This time around, I thought I’d remind you of some of the perils of power tools. These are the things most of us already know, but forget in the heat of the moment, usually to our chagrin. Over the decades, I’ve seen some dumb things done to people by them selves, and the fact it was self-inflicted, and the victims were far from “short bus” mental-power-wise, makes it even more embarrassing for them.
First, it’s called a drill for a reason. I’ve lost count of the number of times my co-workers did their level best to bore holes in various parts of their bodies. One day, I was working under an Airstream, and I heard an electric drill running. Suddenly, the drill made a funny groaning noise, followed by an unidentifiable teeth-gnashing noise. I looked out from under the trailer in time to see John heading for the office at top speed, trailing both a stream of blood and an electric cord which seemed to be growing out of his hand. Things got even more interesting when John tripped over the cord, yanking the drill out of the spot it had been imbedded in his hand as well as doing a nosedive into another trailer. A trip to the emergency room, a Tetanus shot, and a few days off work later, John was nearly back to normal.
Then there is the champion of digital elimination, the table saw. While I’ve only seen one severed finger over the years, I have seen a lot of serious damage caused by people doing things they know not to do. One memorable incident occurred when a now-retired member of the shop forces held a chattering block of wood down on the saw table with his bare hand. The spray of blood was impressive, to say the least. 22 stitches later, the employee remembered there are tools and other things meant to keep your hands away from spinning blades. If you absolutely have to hold down a small or thin piece of wood, lay a second piece of wood over the one you are cutting. That will not only keep the wood from chattering and give you a much smoother cut, it will keep your extremities out of direct contact with spinning cutting parts.
Next is one even I have been guilty of. When using a knife or other sharp cutting blade, always make sure it will tend to go away from you if the blade slips or breaks. I still have a scar on my hand from where I was using a razor blade to scrape off glue. I was pushing the blade away from me, not realizing I was pushing the blade toward a finger. That one only took two stitches.
Another tool that deserves more respect than it gets is the lowly screwdriver. Many times, people will shove for all they are worth, trying to break a rusty screw loose, only to end up stabbing themselves when the screwdriver slips off the screw.
There are many hazards, and nobody can avoid them all. The most we can do is use our common sense, and stop to think about where that tool will go if the unexpected happens.

Hello, again. This time around, we’ll be taking a look at how others seem to view your Airstream, and what, if anything, you can do about it. Our first victim (literally) is a long-time customer that seems to have a bull’s eye painted on his Airstream. This poor guy has had more things hit his trailer than a world war II battleship. It’s been hailed on, had tree limbs drop on it, a deer run into it (at a campground, no less), it’s been rear-ended and sideswiped, and was the recipient of an errant foul ball to a window. He’s tried everything he can think of to keep this from happening any more. I suggested a hardened bunker for storage, but that still won’t stop things from being attracted while towing.
Here, there are a couple of things the average Airstream owner can do while towing to minimize exposure to “things” hitting their trailers. First, of course, is to avoid sudden death lane changes, travel with the flow of traffic, and making sure all marker and brake lights are functioning. Something else is to put a couple strips of Scotchlite reflective tape on the rear bumper. Generally, a combination of red and white reflective tape is best.

Obviously, you can’t do a lot about the occasional hail storm, but you can take steps to minimize damage from violent storms. If you hear that it’s supposed to be windy, roll up your awnings. If it’s supposed to rain, close AND LOCK the windows. Closing the windows does no good, if a gust of wind blows the window off your Airstream. Plus, your neighbor at the campground will likely not appreciate the addition of an extra window through the side of their RV.

For wildlife issues, avoid leaving food outdoors and cleaning up after meals, placing the old food in locking garbage cans should help keep most critters from attacking your Airstream. Of course, if it’s mating season for a species that’s attracted to bright, shiny things, nothing you can do will keep them away from your Airstream. Magpies, woodpeckers, deer, and Madonna are all examples of these.

Then there are shop employees that wait for the crunch of metal and glass before they decide they’ve backed your Airstream far enough into the shop. I’ve tried many things to keep these demolition derby rejects away from your Airstream, but occasionally one slips through. At least we can perform body repairs…

Today is a brief cautionary tale reminding you to be aware of what chemicals you are mixing.
The cause of today’s story is an Airstream that its owners decided to sanitize the black tank. Nothing really wrong with that, though I think maybe they were trying to take cleanliness to the extreme. These people either weren’t aware, or had forgotten, that some things are not meant to mix. You know, like fire and gasoline, oil and water, baking soda and sulfuric acid– and swimming pool chlorine tablets and black tank contents.
They dropped a couple tablets in the tank through the toilet, and headed for home, theorizing the tablets would neutralize the bad stuff in the tank. I guess if you were trying to give the hazmat response team something to do, it would be a great start. In a mostly enclosed holding tank, not so much. A couple of minutes after the tablets started doing their thing, the fumes from the chemical reaction to some of the tank contents started fuming out of the plumbing vents. Luckily for them, they were driving down the road. Unluckily for the people following them, they were driving down the road. They noticed the cars behind them weaving all over the road, and pulled over to make sure nothing was wrong with the trailer. They discovered there was, in fact, something very wrong. They climbed back into their tow vehicle, and made a beeline for the nearest Airstream dealer so they could take care of the unfolding disaster. In the true way of the world, they were closest to mine.
The first inkling I had they were coming was when I saw them pull into the driveway, with trees on either side of the driveway spontaneously combusting, birds dropping out of the sky, pavement melting… Okay, maybe not, but it certainly sounds more dramatic than all the hired help gasping for breath when they pulled in. And of course, since I’m a perennial favorite of the Karma Gods, I got chosen as human sacrifice. I really have to find out what I did in a past life to honk them off at me.
I’ve grown accustomed to breathing as much as the next guy, so I waited almost a half hour before venturing into the rolling toxic waste dump. By then, most of the chemicals had reacted, and the fumes had started clearing, but it still was a chore to breath the stuff that was in the trailer. I opened all the windows and vents, and staggered back outside to wait for things to dissipate.
Investigation revealed the tank was really sterile, as nothing I’ve ever heard of could live in there. A new toilet and dump valve, after thoroughly flushing out the dregs in the tank, and things were almost as good as new. I explained to the customers that chlorine, like you find in bleach and even pool tablets, does not react well with ammonia, one of the main ingredients of black tank contents. I advised them to use a quality holding tank treatment from any RV supply store, and if they really wanted to clean out the tank, put a capful of liquid clothes soap in the tank, with a gallon of water, and drive around with that in the tank for a while.
No one was killed, no one was seriously hurt, though my eyes and throat burned for a while after they left. All in all, it was just another day in The Shop.

Today I am going to talk about those rooftop vents and skylights found on most modern ravel trailers and motor homes, and some of the things I’ve seen people do to try to fix them.

The first type is the aluminum/ABS combination of vent lid found on many Airstream products during the 1970′s and 1980′s.  These are aluminum covers with white translucent ABS centers riveted in place so more light will enter the RV. The problem with this is the UV from the Sun attacks the ABS, and the sealant used will dry out, causing both air and rain leaks. I’ve seen everything tried to fix them, from a piece of a plastic milk jug (complete with expiration date) to a small sheet of aluminum over the hole, to duct tape and a plastic bag. If you have one of these lids, and want to save it, probably the best solution is to remove the inner and outer ABS center, and attach a square of smoke colored Lexan in its place. Run a bead of adhesive around the edge of the hole to keep rain out. Don’t use duct tape.

Skylights on later model Airstreams also tend to degrade and disintegrate, usually while in the middle of a vacation, and just before it starts to rain. I’ve seen everything from duct tape (again) to gobs of silicone and a hunk of plywood, trying to keep the trailer from becoming a mobile swimming pool. These parts, you can at least still get from your Airstream dealer. Again, a piece of smoke colored Lexan works well, you’ll just have to be sure to either put large flat washers around the individual mounting screws, or a piece of aluminum channel on top of the Lexan, with the mounting screws running through it.

Plumbing vents are also problem children. I’ve seen roofing tar and paint can lids used to try to stem the water flow.  The later model Airstreams are the cheapest to fix, a new vent cap and sealant is usually less than $10, if you want to DIY.

Then there are stove vents, the later model ones are made out of plastic, and, like the skylights, tend to disappear on the road.  On this one, replacement is pretty much your only option.  I’ve seen duct tape (it seems to be a favorite repair tool), as well as plastic shopping bags, shoved into the hole. That works until somebody tries to cook dinner, and the plastic bags either blow away or melt.

There are also the little battery vents, which some people block off to slow floor rot. That isn’t a really good idea, since that lets explosive gases build up in the battery compartment, and sometimes in the trailer itself. Combined with some of my uncle Mort’s home made chili, it can be a recipe to put another Airstream on the moon.

There are furnace vents, that either get clogged with insect nests, or blocked by the main entry door. I think running the furnace with the door open is counterproductive, but that’s just me. When I get work orders that state “furnace shuts down when operated with main door open”, I just shake my head.

Then there is the toilet vent on some 1970′s Airstream models. It is supposed to vent the noxious fumes from the toilet while it’s in use. It only does this when the fan is running, and both ends of the vent are not blocked.  I’d say it’s important…

Today I’m going to share with you some of the effects gravity has upon us when we least expect it.

First, an Airstream trailer showed up for some repairs. I went out to meet the customer, and was concerned when I noticed he looked like he’d walked into a swinging shovel. In fact, his appearance was a direct result of one of the repairs the trailer needed. He had opened his door that morning and stepped onto his retractable step. The step retracted while he was moving out of his trailer, and the resulting swinging catapulted him face-first onto a conveniently placed picnic table. At least he had the table to break his fall, or he would have hit the ground a lot harder than the relatively soft wooden table.
I took a look at the steps, and I could see where the slots in the step outriggers had worn to the point the steps wouldn’t stay put. Many times, this means the outriggers will have to be replaced, but this time I was able to take a die grinder to the slots, and cut new notches in the outriggers for the steps to “catch” on. By doing this, I was able to save him nearly as much money as he spent for his co-pay at the emergency room. He was happy to “break even” on this repair, but it’s probably a very good idea to check the movement of the steps and make sure they won’t take you on a brief, expensive, and painful ride.

Next was a direct experience with gravity by yours truly. A few days ago an Airstream trailer came in for a few maintenance items, including a new air conditioner shroud. I found out I can still do a 34 foot dash when removing the shroud uncovered several nests of seriously peeved yellowjackets. Dropping the shroud, I ran rearward, momentarily forgetting I was perched a dozen feet in the air on a travel trailer. I remembered where I was about the time I ran out of suspended real estate, with a horde of stinging insects in hot pursuit. Off the back of the Airstream I went, accompanied by the sounds of me yelling, and a high-pitched buzzing. Like the customer above I had something slightly softer than the ground to break my fall. In this case, it was the plastic-sheathed roof of a pop-up camper. I suffered only a lot of sore spots, but the pop-up now has a large dent almost dead center of the roof, where a large, heavy mechanic landed on it. Luckily, it was an older model, slated for the back lot anyway. If anybody out there decides to replace their own air conditioner shroud, a few judicious bursts of bug spray into the old one before you tackle the job would probably be prudent.

Last, there is an indirect tale of gravity. I was removing a damaged awning from a “Brand X” trailer. I had the assembly laying on the ground, and John, our resident crash-test dummy, was standing nearby, “supervising”. I started removing one of the bolts that hold the spring-loaded tube onto one of the arms, and warned John, “Stay back. This thing is going to go right over where you’re standing”. John assured me he was in no danger, he would be able to get out of the way if anything came toward him. Okay, fine. You were warned. I finished unbolting the arm, and naturally the roller tube took off like a shot, directly at John. He screamed like a girl, turned, and took two running steps away from the awning–straight into the concrete block wall behind him. He hit the wall with a hollow thud, and fell over backward, directly into the path of the madly unrolling awning. It rolled over him, hit the same wall John had, and sat on top of him, spinning to a stop on top of some of his most sensitive body parts. When everything finally stopped moving, he slowly crawled out from under the wadded-up awning fabric, not sure which of his injuries he should be holding. He settled for a hand in each area, and was assisted into the office by Pop, who had come around the corner to see what all the high-pitched screaming was about.

So, for any of you in doubt, the law of gravity, along with Newton’s three laws of motion, are still very much in effect. At least here in The Shop.

Hello, again. This time, in honor of the official end of Summer, I thought I’d inflict you with a composite of a couple of camping trips we’ve taken over the years. Yes, I own an Airstream (several of them, as a matter of fact), and I’m not afraid to use it. So, without further ado:…

You can’t get here from here.
We all piled into the truck, and pulled out with Airstream in tow, headed for the mountains of the Northeast. Most of the trip was uneventful, with the singular exception of having yet another tire start to come apart on the trailer. I’ve lost several tires this way, and have learned through bitter experience what that feels like in the truck. I left the highway at the next exit, headed for the nearest tire store. I pulled in, and could just tell from the looks on the faces of the hired help I was about to become unpopular.
I parked and went inside. “I need an ST225 75R15 load range D tire, mounted and balanced”. I said. “Err, well, umm, we don’t have one of those”, said the guy behind the counter. “Our store across town has one”, he expanded. “can you call them and make sure they have it, and give me directions on how to get there”? I asked. He looked relieved to get out of a possible problem that easily, and quickly made the call. Yes, they had just one, a Goodyear Marathon, and they could send it over in about an hour. “No, the guy says he’ll come get it”, said counter guy. So, a few minutes later, I was back on the road, since the place that had the tire (the only one in town) was along our way. 20 minutes later, we pulled into the parking lot of tire store #2. “Hi, I’m here to get that Marathon mounted and balanced”, I said to counter guy #2. CG#2 looked at me in blind panic. “I sent that over to our other store. I thought that’s what you wanted”. I’ll save you a graphic description of what happened in the next few minutes, but the end result was we had to go BACK to store #1 to get the tire that was originally at store #2. You can insert your own 4 letter words here, if you want.
Back in the truck I got, and we headed back to tire store #1 again. And of course, the tire that is coming apart is still on the trailer. I pulled in the parking lot, and the manager of store #1 met me in the parking lot. It seems the delivery guy took it upon himself to return the tire to store #2. By this time there is steam emanating from my ears. I told Mr. Manager to please have an employee take the tire and wheel off my trailer, and GET THAT DAMNED TIRE BACK HERE ASAP!
Two hours later, we were back on the road, with a very deeply discounted new tire on the Airstream.

You still can’t get here from here
The following year (this year) we were again on the road, again in the middle of nowhere, and again had a tire start coming apart on the trailer. Again, I pulled off at the next town, and we made it to a tire store near the highway. Again, the tire store didn’t have any tires of the proper size and load range, but their store across town did. Here we go again… “Call and make sure it’s there, please”, I instructed. They did, and they did. “Okay, I need directions to that store, and I swear if they ship that tire over here, you’ll see this place on the 11 O’Clock news”. I know the store manager thought I was crazy, but I was having flashbacks. I got my directions, and arrived a half hour later to get my tire. “Oh, we don’t have any of those”, said the counter guy. There was a brief, one sided conversation, at the end of which the counter guy found our tire. We were back on the road again, this time after only a single afternoon.

No Reservations
I called and made reservations at 3 campgrounds along the way to our destination. I wanted to have a firm daily destination for our trip, even though it wasn’t a long trip. When we arrived at the first campground, they had no record of our reservation, and no vacancies. “Is this XYZ campground?” “Yes”. “Is this your street address?” “Yes”. “Is this today’s date?” “Yes”. “Is this one of your reservation confirmations?” “Yes”. “So where is my campsite?” “Oh. Err, Umm, uhh…” Since this was the only campground for 50 miles (which is why I made the reservation), we finally ended up boondocking in the parking lot, and my credit card was refunded. I’d have rather had a campsite than a refund, though.
The next evening, I was surprised to find we once again had a campground with no record of my reservation. This one was slightly better, though. they had one spot left. I called campground #3 before I even plugged the Airstream in. “Who?” I’m sorry, we don’t have any reservations for anybody named Wrench”. This was quickly rectified, and I’ve since made it a point to make a phone call to confirm our reservations.

The strange case of the missing motor oil
Yet another trip, we stopped at a campground for the weekend, and settled in. Next morning, I had to go to town, so I hopped in my truck, started it, and noticed I had no oil pressure. I shut off the engine, and found there was no oil in the engine. I crawled under the truck, and found the drain plug was loose. Hmm. I unscrewed the plug, and not a drop of oil came out. I looked around, and saw a few drops of oil leading away from the truck, toward a hedge near the road. It seems somebody stole my used engine oil. Whoever it was also stole oil from another campground patron that night as well. Over the years, I’ve had some strange things go missing, but that had to be the strangest.

That’s it for this time, I hope you have a great Labor Day. Next time, I’ll try posting some tips to help keep you from being an example in one of my blog entries.

This time out, I thought I’d allow you to accompany me through the course of a typical work day. There are many little things that happen, that “never make it into the blog” for one reason or another. Usually the reason is it isn’t a part of the day’s lesson, or may just be too mundane to include. So, without further ado, I present Monday:
6:45 AM: Alarm is supposed to go off.
6:52 AM: I wake up with a start, and a glance at the clock shows why it didn’t wake me up. The batteries in it are dead. I climb out of bed, take one step, and fall over a doggie toy, hitting my head on the night stand, and gashing my forehead.
6:55 AM: Stumble into the bathroom, blindly fumbling for a Bandaid for my head. “Blindly” because blood is running into my eyes.
6:57 AM: Find a Bandaid large enough to cover most of the gash, and I set about trying to staunch the flow before I bleed to death. I really don’t want to be found like Elvis, draped over the toilet in a pool of blood.
7:02 AM: I follow the trail of drying blood back into the bedroom, wiping up the evidence of my early morning lack of coordination. My wife wakes up as I enter the room, and asks, “What happened to your head?” “I hit it on the table,” I reply.
7:20 AM: I finish getting dressed, and ready for work.
7:24 AM: I try to start my truck, and find out the battery is dead.
7:36 AM: I jump start my truck using my wife’s car.
7:55 AM: I walk into a local fast-food place for breakfast, since my normal breakfast time was taken up by the dog toy incident and dead battery. The girl behind the counter recognizes me, and says, “Good morning, Lug. What happened to your head?” “I fell over a dog toy, and hit it in a table.”
8:10 AM: Wife arrives at fast food place to re-jump start my truck after I forgot to leave it running.
8:37 AM: I arrive at work, only 7 minutes late. Rusty greets me at the door with “Good morning, Lug. You’re late. What did you do to your head?” “I fell over a dog toy in the bedroom, and hit my head on a table. I’m going to call the battery dealer so they can send out a new battery for my truck. Do you need anything from them?” Rusty doesn’t.
8:45 AM: I walk into the office to call for a battery, and Buck is on the phone. “Hi, Lug. What happened to your head?” “Morning, Buck. I tripped over something, and hit my head on a table when I fell.” Buck responds with, “Did you damage the table?”
8:55 AM: I finally am able to call and order a battery.
9:00 AM: Sally walks into the office as I’m heading out to the shop. “Hi, Lug. What happened to your head?” “I hit it when I tripped and fell.” “Oh. Well, you didn’t break any furniture when you fell, did you?”
9:03 AM: I finally escape to the shop, where my first job of the day waits for me. I read the work order, and it says “Check for short.” The Airstream is unplugged, so I reach down and plug it in.
9:10 AM: I come to after getting kicked by a mule when I plugged in the Airstream. I stagger to my feet, and head into the bathroom to get the first aid kit. I look in the mirror while I’m in there, and notice I’ve gashed the other side of my head.
9:20 AM: After cleaning myself up and applying another Bandaid, I head back out to the shop, where I approach the evil Airstream warily. I find a wire rubbed raw, and bleeding 120 volts to the skin of the trailer. Apparently, it wasn’t bad enough to trip a breaker.
9:45 AM: As I finish the wiring repair, John comes walking up to me. “Hi, Lug. What did you do to your head?” Sigh. I spend 5 minutes explaining what happened.
10:30 AM: I start the next trailer, “replace dump valves.” Oh, joy. Naturally, the tanks are full.
11:00 AM: The tanks are empty, and I’ve flushed all the stuff out of them I can get. I pull the trailer back into the shop, and start disassembling the plumbing.
12:00 PM: It’s lunchtime. I walk out to my truck to go get something to eat. Of course, the truck won’t start, since the battery is dead..
12:50 PM: The battery delivery guy shows up with my battery. I install the battery, and head for the nearest place that sells food. The guy behind the counter asks, “What happened to your head?”
12:57 PM: I get a hot dog and a bag of potato chips. On the way back to the shop, I take a bite of the hot dog, which promptly squirts out of the bun, and lands on the floor of my truck. I’m basically a clean person, but there is no way I’m going to eat a hot dog after it’s rolled around on the floor.
1:03 PM: I finish the bag of chips, and go back to working on the dump valves.
1:10 PM I smack my head on a protruding piece of aluminum, gashing my head in yet another place. Not only am I starting to get a little honked off, I’m feeling woozy from blood loss.
1:20 PM: I apply a third Bandaid to my head, and crawl back under the trailer for more punishment.
2:50 PM: I finish the dump valves, and pull the trailer back outside. As I walk away from the trailer, my sleeve gets caught on a piece of aluminum sticking out, and is torn nearly off.
3:15 PM: A customer comes into the shop to ask some questions about a repair. Of course, the first thing they ask isn’t about their LP regulator. “What happened to your head?” Good grief.
4:00 PM: I’m sweeping up after the day’s misadventures, when Pop strolls into the shop. He walks over, looks at me, and says, “Hi, Lug. What happened to your head?” ARGH! “I cut myself shaving!”, along with one of my patented “looks”, causes Pop to perform the better part of valor. I can almost see smoke coming off his shoes from his rapid departure.
5:20 PM: I arrive home. My wife greets me at the door, “Hi, Lug. How was your–What else happened to your head?”
7:00 PM: I finish dinner, and decide I’m going to post a blog entry.

And so it goes.

Hello again. I guess my message about not trying to take it with you isn’t getting out to all that need to take note. So, one more time:
Don’t overload your Airstream! A customer came in to the shop a couple of weeks ago with an Airstream Classic that was supposed to have a GVW of 8300 pounds. He said he was having trouble with his load range E tires not holding up. I went out and looked, and sure enough, all the tires were in various stages of advanced failure. I had some other work to perform ion the trailer, so I called and ordered new tires, and went to work on the rest.
I should say I tried to go to work on the rest. The first clue there was something amiss was when the customer dropped the trailer, and had to let a lot of air out of his truck’s aftermarket air shocks. This was on a 1 ton truck, so his springs alone should have been more than enough to carry the Airstream’s weight.
I then opened the door, and jumped back as an avalanche of stuff came spilling out. Wow! Fifteen minutes later, I had removed enough stuff to gain access to the interior of the trailer. The customer had gone on an errand, and I had to locate some things I was supposed to repair. This turned into a “Where’s Waldo?” game inside. Every drawer, every cabinet, every horizontal space was filled to overflowing.
Finally, I had enough unloaded to perform the work requested. When the customer returned with even more supplies, I decided to try to explain about the consequences of overloading his Airstream. I couldn’t get him to understand how severely overloaded his trailer was, and how dangerous this condition can be. I finally talked him into going over to the local truck stop and get his rig weighed. Without all the stuff I hadn’t put back in the trailer, it weighed 10,400 pounds. It’s no wonder his tires were failing, they were committing suicide in order to get out from under the load.
So, I think I educated one customer how much damage he was doing to his trailer, as he started going through all his excess, and weeding out what was not going to be used on that trip.
Of course, this week, in came another Airstream Classic that was also overloaded, though not as badly. It also had tire problems, but I hope this customer also saw the light.
If you see somebody using a plunger to pack their Airstream, try tactfully letting them know what they’re doing. If they won’t listen, send them to me.

Today we’re going to take a look at some of the things that tend to become separated from the Airstreams they were originally attached to. Some leave because of old age, some get shaken off, some torn off, and others, well…

First up, an Airstream came in looking a bit like  a pirate sporting an eye patch, with one of its smoke colored side rock guards MIA. I looked carefully at the mounts, and found the rubberized catches behind the center rock guard had deteriorated and allowed the guard to shake around until it was caught by the wind, and away it went. I’m glad I wasn’t in the car following that trailer. I checked the rubbery mounts on the other guard, and they were ready to lose their grip on it. So, change the mounts, new hardware, and a new rock guard.

Next, we have an A/C shroud that decided it was tired of touring the country, and left the air conditioner to it own devices. They get all crumbly from ultraviolet light, and seem to enjoy launching themselves off the top of trailers with appalling regularity. Surprises aside, these make for excellent anti-tailgater devices. Usually an annual check of the shroud is enough to make sure it isn’t getting ready to leave.

Yet another item that seems to like to abandon ship is the coach battery. Usually a combination of a loose lock or broken rivets that hold the cover in place leads to the battery bouncing out of its little hole in the trailer. When this item gets jettisoned, it can cause all manner of interesting events, from watching following cars trying to play “Dodge the Battery” to not being  able to run any of the 12 volt items after you get where you’re going. Usually, a visual inspection is all that’s needed to keep your Airstream from “passing a battery”.

Then we have vent covers of various pedigrees trying to ruin your vacation by jumping off the top of your Airstream, leaving it open to the elements. Usually those elements include rain. Lots of rain.  And the vent that does this is usually the one directly over your bed. I think they get together while you’re sleeping, and plan this.

Another thing that tends to disappear is the sewer drain cap. You would think something that feels like it was installed by an 800 pound gorilla when you try to remove it could never fall off, but they do.

And last, for this time, is an Airstream that came in without its rear roll-out awning. No, the arms and tube were there, and all the hardware, but the awning fabric itself had decided to seek asylum in another place. The customer told me he lost the awning fabric with a straight face, and there were still a few shreds of fabric on the tube, so I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt. If anybody finds a hunk of Blue Fancy Zip Dee fabric blowing around out on the highway, let me know, I’ll try to reunite it with its owner.

Or, why checklists are so important.

This time around, I have a pair of Airstreams  whose owners forgot a couple of little things before they left their campsite. The first one, the customer was trying to hurry to beat a rainstorm, and simply hooked up and left without raising his stabilizers or unplugging his trailer from the campground’s power. He managed to knock out power to half the campground, and the sparks from the steel sand pads on his stabilizers added to the festive pyrotechnic display.  At least it was raining, so he didn’t start any fires when he left.

The second customer managed to endear himself to me when he left without unhooking from city water or disconnecting from the sewer.  Naturally, the first corner he went around, the sewer hose caught an obstruction and tore off his dump valves. Have I ever mentioned how much I enjoy working on holding tanks?  Especially ones that still have “stuff” in them? No? Well, I’ll tell you now. I don’t.

Yet another customer left without rolling up his awning. Yes, the big one over the door. It’s kind of hard to miss, and he didn’t miss it when he tore it off on the tree at the end of the driveway.

I’ve also had customers who had television antennas and roof vents  go missing after they forgot to take care of them. Probably the worst case, at least for the customer, was when he drove off with his wife still in the trailer, using the bathroom. That trailer is currently on our lot, for sale as part of the divorce.

There have been steps left down, and left along the road. Windows left open, toilets unflushed, main doors left open, even a sink left running.

So please, make a list, and check it twice. You will save yourself a lot of embarrassment, and possibly your marriage. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a pair of LP tanks and regulator to replace, because the owner forgot to clamp them back down when they refilled them.