Jul 29, 2018: Putting Our Home in Motion

Thoughts of a multi-ton RV falling off the hitch and crushing the truck were running through my head. In my 58 years of life, I have never worked with large machinery or big trucks that haul things. Neither has my wife, Vivian. But that did not stop us from connecting our new 12,000-lb RV to the new 200-lb hitch mounted in the bed of the new 8000-lb one-ton diesel truck.

Vivian was in the driver’s seat, carefully backing up the truck to line up the hitch head with the 3” kingpin located on the underside of the RV’s front section. I stood next to the truck eyeing the gaping steel jaw of the hitch inching its way toward the kingpin. The 13-ft RV loomed large overhead as I gave Vivian stark directions – “To the left a little”, “Stop”, “More to the right”.

We knew our dream of travelling North America with our home completely hinged on this moment. Delivered to us seven months ago, the RV had been parked on a concrete slab that we owned in a resort on Chokoloskee Island, deep within Florida’s Everglades. The truck had only come into our possession three weeks earlier and another week passed before the hitch was mounted in its bed. This gave us little opportunity to practice and time to leave Florida’s hurricane alley was long overdue.

I held my breath as the RV pin slid into the horse-shoe shaped opening of the hitch until I heard the intimidating clanking of the spring-loaded jaws locking into place. I took a deep breath – if I can insert the safety lock pin into the hitch handle, we will have succeeded.

Relief overcame me as I secured the safety pin – the RV was hitched to the truck. Watching me through the side mirror, Vivian was patiently waiting for my confirmation and ready to move the truck forward to start over if needed. Feeling a sense of pride, I gave her a big smile, “I think you did it, sweetie.” We were about to begin living our dream.

We had decided earlier that I would drive first. With nervous excitement, I got in the truck and turned the ignition and pushed the ‘tow haul’ button. With an 18,000-lb towing capacity, the one-ton truck handled the fifth wheel without noticeable strain. Windows up and air conditioner blasting dampened the sound of the truck engine to a low metallic roar, nothing out of the ordinary. Focused on the road ahead, I ignored the truck in the passing lane that had been there a while.

A short distance later, the driver of the truck, a scruffy looking man with a greasy hat had rolled down his window and was motioning to get my attention. Obviously, something was wrong, but I could not imagine what. Probably left one of the RV doors open, easy enough to do. I rolled my window down to hear a shout “Smoke’s coming out behind your trailer wheels”, as he pointed toward the back of the RV with obvious annoyance at the two women pulling a smoking 33-ft fifth wheel down the road.

Vivian and I looked at each other with horror – “What the hell!”. I pulled over and stopped as our somewhat good Samaritan continued down the road. We both stepped out of the truck not knowing what to expect and began choking on the smell of burning rubber and metal. We frantically walked around the RV and inspected the tires, which all looked fine.

We didn’t know what to think. Could this really be happening – our dreams of traveling the country in our home cut short within five miles? All kinds of crazy thoughts went through our heads as our travel confidence quickly plummeted – all our planning and preparation up in smoke.

But then, Vivian did the smartest thing anyone could do in this situation – she posted a question on a Facebook forum. With no time for punctuation, she wrote, “On side of road trailer wiring fault brakes smoking. Who to call?” Within seconds, an RV forum angel responded, “Check your breakaway switch. Is it unplugged/come loose?”

We drove the first five miles with the trailer brakes fully engaged because, yes indeed, the breakaway switch (nothing more than a plastic pin) came out of its box. If this happens for whatever reason, communication is broken prompting the trailer brakes to fully engage, thereby preventing a rogue 12,000-lb RV from sliding down the highway. How it came undone remains a mystery.

With the plastic pin reinserted and communication restored, we slowly pulled away relieved that the advice given was accurate. I pumped the brakes to test them – they seemed to work fine. We were finally on our way north.

After three hundred miles and several hours of torrential rain, we arrived at our first campground in time to watch the evening sky reflect on the soothing water of Lake Rousseau while sipping our wine. The tension and anxiety of the day rolled away with the storm clouds that left behind a languid air heavy with humidity – a perfect Florida summer evening as far as we were concerned.

We toasted our safe arrival, not yet knowing this would be a ritual for the next seven years. Letting go of the day’s events, we talked about what lay ahead as if we were on an adventure of a lifetime.

Amidst the travel talk, something was nagging me. I looked at Vivian and wondered if she was thinking the same thing and just as afraid to say it as I was – “What if our RV doesn’t have brakes?”