Our Old Travco: Destructive Logic

Children are wonderful, they really are. As proof of this assertion, I have five of my own (not that they're actually mine). But however wonderful they may be, they can really slow you down. I have not, in the last week, been able to spent more than five minutes with Molly. It finally reached the point where we hired a babysitter to come by one afternoon a week, so I could spent some time inside her. Molly. Inside Molly. What's the matter with you?

So today, having spent an entire two hours crawling on my knees, unscrewing, unbolting, pulling back, yanking up and cursing, I finally have a report:

After cleaning up the shop a bit, I managed to locate the shorepower cable. I turned off the circuit breakers and plugged Molly into the grid...nothing. I know I'm missing something (yes, I turned the breakers back on), but I'm not worried. Maybe the inverter is unplugged. Maybe the grid is.

Being cleaned didn't last long--now the shop is chock-a-block with Molly's guts. I removed the dinette seats and their bases, along with the driver's seat. I also managed to find lots of rot around the door. Who knows how long the door's been leaking. Long enough, but soon no more.

When I set out on this little adventure, I held as my guiding principle the ideal of restoration over renovation. Now I've changed my mind. Our little gal needs to look roomier inside. So the dinette has to go. Why? Was I driven to this conclusion by agonizing aesthetic concerns? By a deeply held philosophical position? Yes, if by that you mean money. Do you have any idea what foam bedding costs these days? Just one--one--bed costs $350. That's right. $350. And that's without fabric or labor to make that fabric fit. I figure reupholstering the dinette might run as high as $1,100! So yes, deeply held aesthetic concerns.

It helps that the rather complicated hinges are all shot.

Earlier in the week, when I was unzipping the covers off the existing foam (in the hope that the old stuff was virginal and perfect-looking after 32 years), I discovered where water intrusion has rotted out a corner of one of the bed frames. It's an easy fix, just something to add to the list.

It's all about aesthetics...and money.

The tally so far: the green shag carpet has to go. Not that I don't love green shag, but it's far too soiled, sun-bleached and ugly to keep. New wallpaper. Cork flooring (won't need much). Oh, and the reefer is shot. (And I haven't even got into the head, although it's been getting into mine). What else? New carpet for the driving area (or perhaps heavy rubber matting). And I'm thinking about a second captain's seat. Last week I responded to an ad on Craigslist announcing the sale of a 1971 Travco in Eugene. Actually, I had responded to the same ad several times weeks and weeks before, but to no avail. No one ever answered. Finally, in desperation, I put an ad of my own up asking the owner to call. When he did, he told me he had received all my emails, but had visited my website and found I was formerly an assassin. That scared him. I tried to explain to him that I write comedy, and that I'm as much an ex-assassin as I am an ex-porn star. He relaxed a bit and accepted that I was telling the truth.

Besides, I wasn't really ever a star.

Anyway, my next job will be the removal of all things shaggy and green. Last night we all went down to see the small-town Christmas parade we go to every year--girls on their horses, lots of six-figure, cherry-red tractors, Boy Scouts marching in ragged array, thrown candy, and RVs decorated with lights. I told the boys that, with any luck, this time next year they'll be in the parade, too--inside Molly.

The pressure's on.