After a couple of months in which we installed an air conditioner, bought new bedding, added homemade curtains (thanks, Bren!), and redecorated in my junky, gypsy-bohemian vibe, we are ready to get Miss Millie registered and retitled from Arizona to Texas. The county tax office informed me that I would need to get her inspected and weighed! Excuse me? Yep, to transfer the title from Arizona. Aarrgghh.
Do they realize how hard it is to make ONE trip to the tax office, much less two?
So. . .we hitched her up (the hubs is recovering from toe surgery but is well enough to help) in the simmering Texas humidity and we pulled her (with me driving!) eight miles to the nearest auto shop.
Luckily I had the title with VIN on it, and a current insurance card, so it was ten minutes and bam, we were done. Then we headed over to the Love’s truck stop down the street to have her weighed. How convenient is that? Nice to have both places so close when you are pulling a trailer that has no license plate!
Love’s has a nice setup for trucks where you just pull straight in, stop when your axle is over the scale, and push the CALL button. The only problem was, the CALL button was way up high so truckers can access it from their cab window. Hubby had to climb up on the base of the pole to reach it!
A friendly voice came over the speaker. “Welcome to Love’s. Re-weight or first time?” Huh? She repeated herself.
“Do you have your chart?”
“No, no chart. This is a small RV.”
“Oh, okay. Private, then. Pull around and park in a parking space and come in to the diesel desk.”
Poor Miss Millie. She was dwarfed by those huge trucks. But Hubs and I walked in just like we were used to associating with truckers and their big rigs.
We waited our turn. Hubby stepped back to allow other guys to line up behind me. One motioned for him to go ahead as I was paying for my weight ticket. (It cost me $10.50, and she weighs 2040 lbs.) Hubs informed the guy that he was waiting on me, and the guy said, “You lucky dog.”
I heard it, too, but I took my ticket and went to join my husband, who was browsing all the trucking stuff.
“Let’s get that shake you wanted, you lucky dog,” I said when we were out of earshot of the other customers.
“Oh, you heard that, did you?” he laughed. “Well, you gotta remember that those guys are on the road for months at a time.”
“Gee, thanks,” I mumbled, remembering that I had stuck my hair in a cap and had been sweating while hooking up the trailer. In other words, guys on the road can get pretty desperate for female companionship.
But he is a lucky dog,
and he knows it, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.