Ch 3: The Rubicon

Where were we?

The Rubicon, as I understand it, is both a river in Italy and a metaphor for crossing beyond a point of no return.  While in Julius Caesar’s case, it was both literal and symbolic, I can’t help but think that if we’d stopped and listened we would have heard rushing water.

Byron and I had just found our future home; the yet to be named and yet to be an actual farm, farm.  Flying high on the fantastic plans and ideas we had hatched since finding the plot.  It felt like it was all coasting from there, that the hard part was over. Not only had we prepared and sold our city house, but we’d also scoured western Virginia locating our dream property all within a month’s time. All we had to do now was find a nearby place to rent for the duration of the home build. 

Rental hunters

“Rentals are everywhere, so that should not be a problem”, said no one who knows anything about renting, ever.  The first and most insurmountable roadblock was the ordinary fact that we have pets. (My in-laws may or may not refer to me as “Ellie Mae”) We have two wonderful, super cute, and friendly pets who love everyone they meet. Why should anyone be anything less than thrilled to rent to us?  

I was able to make a pretty decent list of places that called themselves “pet friendly”.  Encouraged, I started calling them only to be shut down one by one. First, it was a weight limit restriction or a one-pet limit. Then Roscoe was rejected for being a mixed-breed, which meant that, without DNA proof of the absence of any trace of one of the many arbitrarily restricted breeds, they couldn’t be certain he wasn’t aggressive! The list of potentially aggressive dog breeds, concocted by who knows is dizzying.  

Did you know?

Interesting fact: many property managers are now willing to overlook and allow German Shepherds, a long-restricted breed.  This is a breed specifically selected, known, and often employed for its aggressive personality traits.  “Why are they now allowed?” you ask.  Well, due to its popularity with a more “affluent” sector of society, it is suddenly commonly overlooked. WTF?! While I myself have had multiple German Shepherds and adore them, I found this to be tacky and distasteful.  Between this and the obvious fact that breed is a ridiculous criterion for determining aggression, I was incensed.  I was pissed y’all.  I’ll take my mutt and my dollars and go somewhere else, I thought out loud, hoping that they all heard and were deeply shamed by the long-distance disgust and disapproval in my tone.

Now what?

“So, what’s the plan then?”, Byron asked me when I informed him of the honorable and righteous decision I had made.  

“We’ll find someone that will rent to us”, I said with confidence.  

After another couple of days of the same, a wave of anxiety and panic began to creep in.  Byron suggested that it would be cool to buy an RV and just live on the property while the house was built.  

“Lots of people do it”, he said.  

“Nope.  Not a chance.” I put a swift end to that conversation.  “I will not live in an RV with a dog and a cat, and on occasion, a 20-year-old man-child, without electric, sewer, water, or any of the other, God-intended, rudimentary creature comforts.” 

A week later, we stood on the lot of the RV mega dealer nearest us, in front of a 37-foot beast of a travel trailer, holding a big sign that said “suckers”, while a salesman snapped a shot of us for permanent installation on their “wall of fame”.

Did I mention, our GMC Acadia is not rated to pull a 37-foot travel trailer??

Into the future…

We ran around the house stuffing any straggling items that hadn’t been packed into random boxes and bags and crammed them into the last nooks and crannies of the moving truck and family vehicles.  We feverishly swept, mopped, and vacuumed our way out the door.  And finally, we, not so gingerly, grabbed the cat, who had been suspiciously watching from a distance “placed” him into his crate, ignoring his insistence that we cease and desist.  All of the while the new homeowners hovered alongside the curb, (a bit vulture-esquely if you ask me) eager and ready to begin moving their own things in.  I had to wonder why we had agreed to be out of the house by 8:00 AM in the first place?!

Finally, our motley caravan pulled out of the driveway and out of the neighborhood for the last time; Byron in the moving truck, followed by Jackson and Roscoe in his Subaru, then me and Boots in the Acadia taking up the rear.  I felt a twinge of emotion as I recalled a slightly shorter caravan pulling into that drive 8 years prior.  Jackson was a 12-year-old kid with knobby knees and mismatched socks.  He rode next to me watching superhero movies on the portable DVD player in his lap.  He excitedly kept me abreast of the plot as it unfolded and the mile markers flew by.  Now, he often does his own grocery shopping, his own cooking, and (mostly) his own banking and record keeping.  He is nearly fully-fledged.  The obligatory nostalgia gripped me as I followed him down the highway.

The calm before the storm

The first couple of days after that was a respite of sorts.  We stayed in a hotel and recuperated in the air-conditioning while we awaited the delivery of the RV, the shipping containers that would serve as temporary storage for our belongings, and yes, the port-o-john that would crudely and temporarily serve as the restroom.   In the interest of conserving what little water we were going to have on hand, we ordered a composting toilet to replace the standard water toilet in the RV. However, on back-order for several weeks, we needed a temporary plan B.  These few days were as short-lived as they were refreshing.

I arrived at the “farm”, which as you may recall is an empty lot that has been logged recently, shortly after noon.  Byron and Jackson had been out there for a few hours unloading the moving truck.  The temperature was in the high 90’s and the sky was as clear and as deep blue as it gets.  Beautiful really.  From the shade of a tree.  As it happened, we didn’t have any of those.  It was too hot for the animals outside without suitable shade, so I sacrificed and stayed behind at the hotel as long as possible.  

Byron and Jackson were sweat-soaked but in good spirits.  Byron, giddy about being out there on our own little place, was unfazed by the unyielding and oppressive heat.  Jackson was doing his best to play along and be a good sport.  Deciding to do the same, I set up the cat’s carrier in the shade under the truck with some water and jumped in to help with the unloading.  After a couple of hours, I too was a very sweaty Betty.  I felt a sense of accomplishment and it felt good to do some hard work after a few days of lounging around.  However, I won’t lie, I felt a huge sense of relief when the RV delivery driver appeared at the end of the long driveway. 

Rising water ahead

I felt relief, while I noticed storm clouds gathering over Byron’s head as he eyed the truck and trailer coming up the driveway.  The driver had gotten the thing hung up on the trees while taking one of the somewhat tight rural route turns and ran it off the road into the ditch.  There were twigs and branches hanging from various places.  Road gravel and rocks spilled out of the nooks and crannies. The awning had been ripped and the exhaust screens for the fridges were swinging back and forth, then fell one by one onto the driveway.  

“You don’t just find this place by accident!” the driver said. Eyeing Byron’s laser-like stare or perhaps hearing his teeth grinding he added; “I think I might have scraped a branch on one of the corners”.    

After taking pictures of the damage, getting the driver’s word he’d make it right, and then teaching him how to back up and park a trailer, Byron allowed him to go about his day.  The poor guy was completely rattled.  I think it may have been his first time driving a trailer and he gets sent out on the delivery from hell. 

Perfect!  Now, we can crank on the AC, have a cold drink, and jump in the shower, I thought to myself.  The perfect end to a hard day.

Not so fast

The invigoration that I felt being outdoors on the beautiful property, doing some physical labor evaporated fairly quickly after the arrival of the RV.   This was when our lack of RV savvy began to show.  

Blow #1: “What do you mean the power cord doesn’t fit?” I blurted out.

Byron matter-of-factly explained that the cord that had come with the RV simply did not match the outlet on the generator we had purchased to power the air conditioners.  (Insert exploding head emoji here.)  No air-conditioning.  

“Ok, well that is for sure a bummer but we should have enough power with the batteries to take showers at least”, I thought.  

Blow #2: The RV’s water tanks, which were promised to be full upon delivery, were bone dry.  Wow, that really sucks, but not yet the end of the world.  We had brought jugs of water with us.  We’d just fill the fresh water tank with those, I thought trying to remain calm. The universe chuckled. 

The Death Blow:  The RV had a special kind of tank valve that did not acknowledge the laws of gravity.  One that required the use of a hose and city water pressure.  

Well fuck.  

No air-conditioning, no water, and guess what else?  The batteries had not been charged prior to delivery either.  No power, no refrigerators to put our food in, no fricking way.

In all honesty, and hyperbole aside, that night was one of the worst of my life.  We made do and we survived.  But between you and me and the fence post, I ugly cried.  Hard. 

If it hadn’t sunk in before, it was all too clear now.  It was sho’nuff too late to turn back now.  Rubicon smashed.

But seriously. Are you thinking of buying an RV? Read on or click here for some helpful advice.

Please share your thoughts or comments below! Hearing what you guys think of this stuff is important to me so that I can decide whether to keep writing it or not 🙂

Don’t forget to follow or add yourself to my email list so that you don’t miss anything!

Follow my blog with Bloglovin