadventure under out belts.
I will have to say that we learned from those first few mistakes. Traveling has been a lot more pleasant (and safer) since 1995. Oops, I forgot about the metal pipe sticking up out of the asphalt in a parking lot that hubby managed to not see and sideswipe, scraping up all of the storage compartment doors on one side. Or the time he was directing me back to get propane but forgot to notice the overhang that I couldn’t see in the rearview side mirrors before I bumped it, bending our ladder.
Looking back, I believe we’ve had more misadventures that most RVers, but seriously, none that we can’t look back on and laugh about today. Okay, so we’ve developed a perverse sense of humor. And amazingly, we’re still together.
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
The "Precious Moments" Crisis
Since we were going to be near Carthage, Missouri and I knew my sister loved Precious Moments figurines, we decided to pay the chapel and home of the precious little dust catchers a visit. They basically make me gag, but for her, I would make the supreme sacrifice! Besides, I needed an appropriate gift for a young friend just graduating from nursing school, and I thought I might find something there.
Well, as hubby started to turn into the parking lot, I pointed out in my nicest voice that the big rigs seemed to be parking across the street. My most pleasant voice wasn’t heard above the testosterone drumming in his loins as he sensed a challenge. So he turned into the vehicle lot. Then I spotted some RVs at the left end of the parking lot and suggested that he go that way. But again, he no can hear wife’s sweet suggestion. So he plowed straight down the middle row of the lot, thinking he could turn at the other end and get to the outer edge of the lot.
He was wrong! We got to the end of the row before he realized it was a dead-end. Not only that, the engine died at just that moment. No amount of cranking could get it started again, so he decided to unhook the car and have me park it while he continued trying to crank the motorhome. He hoped to be able to get it started and back it out of the parking lot, with his darling little spouse directing, of course.
After a couple more futile attempts to start the engine, I finally hiked into the gift shop to find a pay phone to call our emergency road service. As I came out, a security guard came rushing up frantically signaling hubby to get that giant boxcar out of his parking lot. I explained that we couldn’t possibly move it until someone got there to start it again, and that meantime, I could direct anyone around us whose way we might be blocking.
The guard was seemingly on the verge of a mental breakdown or cardiac arrest, and he wanted us to move, NOW! I tried to calm him down while I explained the facts. A horrific picture of myself having to direct traffic while also giving him CPR (which I had recently learned, but failed the certification test) wound through my brain. Things did not look good for the security guard! Still, there was nothing we could do except wait to be rescued.
Long story short: the road service truck showed up, they took a look under the hood and discovered the problem—a ruptured gas line—and within a few minutes we were ready to roll again. Not one single motorist had needed to be directed around the motorhome during that time. I guess they were all still inside, catatonic and frozen in place after gaping at thousands of creepy little figurines.
I can’t say how the security guy survived the catastrophe. When we left he was still pacing up and down, wiping his brow and wringing his hands. He was so distressed, he was absolutely no help to us, nor could he have been to anyone else who might need help. In fact, he appeared not to notice that our motorhome was no longer blocking the lane.
Hubby finally got the rig parked and I ran into the shop and grabbed a couple of precious little memory makers off the shelf, paid for them, and thought how the last thing I wanted to do was to spend money on the little dust catchers. I didn’t even bother to check out the Chapel, which is the showcase of the place. I just wanted out of there—and let’s just say we’ve never been back. And my memories of the place are not so precious!
We would have many more mishaps before we managed to get this RVing thing right.
Since we were going to be near Carthage, Missouri and I knew my sister loved Precious Moments figurines, we decided to pay the chapel and home of the precious little dust catchers a visit. They basically make me gag, but for her, I would make the supreme sacrifice! Besides, I needed an appropriate gift for a young friend just graduating from nursing school, and I thought I might find something there.
Well, as hubby started to turn into the parking lot, I pointed out in my nicest voice that the big rigs seemed to be parking across the street. My most pleasant voice wasn’t heard above the testosterone drumming in his loins as he sensed a challenge. So he turned into the vehicle lot. Then I spotted some RVs at the left end of the parking lot and suggested that he go that way. But again, he no can hear wife’s sweet suggestion. So he plowed straight down the middle row of the lot, thinking he could turn at the other end and get to the outer edge of the lot.
He was wrong! We got to the end of the row before he realized it was a dead-end. Not only that, the engine died at just that moment. No amount of cranking could get it started again, so he decided to unhook the car and have me park it while he continued trying to crank the motorhome. He hoped to be able to get it started and back it out of the parking lot, with his darling little spouse directing, of course.
After a couple more futile attempts to start the engine, I finally hiked into the gift shop to find a pay phone to call our emergency road service. As I came out, a security guard came rushing up frantically signaling hubby to get that giant boxcar out of his parking lot. I explained that we couldn’t possibly move it until someone got there to start it again, and that meantime, I could direct anyone around us whose way we might be blocking.
The guard was seemingly on the verge of a mental breakdown or cardiac arrest, and he wanted us to move, NOW! I tried to calm him down while I explained the facts. A horrific picture of myself having to direct traffic while also giving him CPR (which I had recently learned, but failed the certification test) wound through my brain. Things did not look good for the security guard! Still, there was nothing we could do except wait to be rescued.
Long story short: the road service truck showed up, they took a look under the hood and discovered the problem—a ruptured gas line—and within a few minutes we were ready to roll again. Not one single motorist had needed to be directed around the motorhome during that time. I guess they were all still inside, catatonic and frozen in place after gaping at thousands of creepy little figurines.
I can’t say how the security guy survived the catastrophe. When we left he was still pacing up and down, wiping his brow and wringing his hands. He was so distressed, he was absolutely no help to us, nor could he have been to anyone else who might need help. In fact, he appeared not to notice that our motorhome was no longer blocking the lane.
Hubby finally got the rig parked and I ran into the shop and grabbed a couple of precious little memory makers off the shelf, paid for them, and thought how the last thing I wanted to do was to spend money on the little dust catchers. I didn’t even bother to check out the Chapel, which is the showcase of the place. I just wanted out of there—and let’s just say we’ve never been back. And my memories of the place are not so precious!
We would have many more mishaps before we managed to get this RVing thing right.
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