Gen. Dwight Eisenhower’s organization of D-Day always amazed me. After this summer of RVing (not “motor homing,” according to my granddaughter), I am even more impressed.
Transporting our son, his wife and two granddaughters in my large SUV (who comes up with these acronyms?) demanded major planning. Baby seats, small strollers, large strollers, portable crib, a Radio Shack of electronics, suitcases and seating arrangements, consultation with U-Haul and testing of the roof rails.
Our family’s return to Hobby airport included even more stuff, thus requiring our 31-foot RV to transport everyone, half of Galveston’s items for sale and our dogs.
First, just two blocks from home, a friendly motorcycle police officer issued a warning that the RV safety sticker had expired. I promised to get one right after Hobby. Arriving in the hectic departure lane, we dropped off the females sans most of their luggage. Son Charles, two dogs and I headed west on Interstate 10 seeking a new safety sticker and New Mexico.
Thanks to Charles’ iPhone, we found the Katy “place” and were told stickers were issued from 1 p.m. to 3 p.m. Arriving right at 1 o’clock, I was informed that we had to wait awhile until the technician returned from lunch. A horrendous thunderstorm and two hours later, he was “still at lunch.” Afraid lunch would soon turn into supper, we traveled on.
We called the women only to find they were still at Hobby — with a terrorizing 2-year-old and an “I am bored” 7-year-old. Not good.
Not daring to exit in San Antonio’s narrow and twisting streets in a large RV, we journeyed on in search of the sacred safety sticker.
Finally, between Welfare and Comfort, we found a small tire store that inspected and stickered us in 15 minutes (5 of which consisted of me thanking them and complaining about the Katy “place”). We were on our way, now legal.
Next stop, Junction, the edge of civilization, according to Charles. Having worked for the Legislative Sunset Commission, I guess he would know. It was dark as we exited I-10.
We learned from Bob’s RV Repair, there is a free RV park next to the Llano River under large trees in Junction. With the iPhone guiding us through the night to the beautiful spot, we set up.
A quick call to the women revealed their now 8-hour ordeal at Hobby was about to end with a 2-hour flight to New Mexico. Who would have imagined a 1999 motor home driven by an old geezer was faster than a Boeing 737? And the two “ladies” with us (the dogs) slept the whole way.
The next morning at 5:30 a.m., I pulled the tire cocks, lifted the stabilizers and headed toward El Paso with Charles asleep in the overhead bunk, just like we did 30 years ago when he was 8. And he was right about Junction; I drove for three hours through the peaceful landscape before I found coffee and oatmeal — in other words, civilization.