Still no one from the city has questioned whether I’ve registered at the park. It’s just me and two other motorhomes that are traveling together.
Nathan Millner responded to my mystery berry question on facebook. He believes they are Mulberries, but won’t take responsibility for any health problems than may arise. I told him, I’d eat just one and wait a day to see what happens.
The log is still smoldering in the fire pit. It’s near my bedroom window, which I like to leave open a crack. It’s giving the bus a nice wood smoke smell and authentic camping ambiance. I haven’t smelled the whiskey in awhile. I’m not sure if it’s the unseasonably cool temps. (57 at night, mid 70s during the day), or if the smoke scent is masking it.
I finally went to work on my leveling jacks. The trick is to unscrew and open the hydraulic line under the bus on the jack(s) that won’t move, and then hit the button. Usually red hydraulic fluid will spray out and the jack will start to move. Sometimes it makes a big mess. I feel bad that this is very bad for the environment and try to minimize the mess as much as possible. Three of my jacks were stuck. The trick worked perfectly on the first. Feeling confidant I moved to the second. It took a bit more persuasion, but started to move. The third one was a problem and after a great deal of time it still would not move. My fear is that if the trick didn’t work sometime in the future and a jack was stuck down, I’d be grounded. Proving that the trick didn’t always work and with one jack still immobile I was nervous to put the other three into the ground. When I had gotten the three jacks moving earlier I laid out some 2’ 2x8” boards that the old guy who previously owned the bus had in the bottom storage. I’m on riverbank sand and these would keep the jacks from sinking in. I remembered seeing smaller motorhomes in Rochester without leveling jacks simply driving a wheel or two, up and onto a board, or two to level their rigs. I decided this would work here. It was my back left tires that were sinking into the sand. I drove those tires up onto two boards. It worked very well. I’m level side to side and leaning just slightly to the rear. Remembering my eggs I realized I had achieved perfect art. Plus I knew for a fact that I wasn’t grounded and could roll if necessary.
I wanted to ride my bike, but my broken collar bone was hurting and that takes all of the fun out of it. I walked to the St. Peter Food Co-Op. It had been there for many years. I remembered successfully steeling a dry, three foot spaghetti noodle in my pants without breaking it on a dare as a kid. The store was completely different as it had been remodeled. I had an excellent turkey sandwich on sourdough with provalone, lettuce, tomatoes, sprouts and a spicy avocado spread. The Co-Op reminded me of the Food Co-Op that I often ate at in Ashland Oregon when I was attending United Bike Institute for mechanic class. It felt like home in every way. I was in my home town, yet this reminded me of the home I was running away to.
I went to my mom and dad’s for supper. It was so nice to be just ten minutes away. We looked at more maps and had another great home cooked meal. I can tell that they’re sad that I’m leaving soon for who knows how long, but I think they understand why I have to go. I’m hoping we can share the journey, at least digitally.
Back at the bus I wound up staying up late chatting with friends on facebook. I realized that having only digital friends does have at least one positive side effect. I can choose who I want to surround myself with as friends based on like-minded attitude rather than simply geographical location.
Before I went to bed I noticed that some hoodlum kids had a fire going in one of the empty campsites several spaces away. No worries to me as long as they leave my stuff alone. I decided to leave the TV on in the foreword compartment of the bus to make it look like someone was up. I brought the remote to bed with me in the back of the bus and set it on my radio so I could shut the TV off later. The remote shoots straight down the hallway all the way to the front. I listened to the kids partying it up; they seemed to be minding their own business. I wished that they’d turn their radio down a bit, and then I realized it was MY radio. I had inadvertently turned it on when I set the remote on it. I’m the damn hoodlum! I turned it off and drifted into dreamland.
Nathan Millner responded to my mystery berry question on facebook. He believes they are Mulberries, but won’t take responsibility for any health problems than may arise. I told him, I’d eat just one and wait a day to see what happens.
The log is still smoldering in the fire pit. It’s near my bedroom window, which I like to leave open a crack. It’s giving the bus a nice wood smoke smell and authentic camping ambiance. I haven’t smelled the whiskey in awhile. I’m not sure if it’s the unseasonably cool temps. (57 at night, mid 70s during the day), or if the smoke scent is masking it.
I finally went to work on my leveling jacks. The trick is to unscrew and open the hydraulic line under the bus on the jack(s) that won’t move, and then hit the button. Usually red hydraulic fluid will spray out and the jack will start to move. Sometimes it makes a big mess. I feel bad that this is very bad for the environment and try to minimize the mess as much as possible. Three of my jacks were stuck. The trick worked perfectly on the first. Feeling confidant I moved to the second. It took a bit more persuasion, but started to move. The third one was a problem and after a great deal of time it still would not move. My fear is that if the trick didn’t work sometime in the future and a jack was stuck down, I’d be grounded. Proving that the trick didn’t always work and with one jack still immobile I was nervous to put the other three into the ground. When I had gotten the three jacks moving earlier I laid out some 2’ 2x8” boards that the old guy who previously owned the bus had in the bottom storage. I’m on riverbank sand and these would keep the jacks from sinking in. I remembered seeing smaller motorhomes in Rochester without leveling jacks simply driving a wheel or two, up and onto a board, or two to level their rigs. I decided this would work here. It was my back left tires that were sinking into the sand. I drove those tires up onto two boards. It worked very well. I’m level side to side and leaning just slightly to the rear. Remembering my eggs I realized I had achieved perfect art. Plus I knew for a fact that I wasn’t grounded and could roll if necessary.
I wanted to ride my bike, but my broken collar bone was hurting and that takes all of the fun out of it. I walked to the St. Peter Food Co-Op. It had been there for many years. I remembered successfully steeling a dry, three foot spaghetti noodle in my pants without breaking it on a dare as a kid. The store was completely different as it had been remodeled. I had an excellent turkey sandwich on sourdough with provalone, lettuce, tomatoes, sprouts and a spicy avocado spread. The Co-Op reminded me of the Food Co-Op that I often ate at in Ashland Oregon when I was attending United Bike Institute for mechanic class. It felt like home in every way. I was in my home town, yet this reminded me of the home I was running away to.
I went to my mom and dad’s for supper. It was so nice to be just ten minutes away. We looked at more maps and had another great home cooked meal. I can tell that they’re sad that I’m leaving soon for who knows how long, but I think they understand why I have to go. I’m hoping we can share the journey, at least digitally.
Back at the bus I wound up staying up late chatting with friends on facebook. I realized that having only digital friends does have at least one positive side effect. I can choose who I want to surround myself with as friends based on like-minded attitude rather than simply geographical location.
Before I went to bed I noticed that some hoodlum kids had a fire going in one of the empty campsites several spaces away. No worries to me as long as they leave my stuff alone. I decided to leave the TV on in the foreword compartment of the bus to make it look like someone was up. I brought the remote to bed with me in the back of the bus and set it on my radio so I could shut the TV off later. The remote shoots straight down the hallway all the way to the front. I listened to the kids partying it up; they seemed to be minding their own business. I wished that they’d turn their radio down a bit, and then I realized it was MY radio. I had inadvertently turned it on when I set the remote on it. I’m the damn hoodlum! I turned it off and drifted into dreamland.
No comments:
Post a Comment