These are wall panels from the dinette area. They will later serve as templates. It's very important not to lose or abuse any of the connecting plastic strips as they are virtually irreplaceable. But where the heck to put them?
Airstream, baby! First thought when I uncovered this was--polish it! What would this look like if I buffed it out and kept the little piece of un-walked-upon green shag detail at the bottom (a sort of memento of the seventies)? Just a thought. Definitely, the door needs to come off and the hinge sand blasted and repainted.
Bunks are out! All four beds ended up on top of Molly, away from walking areas and, hopefully, mice.
I'm thinking now of just removing these wallpapered panels and replacing with birch ply. Make the cabin feel a little warmer.
Uh-oh. Can you believe this? On an otherwise perfect vessel, too. Good thing I'm a plumber (as well as a brain surgeon).
Looks like this top will have to be replaced. As Jenna put it so succinctly, "Where's the water coming from?" Women.
Out with the bad shag... This is the bay that would have held the generator but now holds an extra fuel tank instead. This is fine with me. After the re-hab, I want to install a solar panel system for powering inessentials when parked.
The inverter hums along... In order to remove this section of carpet, the inverter and all its cables will have to be removed. Don't rush me, I'll get there.
I knew it was coming. The water damage was bad enough to warrant a peek to see what collateral damage may have resulted. Just some rust, what I like to call oxidation. Nothing serious. Now I know where the ribs are located. I intend to replace the panel with birch.
No longer a ceiling, transformed into a template. I love templates.
And the truth shall set you free.
Lousy with wires and ancient foam, but profoundly simpler than the coaches built today. And today's coaches are nowhere as solidly made.
The dinette area. I've figured out the square footage for the flooring. Now we just have to rob a bank. Or a convenience store.
If you squint, it looks like a seventies reel-to-reel, but in reality it's the control panel. Yes, that's right. This is the heart of the machine that is Molly.
I was reflecting last night on how the designers were hell-bent on making the kitchen look like the one at home. At lot of wasted space. Do we really need an oven? Look at the burned spot (see below). There is no microwave, of course. We don't use microwaves at home, but one might be good on board. And do we need a double-welled sink? (Especially one that was held down by ten screws and half a tube of caulk.) I have time to ask these questions. Molly is small (diminutive), and whatever I can do to create the effect of roominess, I should seriously consider doing. My problem (among many) is that my woodworking space is completely filled with Molly. So where to build more cabinets (if that's what I decide to do)? Not one for doing things half-way, as long as she's stripped out like this, I might as well get as much done as I possibly can.
Yikes!
The weekend is upon us, and we still haven't started up Christmas here at rancho Elsewhere. Today I'll get a tree. Have to do some shopping, too. Nothing frantic. We're into small Christmasses. Sunday we take the boys to see the Nutcracker. Hopefully, I'll be back out in Molly at some point. When I do, I'll set about stowing away all the newly-loosened parts, take out all the crappy baseboards, and start the overall, deep cleaning. Already, when Jenna comes to inspect, she wrinkles her nose less. The mildew-y smell is mostly residing out back in the pile behind our shop. A deep cleaning will eliminate the rest. Then we'll decide on a color for the woodwork. Up to now, all my efforts have been focused on demo. Next up is prep. In January, the real work begins. (When Jenna inspects, she says things like "I'm really impressed that you're not overwhelmed by this project." Hey, I know when to keep my mouth shut.)
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