So, we hung out in Lenoir, North Carolina for the last two weeks just enjoying the weather and pretending we had our shit together. The park had a wooden deck and a level site, which already put it above average, but the water pressure was pitiful. Imagine a squirrel sneezing through a coffee stirrer, and you’re close... We took a few day trips up into the Blue Ridge Mountains and became “Leafers,” as the locals call the out of towners who suddenly think fall colors are a religious experience. It was actually pretty damn nice, and as usual, well worth the trip.
Then Friday, October 10 arrived. Time to pack up and head east to Advance, North Carolina, another Thousand Trails campground. We were organized, caffeinated, and almost proud of ourselves for once. Bags stowed, dogs secured, slideouts coming in, until the final walk around found the bedroom slide sticking out about two and a half inches at the bottom. No fuckin bueno. Especially at 65 miles per hour on the freeway.
Cue the music, Kylie and I turn into amateur mechanics again. Good thing I spent years contorted in aircraft bays, because the motor for this slideout is buried under the bed, behind a metal plate, under the gear assembly, guarded by a small army of screws and bad design choices. You can raise the bed, sure, but only enough to crush your ribs while reaching into the abyss.
Contorted like a drunken yoga instructor I get eyes on the motor while Kylie runs the slide in and out. When it should be stiff, the damn motor is wiggling. That is not right. It is supposed to be tight, the gear meshed in the rail like a pit bull on a steak bone. Oh, look, the gear box seam is split open like a can of cheap tuna. Out it comes.
Five of the six screws that hold the gearbox together are loose, and when I try to tighten them, they just spin. Que carajo? The local shop can order a new motor, but it will take a week. Okay, fine, screw that! for field engineering. Off to Lowes I go. I size up the stripped screw, grab bolts one size smaller and a quarter inch longer, slap nuts on the back, and Frankenstein the whole thing back together. Reinstall the motor, hit the switch, and holy hell, the slide closes. We are mobile again...
Seventy five miles later we pull into Forest Lake Campground in Advance, North Carolina, beautiful place, plenty of trees, nice lake, and a site big enough for the dogs to plot world domination. Slightly un level, but nothing a few blocks and some creative cursing can't fix. We get the slides out, except the bed. It starts, then stops, while the motor keeps whirring. Fuck.
We finish setting up, pour a drink, and then crawl back into the mechanical jungle under the bed. Sure enough, the gear is not meshed with the rail. We pull the motor out again and, surprise surprise, there is a crack in the side of the gearbox. Well, shit on a fuckin stick.
Two days of online sleuthing later and still nothing. The original motor is ancient history, and every "direct replacement" I find has weaker specs, slower RPM, lower amps, basically toy grade garbage. Then I remember eTrailer dot com, the online hardware paradise with customer service that actually responds to emails. I send photos, part numbers, and my increasingly colorful vocabulary. They confirm there is a proper replacement, but they do not have it. Of course they don't.
Armed with the real part number, I spend another afternoon on the internet. Bingo. Found one. Ordered it. Now we wait.
So here we sit in Advance, North Carolina, our forty foot home slightly crippled but still standing, dogs snoring, wine glasses full. While we wait for the new motor and gearbox to arrive, we might as well do what we do best, flights! Find a few local wineries, fly the drone, and pretend we are not one stripped bolt away from living in a stationary sculpture.
Because hey, this is Mayhem in 40 Feet, and smooth travel was never part of the damn brochure.