Quartzsite Ho! Part II
January 18, 2016
The campsite was called Boomerville. Finally, I had arrived, tired but relieved. After turning at the Boomerville sign and driving about a quarter of a mile I saw a few motorhomes on the right, so I pulled over.
Once again, I hopped out of my rig with my flashlight and headed toward the first motorhome. The owner saw me coming and opened the door. “Is this Boomerville? I inquire? “Yes” he replied, “are you just coming in NOW?” I answered that I was and needed to know where I should go to park. He suggested that given the hour, I should pull up into the flat spot just ahead of my current location and call it a night. Good idea!
A half hour later I had removed the tow bar from poor dust-incrusted George (the Toad) and gotten Miss Chauncey leveled and the slideouts extended. I was home! Time for a pottie break. What?! The bathroom door wouldn’t open! The handle seemed locked. Vaguely remembering that there was a metal “key” (more like an Allen wrench) in my large totebag of instruction manuals, I got it out and jiggled it around in the hole. No progress… Sigh. I am very tired, and not up for this setback, plus I have to go to the bathroom! So, again I trek through the dark to a different motorhome and knock on the door. When a woman opens the door, I explain my predicament. Bless her heart, she immediately invites me in to use her bathroom, and we discuss the problem. I take her up on her offer to come over to assess the situation, so she gets a small screw driver and her own set of Allen wrenches and follows me home. I like this woman—she’s a problem solver! But alas, neither one of us could figure it out, no matter how much we jiggle, pull and twist the handle. Time to bring in the Cavalry, and she leaves to wake up her husband, Don. I am reluctant to let her do that, but she insists that he is very easy going and won’t mind. While she is gone, I got out some Teflon spray and blasted it into the hole on the door handle. More jiggling ensues, to no avail. In a few minutes they are back. Poor Don looks like a bear that was awakened from hibernation—not happy. I apologize, feeling terrible to wake up a complete stranger in the middle of the night. (Actually it was about 9pm, but many RVers go to bed quite early.)
Without saying a word, Don walks up to the door handle, grasps it and gives it a tug, and THE DOOR OPENS! He looks at us as if to say, “You mean you woke me up for that?!!” What?! His wife and I exchange incredulous looks, because not 10 seconds earlier, no amount of yanking on it had any effect. With that, still without saying anything, Don turns around and lumbers back home to bed. Poor Don. I think to myself, “It had to be that the Teflon spray finally worked itself into the mechanism….”
In no time I’m tucked into bed and fall into a dead sleep.