A Hair’s Breadth

One thing I’ll say about Marc; he has a real ability with mechanical things and figuring things like torsion, angles, compaction forces, mechanical advantage and how they all tie together to move and place things weighing tons by himself. And he did just that today with removing the 5000 pound 20 foot sea container from the 24 foot flatbed trailer.

He wasn’t even really sure it all would fit and it certainly wasn’t an easy thing to witness after he pulled our fifth wheel from its spot into the street and then started backing up with the tall load. On his first attempt he wasn’t close enough to our spa so couldn’t entirely turn the flatbed into the tight corner so he tried a second time and came within inches. As we scrambled to move things out of the way, he ended up needing to back the Freightliner all the way to practically touching the spa cover which was leaning against our original shed. Marc made comment this was a time when he really needed the smaller size of our Dodge. Finally, the flatbed sat at a 45 degree angle to the hitch on the Freightliner and unloading could commence.

The pictures tell most of the story—a harrowing day of working for hours on the herculean task of moving something so large into a tight space. The sea container couldn’t be allowed to do an uncontrolled fall off the back of the trailer because it was merely inches from our back block wall and also the storage shed we had just placed; and wasn’t all that far from the rear end of the park model. Once it finally touched ground, literally a hair’s breadth away from breaking out the shed window, it was an extremely tedious process of working the flatbed out from under it and carefully driving out with the container left suspended in the air by mere metal. From there, Marc’s dandy floor jack once again did its job and with help from the pipe saw horses Marc had made years ago, worked to ever-so-gently drop this giant to the ground. Whew! Success. There is nothing my husband can’t figure out a way to accomplish! Next up: painting everything outside to match and making a bunch of new window coverings to hide the Styrofoam that we had to place in the park model clerestory windows to block the heat and intense sun.

Too Small a Lot; Too Much Stuff!

Not entirely content with where the park model was placed Marc thought about switching it to the back of the lot, crosswise. Then we thought about the cost to do new hookups, have a crane swing it into place, and other numerous impediments. I liked where it was for the fact of it facing the street (its best facade), the mountain view out the living room window and front porch, and the fact of directly walking from the patio instead of through gravel. So, we compromised when Marc figured it out that by moving the park model over about three feet encroaching over the patio he would have a wider side yard to park stuff; namely the boat and maybe his work trailer.

First order was to move the park model into the street and out of the way. Our neighbor Ron was there to help all the way. After hitch-up with the Freightliner, with the correct size ball this time, Marc eased out and over the curb cut and into the street. The park model joined the flatbed and the shed trailers on our quiet street.

Marc then hitched up to the shed trailer backing it into the far back corner of the lot literally right next to the block wall. Since it is a trailer and not a permanent structure, there will be no set back requirements the county can enforce even though it will remain for the future as a storage shed. This way we can get maximum use out of all our lot’s square footage.

Like the ace driver he is, Marc rehitched the Freightliner to the park model and even without mirrors wide enough to see around its girth, he backed that baby in like a pro in one shot. Whew, it was close though. With no room to maneuver he had to leave it canted and then he and Ron got busy hand-winching it over about four feet which took over an hour of jacking and winching. They carefully measured to get the front aligned with the back end, allowing for about ten feet so we can fit the boat alongside. Great job guys! There is still much to be done, but figuring out the structure of the lot is done. Next up: we get an “oh no, what will the neighbors say” red sea container!

The Rest of the Story

Marc has the brilliant idea that we need to find a cut bank or wash so he can unload the storage shed from the flatbed. When he first loaded the shed onto the flatbed in Bend he did it the same way only then the shed was empty of contents and he used a cut bank. The only thing we find close by in our neighborhood is a wash; sand and all, and a little steeper than what I would have considered “safe”. You can see where this is going can’t you? For some reason he feels he needs my help and asks me to go along and “it shouldn’t take more than an hour.”

We get the truck and trailer situated in the wash and he starts the task of putting all the tires back on the shed axles. This alone takes well more than an hour, while I stand in the broiling sun just occasionally lending a hand to something. First one side, then the other, gets jacked up and tires mounted. Since he left the correct ball back in Bend, he has the wrong size ball for the hitch which causes problems from the get-go and will further complicate things as the task progresses.

Finally, he’s ready to pull the shed off the flatbed and he starts ever so slowly. Things go great until suddenly everything starts to slide, including the shed pulling the flatbed trailer along with it about a good four to five feet. The ramps crumple off the end of the trailer and everything comes to a screeching halt with my shouts “Stop, stop, stop!” Now what?

Apparently a small portion of frame steel had hung up on the flatbed lumber deck, ripping it, and causing everything to grind to an immediate halt. Marc jacks up that portion of the trailer that is hung up and places a piece of plywood as a skid plate under it; hitches up, and tries again. With gut-wrenching scraping and loud clangs, the shed breaks free and crashes down off the platform tearing off all the rear trailer lights.

I wish I could say this episode from hell ended there, but unfortunately, it didn’t. There was yet the wash for the shed to traverse back across and then Marc needed to get it to the lot, drop it and return for the flatbed. Once he reached the wash with the shed, it jumped the hitch not once, not twice, but three times until he finally just chained it to the Freightliner hitch and drug it far enough into a leverage point so it would weigh the hitch enough coming out the other side so as to not jump off yet again.

The unexpected slide the flatbed had done put it well below optimum level for the Freightliner to get hitched back to it since it was now sunk dismally in the belly of the wash. Thankfully, our neighbor Ron, worried we had been gone so long--now into a three hour ordeal; came out looking for us to see if we had problems. He helped Marc jack up the stabilizer foot high enough Marc could sneak the Freightliner into place for hitch-up but not before another mishap where it fell off the jack and ripped through the Rhino bed liner on the back of the Freightliner. Another trailer returned to our lot and the task is finally over with as I note I am covered in sunburn from the unexpectedly long exposure. What a day!

Loaded Up and Trucken'

Despite knowing he had very old tires on the flatbed trailer for his 20,000 pound load, Marc headed out Friday morning with two spares and didn’t even make it 165 miles to Burns, OR before he needed to buy four more old tires. The handwriting was already on the wall about the way this trip was going to go!

Four days and six flats later he finally arrived to our Yuma lot very tired and worn out, thoroughly disgusted with his trip. At least he made it here! Wait until you hear the rest of the story coming up; which I will do soon in another post.

On another note, don’t you agree road stories can be the best sort? Readers who have traveled through the middle of Nevada know there are several brothels along the way. As Marc was nearing Beatty and the flashing sign for Angel’s Ladies, he noted a big diesel pusher motorhome with cargo trailer attached pulled over in their driveway; obviously having spewed a major amount of oil behind it before pulling over. Marc stopped to ask if they needed help and the guy said the repair people had already been called but wouldn’t have the part until the following day shipped in from Las Vegas. In the meantime he figured he had better walk up to the brothel and inform them he would be spending the night in their driveway. Marc had a good laugh as the guy related that upon entering, he was immediately greeted by an African American with big breasts and a very skimpy outfit who inquired “Is this your first time with us?” and the guy started sputtering back “No, you don’t understand; my wife is with me….” Now that’s going to be a story that RVer will tell for a long, long time.

The Desert Bloom--Buzz, Buzz

As a child I used to run barefoot on clover lawns and to this day can remember the many painful bee stings I would endure as the honeybees worked the tiny flowers for pollen. Legend has it that the more you are stung, the more allergic your reaction to bee stings becomes. I believe it, because now when I suffer a sting, the affected part or extremity swells up badly—really badly, for weeks. The last time I was stung I was riding my motorcycle through Yellowstone and can remember a bug hitting my cheek and instant and excruciating pain. I got Marc’s attention and we pulled over; I fought the helmet quickly off my head, the bee flew out and Marc noted that my cheek was already starting to swell. By the time we got back to our campground hours later, the entire side of my face was two sizes too big.

A little while ago there was a report about two Phoenix women out walking in the evening in a city neighborhood when they were attacked by a swarm of bees. They ended up hospitalized and the experts are saying this could be a bad year for bee swarms in southern Arizona. To make matters worse, some have been Africanized. All around us now, the desert blooms full of yellow and red color. I wanted pictures but I don’t like to tempt fate needlessly so for the most part I have been staying away from solitary desert excursions.

Even the Ocotillos have taken on brilliant colors, fully fleshed out with their miniature green leaves, a sight rarely seen most of the year.

Then there is our orphan volunteer tree; we think it’s a Mexican Palo Verde. Its seed must have been dropped out of a bird one day to just start growing. Its pinnate leaves are much smaller, growing on longer feathery stems, than those I find elsewhere around here, domestic or wild. It also doesn’t flower nearly so much although the small flowers show amazingly intricate detail. That works to save the bees to buzz around other trees, in other neighborhoods and yards, which is just fine with me.