Full-Timing: The First Day

Life – life is this precious gift, and plans are just these things we make that can be undone in a solitary moment as time marches on and the world keeps turning and most people go on living this life, taking it for granted, forgetting its fragile state and changeable nature.

The past two weeks were tiring, busy, full of packing and sorting and purging and storing along with business events and classes and the normal (laundry and cooking and tending family needs) as well as some abnormal (such as shingles – yep, me, right in the middle of the crazy.) And then it arrived: The day we were finished. The house had been emptied and cleaned, the RV had been packed and loaded, and we were ready to hit the road and live the dream.

Yesterday was the beginning of a grand adventure we’ve been planning for the past four months. Click! Take a picture, post it to Facebook, let the world know the time has come, and we’re off to travel the country, pulling “home” behind us.

The plan: Drive from High Point, NC to Canton, OH, get settled on Wednesday evening, play at the campground Thursday, do a business meeting Thursday evening, play on Friday, do a business training all day Saturday. Continue on to Lewiston, NY, see Niagara Falls, do a business meeting Monday evening, and spend some time visiting other places in New York before continuing on to Maine.

The reality: Three hours in, we stop for lunch. We smell burning rubber and assume it is from all of the trucks at the truck stop. Less than an hour later, children must use the “facilities” in a bad way, so we stop. Not liking the look of the little gas station, my husband opens up the RV to use the toilet in there instead. As he does, that burning smell is sickeningly strong. Something isn’t right.

Two tires are touching, rubbing each other as they turn down the highway, burning the tread right off each other. An axle is broken on a brand-new RV we’ve owned three months and used for three previous trips. We’ve been obliviously in danger. Phone calls, fear, stress, what to do … everything kicks into high gear even as we sit stranded in a parking lot. Day one, and all we have planned has been thrown out the window, strewn all over the highway, and our minds are littered with questions we can’t answer. 

At last, we know what we must do, and my knight in shining armor completes all that must be done: Call the manufacturer, find the closest service centers, remove the tire from the broken axle, and attempt to drive 65 miles to the nearest Keystone service center. All the way, the hanging axle hits the pavement, dragging along and making an eerie crashing sound as we cross bumps in the road. There is no music; the Adventures in Odyssey are silenced; we stare at the road ahead and the RV behind as if either might easily disappear or explode if we avert our watching eyes. I have texted some of my closest friends to ask them to pray, and now all I can do is join them silently as I watch and wait.

Thoughts spill out between the man I married and me every now and then:

“Those tires could have caught fire.”

“Aren’t we glad they had to pee?”

“I should have noticed at lunch.”

“Maybe it was my fault. Maybe I broke it.”

“This will make a good story someday.”

“We have a warranty.”

“We are safe; that’s all that matters. Now we just need to get there.”

And, we do. We are in good hands as service workers and managers who were getting ready to leave for the day spring to action.  It turns out this particular axle, one of the three on our rig, had been spot welded and never finished on one side; the welding had never been completed. It was weak from the time it was built; it had finally just given way.

 

There are swings and a nice, grassy field for the kids and dog, who are bored and disappointed and ready to be at the campground where we should have been by now. I look for a hotel, but someone tells me we can sleep there, in our home, on the service parking lot, where they will keep it plugged in so we can also leave the freshly stocked fridge running. I am so relieved not to have to pack up clothes and toothbrushes and everything I need for my business meetings just yet. We need food. We need to take some deep breaths. We need to shake off the “what-ifs.” We thank those who have been helping us, and the service manager says, “The company will take good care of you. This could have been … life … altering.” He paused; he wasn’t sure of the word to use after “life.” I turn away; unexpected tears had surfaced.

  

At the restaurant, my husband and I try to make light conversation about the menu. Suddenly our voices are shaky; we choke on our words; we catch each other’s eyes and gaze for a moment into each other’s tears. This story could have ended differently. Badly.

We’ve been like those two tires lately. As we packed and moved and dealt with boxes and shingles and all of the things, we often rubbed each other the wrong way, barreling on down the highway and burning the tread right off each other. None of it mattered. Family, together, life – that’s what matters. The high emotions and high adrenaline tumble downward; I step outside to compose myself.

After dinner, we spend the evening packing up to head onward as meetings won’t wait for RV parts and service. It is ironic; I had been so glad to be putting everything away without having to unpack the RV and take it all to the house again as we had for the three trips we had taken already. I remove the clothes from their drawers and bins and the bathroom products from their shelves. What can I do but shake my head and smile? I’m a planner, and my best-laid plans have been thwarted again as the Lord reminds me that our times are in His hands.

“Nothing else matters because we are safe, right, Mom?”

Yes, son, that’s right. We have each other. We are safe. And life – life is this precious gift, and plans are just these things we make that can be undone in a solitary moment.