Chapter 2: Oh Crap - I Meet the Alien

I put some money aside for old age but got that way by living frugally. I was not buying a $40k trailer solely to find out I hated camping. I was getting a quick education at the RV dealership. The price included little. Everything was extra, and I mean EVERYTHING!

There was no spare tire. If you want a spare, it sits inside the trailer or in the back of your truck. A tire rack for the spare? That’s extra. The rack installation was also an additional charge. A cover for the spare was extra. EVERYTHING was extra. Covers were recommended to keep the sun off the tires.

The electric cord was extra, as were the sewer hoses and a water hose, and it continued to go downhill from there. The total cost for the trailer, before tax, tag, and license, was well over 20K. Four grand worth of necessary options, and I was not even near driving off the lot. Being negativistic, I expected the poor treatment at the RV dealer.

The finance guy and I did NOT get along. I told them I did not need a finance guy. Hello, I was paying cash here. “Oh, He handles transferring titles and all that.” That means he would put me through a meat grinder to separate me from as much of my money as he could.

My insurance company’s insurance was 20% cheaper than what they recommended. I turned down their 5-year warranty. Getting my truck ready to connect up requires a lot of stuff. I need more than a little metal ball on the back bumper.

I needed a towing bumper and an add-on package to hold the ball and take the weight. The more your bumper attachment can handle, the more expensive it gets. I needed an electric package wired up to connect to the little trailer. When you press the brake pedal, the brakes on the trailer stop it.

No, I will get it somewhere else. Although it was a light trailer, the company appeared to sell me a package for a 50-foot RV. My truck did not have the power for something that big. They wanted to upgrade everything. Not happening, no, no, no, no, NO!

That 20K was the approximate price with me subbing out the bumper install and brake control. That and using my own insurance from Progressive. The dealer even had towing insurance. The dealer wanted both my testicles and any of my son’s testicles that I might have in the future.

This is merely for the towing insurance. The insurance company must use gold-plated tow trucks. I was pissed, and they knew they could get clocked at any moment. I spent three times more time dealing with him than with the sales lady who showed me the camper.

They have the same scam going that car dealers do. This place had selection and pricing, so you were somewhat trapped with who you dealt with. Sales were all goodness and light;” Yew will LUUUV this.” Finance managers spent eight years getting a degree in “Fuck You, gimme all your damn money.” At least a thug is honest.

Three days later, I returned with my truck with the appropriate RV parts installed for towing.

It costs 45% less than what the crooked dealer rep had quoted. This did not include labor, which was completely outrageous.

I learned somewhat later that RV dealerships always need more workers. They work them hard, hay them poorly and every downturn in the business means people get laid off. If you take an RV to one of the major dealers, it can sit for months before they can get to it. They have nobody to do the work.

I even got a tonneau cover and a backup camera for the truck. It was all being installed; I ordered after-market tow mirrors from Amazone. I had to send them to an intermediate Amazon pickup location since I had no local mailing address.

I pulled in, hooked my trailer up, and drove towards home using Route 90. I did this because I had connected the ball and plugged the electrical in. I could go slow and avoid the semis on I-10. I made sure to put the anti-sway bar on.

When I got home, I circled the wagons and connected the water and generator. If I left a night light on, the paltry battery on the travel trailer would run out of juice before morning. Its real purpose was to operate the trailer brakes. It could also supply a few watts to run the refrigerator’s brain.

I decided to “driveway camp” for a night or two. After making supper, I retired to the travel trailer with my Kindle. I had a spare sheet set and TP in the RV, so I had the basic necessities.

The first thing I noticed was it was hot inside. Opening the windows was an exercise in futility as they are pretty small, and there’s little wind. I did not know, but these puppies could quickly get over 120 degrees inside. I clicked the generator on and turned on the AC.

The AC on this trailer was a little window unit that sat in a box over the foot of the bed.

By contrast, The ACs in the big RV were for shit. The ceiling units sucked down huge amounts of electricity. They were also so loud you could not relax to fall asleep. I could only run one at a time and would need a much bigger generator to run both ACs. I used fans in the big RV. It had lots of windows. I had a small window unit in the bedroom if it got too hot. I always had the backup generator.

The little one in the travel trailer still took 15 minutes to cool enough that you stopped sweating. The next issue was the dinette set. I had folded up the dinette table and put it in the shed. That left a small bench seat for two.

The seats were vinyl-covered and still very warm from the drive over here. It was hot on my back and my butt. It needs serious improvement. Then there was the back. It was too short to support a tall guy. Sitting in these little seats was a trial. I took measurements and visited a few furniture stores looking for a love seat. The loveseat did not work out, but two easy chairs did. So that’s what I bought.

I jerked the stupid RV loveseat out and mounted the two easy chairs. A TV dinner stand became my table. When not in use, it folded up and sat behind a chair out of my walking path. The RV table thing had been in the way underfoot too much.

I continued to camp in the little camper in my yard, adding and changing a few things. After several sessions of driveway camping, as they call it, I began to visit local state parks.

Trying to get reservations was a whole new thing. You might get a Wednesday at this place; another place only had a Tuesday opening within the next two months. You learned to choose parks with fewer amenities and further away from the big cities. They were less popular and easier to book. The popular parks were full of northern tourists.

I started camping at the less popular parks. On one and two-day camp-outs, I found kayaking could be a blast. Weekdays were better with fewer people there.

I bought a kayak and a fishing pole. That meant I needed a fishing tackle and a tackle box. The list goes on and on. Anyway, I learned to walk very early in the morning and not disturb the grass. Every Florida boy knows where the mosquitoes are waiting to pounce; they lurk in the low bushes and grass. Even with Off-bug spray, you still get the occasional bite. Stand still for a few minutes and you can get swarmed.

Months later, I decided to try other camping sites. I wanted to go west.

I am basically a misanthrope and happy to lead a semi-hermit lifestyle. Visiting low-cost parks if they are relatively empty is what I like. I’m not particularly eager to talk to strangers. I am not fond of large groups of people. I purposely pick parks that are out of the way.

I’m seriously considering visiting the BLM and National Forests. I’d like to see if it’s all cracked up to be what people say. I got a little Honda EU2000i to power the travel trailer. I already put a small solar system on top and replaced the 12v battery with two Lithium ones. The Honda is in case I have to have AC.

I made park reservations for at least the next few days of driving. Public parks cost more but are easier to book. I finally got ready to go, closed the big RV trailer, and took off on I-10 West. I’d left the kayak at home.

I had a few shocks. Crossing the miles and miles of bridges near Slidell, Louisiana, is quite strange. The tunnels are the worst. I got stuck behind a tractor-trailer and crawled up the incline at the other end of the tunnel. It takes four days to get across Texas at RV towing speed. I never knew Texas was that fricken big.

Eventually, I entered New Mexico. This is where much of the free camping was, here and in Arizona. When I got there, I realized I had spent quite a bit of money on fuel to drive here. I decided I would not camp for a few days and then turn around to head back. I was here for a while. If nothing else, it was a break from the long drive out here.

It was rather hot. The recommendation was to find camping areas at higher climes. I ended up in northern New Mexico. I camped at one place for a while and moved to another. I camped at a few state campgrounds there. Nice. I worked my way up into Colorado and stayed there for a time. Sometimes, it was free, and often, there was a small nominal charge.

It got warmer as I drove down to lower areas. I was in a remote Arizona area when I stopped for a month. After a month of looking at distant mountains, I considered getting a dog.

I knew I was getting to be too much of a hermit. It was unhealthy, but I wasn’t about to afflict a fellow human with my sour disposition.

One morning, I was sitting in my camp chair near Wilcox, Arizona, when I saw something new a quarter mile away. I saw a dark patch on the ground that was not there the day before. I got out my binoculars to look.

I still needed to figure out what I was seeing. The binoculars only helped a little. Whatever it was, it did not belong. It could be a sleeping bag, maybe a dead animal, I had no idea. I traded my flip-flops for my hiking boots, got a water bottle, and set out to see what it was.

The water bottle is a desert necessity, everyone had them. Mine is in a little cloth carrier on my belt.

As I got close, it started to look like a man wearing coveralls. As I got closer, it got more peculiar. It was man-like, but men are not that shade of yellow with dark, shiny green hair. He appeared somewhat cartoonish.

I got next to it and saw whatever it was; it was passed out. Not knowing how long it lay in the sun, I pulled my water bottle out and dribbled a little into its mouth. I say it because, on its back, it looked relatively androgynous. No apparent tits, but physically not quite masculine looking either. The features were similar to us, but he’s obviously an alien.

Why was an alien lying in the desert in a remote area of southeast Arizona? How did it get here, in particular? What was wrong with it? After working on it for a while, it started to move around. It jumped when its eyes opened, and it saw me.

It said something like, “Braexears luz-tuh,” whatever that was. I started talking to it, asking how it was feeling. What should I do? It mumbled other things, and I kept talking.

Eventually, its wristwatch started repeating my words in English and gibberish. The creature would say something, and the watch would echo what he said in English. At least I took it that way. The creature needed help getting to his ship. It was a he, and he had passed that on during his rambling speech.