How NOT to Drive a 31-Foot RV: A Cautionary Tale with a Hilarious Twist

 How NOT to Drive a 31-Foot RV: A Cautionary Tale with a Hilarious Twist

Get ready for a wild ride, buttercup, because this isn’t your run-of-the-mill RV road trip tale. It's a rollercoaster of matrimonial missteps, mechanical madness, and a woman who learns the true meaning of 'hit the road, Jack!' in the most hilarious ways possible.

But this was not always the rough edge of our marriage. When we were dating, Sam sent me dozens of red roses and told me he was “a little rough around the edges.” This sounded like a challenge to me.

At one point, darn, I was flattered! His whole two hundred and seventy-five-pound frame took on a Rhett Butler appearance. I could have sworn at one point, he called me “Scarlett.”

Picture this: I, a trucking company alumna turned RV rookie, and my husband Sam, a construction guru-engineer turned nervous Nellie, embarking on our maiden voyage in a three-year-old Pace Arrow. Our destination? Diamond Lake is a recreational oasis promising fishing and swimming and a potential permanent parking spot for our colossal camper.

Little did I know, our journey would transform Sam from a big rig newbie to a bona fide RV road warrior. Now, my ex-husband (more on that later) was a strapping specimen, a man's man who could wrangle a five-ton truck and shoot lasers with the best of them. But put him behind the wheel of an RV? Suddenly, he was a quivering bowl of Jell-O.

Our trip began with a bang – and I'm not talking about fireworks. After a thorough lecture from Sam on the importance of a full fresh water tank (even for an overnight trip), I dutifully backed our behemoth off the concrete pad he'd built explicitly for it.

Sam rushed to the driver’s side door. “I’ll whip her right out of here!” Sam says proudly as he flopped down in the captain’s chair.

Honeymoon? More Like Honey-Don't-Moon

Who could have predicted the catalyst for my 'former husband' status? Sam, my Dr. Jekyll-turned-Mr. Hyde, had a knack for transforming from charming suitor to domineering dictator faster than you can say 'marriage license.' No red flags there, right? Cue a sarcastic eye roll.

Minutes later, we were on the road—or should I say, off the road. A deafening screech and the sound of metal on metal brought us to an abrupt halt. The storage compartment door was open and didn't take kindly to being introduced to our driveway gate.

Two miles down the road --Just when I thought Sam was getting the hang of this RV Lesson, he ran two people in a bright yellow Volkswagen Rabbit off the road and down an embankment. 

“My Gawd,” I shouted, “Sam, aren’t you going to stop?” “Nay, don’t sweat the small stuff!” he said, adding, “I saw them in the side mirror. They came out on the other side of the ditch."

The Scenic Route (Or How to Give Your Wife Whiplash)

Undeterred, we continued our journey, taking the scenic route that involved multiple unplanned detours onto the shoulder of the road. I offered to drive, but Sam, the "dedicated, hard-working man," insisted on plowing ahead, leaving a trail of bewildered wildlife in our wake.

Upon arriving at Diamond Lake, Sam exited the passenger seat and said, “Back her in, honey.” I expertly backed the RV into our slot (while Sam mysteriously disappeared). I precisely know he was not under it. We set up camp. Just as I was about to grill up some well-deserved T-bone steaks, Sam declared he didn't like the site and wanted to try another campground. Sigh.

Windy Hollow: Where Dreams (and Side Mirrors) Go to Die

Our next stop, Windy Hollow Campground, proved to be equally eventful. After balking at the price (which I ended up paying a reasonable price), Sam attempted to park the RV himself, resulting in a missing side mirror and fewer layers of paint.

Hungry, exhausted, and ready for a movie night, I suggested firing the grill. Sam, however, was more interested in "sitting down on his dead backside for the night." Finally, something we could agree on!

The Great Escape

As Sam exited the RV, a brilliant idea was brewing in my mind. I hopped into the driver's seat, locked the doors, and hit the gas, leaving my grumpy husband in dust and confusion. He was waving something toward me, displaying a beet-red face even from a distance, and I don’t think it was his ring finger.

I parked the RV and placed the "for sale" sign back on the windshield when I arrived home. Then, I drew a bubble bath, cranked up Bach on the whole-house stereo system, Air on the G String, BWV 1068, a hauntingly beautiful melody for string orchestra known for its serene and melancholic atmosphere, and toasted my newfound freedom with a glass of wine. Then my two rotten Pomeranians and I hit the road, Jack.

So, the moral of the story? Sometimes, the best way to navigate a rocky marriage is to unhitch the trailer and drive off into the sunset. And remember, ladies, if your husband's ego is more significant than your RV, it might be time to trade him in for a newer model.