I was sitting quietly on the unfinished floor of the trailer, light from the rest stop streaming through the glass when I heard it, an odd, rasping sound. I stopped my typing to listen. A small drill seemed to be operating nearby as if some nighttime scoundrel had some nefarious plan involving power tools. But presently the sound died off into a soft sigh. I glanced towards the front of the trailer. My dad had only been snoring, I realized.
We were parked at a rest area in South Dakota. I had purchased the Airstream: a 1977 31′ Sovereign Land Yacht. What’s the point of scouring the inter webs for a cheap trailer and bargaining hard only to pay for a hotel on the way back? We were pulling a camper for goodness’ sake. Who cares if it looked like a trash barge, we were going to sleep in it. And we did. Well, dad did, anyway. I more or less listened to the sound of drilling.
Lucky for me (that’s kind of a joke) I worked a funky night schedule at the time so I wasn’t that tired anyway.
The actual sale had gone smoothly enough. Mr. Seller had pulled the trailer a few hours south and met us where most Craigslist deals go down: a Walmart parking lot.
I had done my research so when the Airstream came into view, I was ready. Unfortunately, the closer I got, the less ready I felt. To make things worse, my first thought upon ducking into the aluminum shell was, “Is this even going to be tall enough for James?”
And how is one supposed to know what shape the subfloor, wiring, insulation, and frame are in if one doesn’t happen to have X-ray vision? Rising from a useless peek at the underbelly, I stood and with a cough, kicked a tire. It didn’t pop so I thought that was a good sign.
Within 30min the deal was done, papers signed, cash paid, and hitches switched. I was excited and hoped I should be.
The rest of the trip went surprisingly smoothly, considering it was the first time either of us had pulled something so long. A generous friend had lent us his monster truck and it pulled the 31’ trailer beautifully. Despite this, my dad still seemed reluctant to let me drive. I suppose in his mind I’m still just a kid in mismatching clothes instead of what I am: a married adult woman in mismatching clothes. And the truth is, I was just a kid only 20 years ago so I kind of sympathize.
After a few hundred miles, I was finally able to persuade him to let me take the wheel – gently reminding him of how long I’d been alive and that, being it was my trailer after all, I probably should know how to pull it.
For next next hundred miles or so, he sat back and supervised from the passenger seat, carefully watching to make sure I never took my hands from the wheel.
“But,” I queried, “I’m thirsty. How am I supposed to take a drink if I can’t use my hands?”
He seemed to consider this thoughtfully and when he finally looked away, I swiped a quick sip.
Eventually, he did relax, which was great because we decided we might as well hit a few obstacle course detours while I was in training: Bad Lands National Park – since it was on the way – and, hey, why not swing by Mt Rushmore too?
It was a great Father-Daughter day and as an extra bonus, we didn’t drop the trailer off a cliff.
Thanks for letting me know; you’re right, they are struggling a bit. I’ll check into that soon and link them properly.
Hi, I don’t use Twitter currently – just the blog. But thanks for the kind words. Really appreciate it.
Ha, thanks very much for the encouragement. Glad you stumbled into it!
Thanks! Glad you’re enjoying it.