A funny thing happened on the way to my last campout. My car broke down. Actually it wasn’t funny at all. It was awful. 150 miles from home, I waved my caravan pals on as I waited for the tow truck. I didn’t have to wait long, thank goodness. I mean, thank the Lord. Soon my truck was loaded onto a flat bed truck and my camper was hooked up to the back of the truck. I gasped as the young driver tried to level the camper by yanking the bumper first up and then down hard. I wanted to scream, “Easy! She’s old!” (She’s a 1962 Scotsman.)
He hauled us (me in the cab) to a nearby Ford dealership where I waited for three hours for them to replace the water pump in my SUV. At first they told me they wouldn’t be able to fix it that day, but then they said they could. I was so grateful that I didn’t have to find a hotel room and leave my trailer overnight in a parking lot that I waited patiently. By the time they rolled my car and trailer around it was past closing time and I was starving. I couldn’t wait to get back on the road and drive the remaining 100 miles, but I couldn’t until I paid them $900. Ugh. What a way to start a vacation.
The drive to the campground was uneventful except for the fact that it got dark on me. I rolled in a little after 8 p.m. where a friend met me and helped me find my camping space. Later several friends helped me back in and set up.
But my troubles weren’t over. I had finally straightened my camper and was ready to put on my pajamas and collapse when the power went off. A quick check out the window let me know that it was my trailer, not the campground. Ugh. Now what? Can’t a girl get a break?
Stay tuned to find out what happened next. . .