Since this began with a puff of smoke and a slow roll to the side of a Texas highway in the middle of June, we have been waiting to see our RV sitting back in the driveway and fully functional again.
It has been an expensive, lesson-filled, at times frustrating journey, but here we are, at last.
Our Orion is home.
And after the last few months, those are particularly sweet words to type.
What was supposed to be part of another summer adventure took an unexpected turn when the Orion developed serious engine trouble and eventually ended up at Beach Ford down for the count.
There aren’t many things quite as sad as watching your RV disappear into a service lot, especially when you know the problem isn’t going to be solved quickly or inexpensively.
By the numbers: What started as an $18,000 repair quotation in Texas, swelled to a $20,000 estimate at Beach Ford. In the end, and mostly due to the dogged determination and hard work of my favorite Service Adviser, Catie with a “C”, we’ll end up at about $13,000 all in. A painful check to write, but it could have been worse and Catie worked really hard to help us. Her empathy and concern were evident from our very first meeting with her and she kept chipping away at it for us. I hope Beach Ford keeps her well compensated and providing good customer service for years to come. They have won me over as a customer. They have become the shop of record for our RV. Thank you Catie and Beach Ford for getting us back whole. Hopefully, the next time I see you, is just for an oil change.
So, this morning I headed over to Beach Ford. Tucked among the commercial trucks and other RVs, looking remarkably innocent for something that has caused this much drama and expense lately was our Orion.
Today was pickup day.
Before leaving, I did what every slightly obsessive RV owner should do after major engine work:
I opened the hood and stared at everything.
I tilted my head and squinted.
I squeezed some hoses and tapped a few things. Important things.
Does it look right?
Is anything leaking?
Is anything loose?
Do I actually know what half of these hoses do?
Yes, no, apparently no, and absolutely not.
Close enough.
I checked the oil.
Oil so clean I had to tilt the dipstick into the sun to see there was any there at all.
I kicked the tires.
Then came the moment that really mattered.
Turn the key.
Engine starts on the first bump and idles almost silently.
The Air Conditioning works.
Put it in gear.
And drive.
There is something wonderfully exciting about an RV moving under its own power again when, not very long ago, you weren’t entirely sure when that was going to happen ever.
I only had a few miles to get back home. Not a long road test, but it seemed to go very well. No check engine lights. No smoke. No rattles that weren’t from the kitchen. I didn’t try any jack rabbit starts or push it very hard, but everything seemed as it should be.
Most importantly, our “Slow Down and Smile” face is still riding on the back.
That seems particularly appropriate right now. We definitely slowed down and hopefully we have smiled through most of it.
Eventually you fix what needs fixing, turn the key again and see where the road goes next.
And that’s where we are.
Next comes the small repair I need to make. I think I mentioned breaking the low-hanging sewer drainpipes while putting her on the trailer. That should be cheap and easy and will be an upgrade as the gate valves need replacing anyway. She needs a little cleaning, a little organizing and we’ll officially be on the road again.
I’ll be watching fluids, kicking tires, checking underneath, squinting at important things, listening for strange noises and generally behaving like someone who has recently been given his RV back after major surgery.
And barring any surprises, she won’t be sitting here for long.
There are places to go.
For a little while, Orion’s story was about getting home.
Now we get to start talking about where she’s taking us next.
There were days I wondered if anyone at Ford was really listening. Calls made. Cases opened. Social media posts posted. Beach Ford kept advocating for us.
Nearly a month passed with very little to report.
Today, it appears a decision has finally been made from our end.
Spoiler Alert: Ford did NOT swoop in and offer to fully replace the engine under warranty. Though, honestly, that was never my expectation. (more on that later)
Catie at Beach Ford, did find a few more thousand dollars in goodwill assistance with a Regional Ford Rep, bringing our out-of-pocket cost down within about $200 of the best independent estimate I’ve received for a remanufactured engine installation.
So, that is what we are going to do.
I will spare you the full pro/con list I made in getting to this point, but, when all is said and done, letting Beach Ford do the work is the win.
Would I have preferred Ford Motor Company to cover the entire repair?
Absolutely. Duh.
Do I appreciate that they continued looking for ways to help?
I do. I really do.
This isn’t exactly the ending I hoped for, but it does feel like we’ve finally reached the point where I can stop wondering and start moving forward once a check is written.
One thing about which this whole experience has reminded me is just how fortunate we are to have these kinds of issues. Right?
First World problems, I think. I remind myself that an RV is a luxury, not a necessity. Nobody must own one.
We chose this because of the memories it creates, and the places it takes us, and the people we meet along the way.
Every hobby has its costs.
A boat is just a hole in the water you throw money into.
Golfers spend thousands on clubs, greens fees, and trips.
Bowlers buy equipment, pay league dues, and travel to tournaments.
Gardeners, cyclists, SCUBA divers, woodworkers, pilots, photographers, fishermen, ham radio operators all know that the hobbies they love come with a price tag.
I certainly wish this lesson hadn’t arrived in the form of a failed engine, but it’s part of the deal, I guess.
The journeys, the sunsets, the campfires, the mornings with a cup of coffee beside a lake. Those are the dividends that make the costs worthwhile.
Someday this repair bill will be forgotten, but I hope the memories we’ve made and the ones still waiting for us down the road will be worth the investment.
Easy come, easy go. Right?
A Thought About Warranties
Throughout this process I’ve spent more time thinking about warranties than I ever imagined I would.
Ford’s powertrain warranty is straightforward:
Whichever comes fisrt – 5 years or 60,000 miles.
Our Transit has made it past the five years.
It never made it to 60,000 miles.
When the engine failed, it had traveled only about 48,000 miles.
Intellectually, I understand the warranty had expired.
Still, something about that never sat quite right with me.
The Warranty Cliff
Imagine buying a vehicle on June 4th.
Five years later, on June 3rd, your engine is covered 100%.
Two days after that…
Zero. Zip. Nada.
Nothing changed about the engine.
Nothing changed about the mileage.
Nothing changed about how it was used or maintained.
The calendar simply turned to another page.
What If It Worked Differently?
I started wondering what it would look like if warranties faded away instead of falling off a cliff.
Think about almost anything else we own.
Things don’t become worthless on their birthday.
Everything depreciates gradually.
What if warranty responsibility did the same?
If Ford’s warranty represents 100% responsibility at 60 months, can’t that responsibility gradually decline over the next five years?
Math seems simple.
Five years is 60 months.
Spread that value over another 60 months and the warranty “value” decreases by about 1.67% each month.
Instead of:
Month 60 = 100%
Month 61 = 0%
Could it look more like this:
Month 60 = 100%
Month 72 = 80%
Month 84 = 60%
Month 96 = 40%
Month 108 = 20%
Month 120 = 0%
Nobody at Ford uses this formula, of course.
I made it up while trying to answer a simple question:
When does a warranty really stop being worth anything?
Our Situation
The first title for our RV was issued on June 4, 2018.
When the engine failed this summer, it was a little more than three years beyond the time limit.
Using my little thought experiment, Ford’s responsibility wouldn’t still be 100%.
But it shouldn’t be zero either.
I think it should land somewhere around 38%.
Is that the right number?
I have no idea.
But it seems more reasonable than pretending the engine was fully Ford’s responsibility one day and entirely mine the next.
Then There’s the Mileage
Here’s the part I keep coming back to.
The engine didn’t fail at 120,000 miles.
It didn’t fail at 160,000 miles.
It failed at about 48,000 miles.
To me, that’s the bigger story.
A modern engine should have had a WHOLE lot more life left in it. A commercial engine, no less, one which is put in police cars and ambulances.
How do we agree with a manufacturer on the reasonable expected lifespan for any major purchase like a new vehicle?
There has to be a better way.
Where I Land Today
I think everyone involved did what they could within the system in which they work.
Beach Ford never stopped advocating.
Ford eventually increased its goodwill assistance and moved enough that the difference between their repair and my best independent option is now only about $200.
By my math they got us to about 30% off the original repair quotation.
Could they have done more?
I think so. At least about 8%.
Would it have been a tremendous public relations story if Ford had stepped up completely on an engine that failed at 48,000 miles?
Absolutely. In my little world. Both of my followers would have rejoiced.
Instead, I guess we found some middle ground.
Maybe that’s the best outcome that was realistically available.
Blue Skies Ahead
The waiting has been the hardest part.
Now the waiting for this phase is over.
That’s where we are.
I’ll take the checkbook to Beach Ford and we’ll get it done.
For the first time in weeks, I can finally feel a little sunshine breaking through.
Every adventure story eventually comes down to the question, “What happens next?”
A few days ago, we knew the answer. The script was written.
We would roll on, point the RV toward Palo Duro Canyon, continue west through Texas, Arizona and Nevada, spend time in California, then head back through some of our marquee National Parks and eventually slip back into Virginia Beach with thousands of photos, stories and memories.
Instead, I am typing this update from, My Desk.
Not because I want to.
After the engine issues in Texas and the initial diagnosis that no traveler wants to hear, we found ourselves staring at an estimated repair bill that was larger than the value of many perfectly good used cars. The trip ended not at a campground or scenic overlook, or in our driveway but in the parking lot of a Ford dealership.
The RV is now on the way back home to Virginia Beach on a very expensive Uber ride of its own. The irony is not lost on me that the RV now has traveled farther this week than we did. Worth pointing out though, while $5000 does seem crazy for a tow home, note that we would have spent an additional estimated $3500 just on gasoline if we completed the trip as planned. Still hurts, but helps me justify the insanity of the expense, a little.
Since arriving home, I’ve begun the process of figuring out exactly what happened, why it happened, and what comes next.
The first step is information.
I’ve submitted requests for more details from the Texas Ford dealer that diagnosed the engine failure and the maintenance shop that performed the oil change and 50,000-mile service just days before the trip. At this stage, I’m not accusing anyone of anything. I simply want facts.
What work was performed?
What was found?
What tests were run?
What evidence supports the diagnosis?
And perhaps most importantly, could there another explanation?
Before we spend seventeen thousand dollars replacing an engine, I just want to be certain that the engine truly needs replacing. Right?
There will be additional inspections, second opinions, probably a fair amount of detective work, potential social media smear campaigns and more intrique than a spy novel. The challenge now is determining whether this is a failed engine, a failed component, a maintenance issue, bad luck, or some combination of all four.
Once the cause is determined, we can look at things like requesting consideration from Ford on repairs and rebuilding or replacing the engine for the least money.
The good news is that there is no immediate rush, now.
We’re sleeping in our own bed.
The Garden is still growing.
The Birds are still singing.
The pool is still clear.
And the National Parks aren’t going anywhere.
One of the surprising things about the last few days has been the huge number of people who have reached out with encouragement, advice, mechanic recommendations, and stories of their own travel disasters. Apparently, breaking down hundreds of miles from home is a more common travel experience than I realized.
Every adventure story worth telling has a chapter where things go sideways. Those challenges are needed for the hero’s journey to have any meaning.
They usually make for the best stories later.
As for us?
We’re already talking about the next trip.
The breakdown was frustrating.
The tow bill is painful.
The repair estimates were shocking.
But none of those things changed why we travel in the first place.
The goal was never just to reach the destination.
The goal was to live outside our daily routine.
To see new places.
To make memories.
To collect stories.
To reunite with the USA
And despite everything, we still managed to do that.
So for now, the RV sits on a flatbed trailer as we are waiting for answers.
The investigation begins.
The repair plan will come later.
And somewhere out there, all the national parks are still waiting for us.
This story isn’t over.
It’s just paused for maintenance.
Tomorrow the Adventure Continues
By The Numbers
2 National Parks visited
6 states traveled
1,500+ miles driven
1 repaired tire valve
1 major engine failure
1 very expensive tow home
Countless memories
Unlimited determination to finish what we started
Stay tuned.
The next chapter may involve mechanics, engines, lawyers, negotiations, and more troubleshooting than sightseeing.
We left our campground this morning, headed toward Palo Duro Canyon. Fully recharged. Spirits were great. The RV was running. The miles were rolling by. We stopped and filled up for under $3 per gallon. High fiving over “cheap” Texas gas. We were already thinking about today’s views, the next campground, the next story. Life was good.
Then the engine lost power.
Again.
We remained optimistic enough to believe we might just lose a few hours.
Instead, we lost the trip.
We lost our RV.
The verdict was brutal.
New engine required.
Seventeen thousand dollars.
Seven to ten days before they could get the replacement engine in stock.
Five days of labor to swap it out once they had the engine.
Just like that, months of planning collided head-on with a hot block of metal buried under the hood.
There is a special kind of disappointment that comes when an adventure doesn’t end. It simply stops.
No grand finale.
No final campsite.
No victory lap down our street, where whoever is driving stops the car a hundred yards from home and claims to be too tired to finish the drive, begging for someone to take over. (It gets funnier every time, you’ll have to trust me on this.)
I won’t lie. It IS a gut punch.
The money is the money. Do I have a loose seventeen grand stuffed in a sock somewhere? No. It hurts.
But surprisingly, that’s not the source of disappointment.
This trip wasn’t just a line item in our budget.
It was ten National Parks.
It was adventures, new roads, and stories we hadn’t lived yet.
It was early mornings, late nights, and spending time with people we love.
It was asking, repeatedly, “I wonder what’s around the next bend?”
Today, the definitive answer turned out to be a Ford service bay in Decatur, Texas.
That wasn’t on the itinerary.
The funny thing about travel is that it teaches you flexibility, whether you want the lesson or not.
The fact remains, the memories don’t disappear because the engine died.
We still crossed the Mississippi River on foot.
We still wandered the grounds at Graceland.
We still explored the forests of Hot Springs before most people had their first cup of coffee.
We still spent a day doing almost absolutely nothing.
We still laughed.
We still got lost.
We still made our way West.
Maybe that’s the lesson.
The destination is never guaranteed.
The adventure shouldn’t be measured by how many miles we completed or how many parks we checked off a list.
It is measured by the days we were given.
Would I rather be writing tonight from Palo Duro Canyon?
Absolutely.
Would I rather be staring out at the second largest Canyon in the US?
Without question.
But tomorrow we’ll put our well-loved and formerly trustworthy RV on a trailer.
For those of you playing along at home, the tow bill for 1500 miles is $5000. (Fun fact, Good Sam roadside assistance will only get you to a place of repair. Once we were at the Dealership, that was it for all of our towing coverage even though they did NOT tow us to the dealer. I will be having a conversation with them when I get home. Their Platinum Roadside Assistance with Travel Assist did NOTHING for us today. Read the fine print.)
However, with that said, we cannot spend 15+ days in Decatur, TX to spend $17,000+ fixing the camper. Just not an option.
IF, that is the final cost, so be it, but it needs to be done in our town by our people. I need a second opinion at least. Right?
I do plan to fight a little with Ford as well. This truck only has 48,000 miles on it. It came from the factory with a 60K/5 year warranty, so we exceed the years, but not the miles. It may amount to nothing, but I feel like a phone call or two, and maybe calling them out on Twitter, is in order before I write another check. Right?
So, now we are at a cheap motel in Decatur, TX. (To add insult to injury, the Ford Dealer here would NOT let us camp the night in their parking lot. I will forgive them the $195 diagnostic fee they charged to ruin our trip, but c’mon…no camping? They could take a lesson from Walmart.)
I have spent the past hour canceling tour and lodging reservations. Tomorrow, we will meet the car hauler at the dealer to pick up the RV.
Our son is going to meet us there and carry us back to DFW where we will hopefully fly home tomorrow evening and start picking up the pieces.
I try to remain upbeat.
Truthfully, I’ve been somewhere between holding back tears and actively crying for most of the afternoon.
It feels silly to write that as a grown man sitting in a budget motel room in Texas, but there it is.
We’ve spent months planning this trip.
Months of researching campgrounds, plotting routes, making reservations, checking weather forecasts, buying gear, cleaning, tweaking, packing, upgrading, fixing little things on the RV, and dreaming about places we’ve wanted to see for years.
Today, I spent my energy canceling reservations.
Tours.
Campgrounds.
One cancellation email after another.
That may have been the hardest part.
Not the diagnosis.
Not the estimate.
Not even the tow bill.
The realization that the trip we’d been looking forward to for so long was suddenly over.
I know, no good story ever started, “Remember when our RV DIDN’T lose an engine in Texas…”
And somewhere down the road, after the frustration fades and the credit card bill stops making my left eye twitch, this will evolve into a fondly remembered family episode. Right?
We’ll laugh about the engine that self-destructed in Texas.
We’ll laugh about the hotel.
We’ll laugh about the tow bill.
We’ll probably even laugh about me crying into my pillow.
After almost a week of moving, exploring, hiking, driving, sightseeing, and generally trying to squeeze every drop out of every destination, Day 7 arrived and we did:
Absolutely nothing.
Well, almost nothing. Susan caught up all of our laundry, and we hit the grocery store for provisions and Big Red Soda after dinner, but mostly nothing.
The camper never moved. No GPS. No fuel stops. No campground hookups to manage. No weather radar. No National Park maps. No “what time do we need to leave?”
Just a day off.
And honestly, it may have been one of the best days of the trip so far.
The Texas weather was a giant hair dryer. Very Hot. Very Windy. Bright blue skies. The kind of day where the trees sway constantly, and every surface feels warm to the touch before noon.
Susan claimed her spot in the pool and spent much of the morning floating, relaxing, and soaking up a little Texas sunshine. The pool area at Shady Creek is one of those unexpected campground treasures. Nothing fancy. Nothing over-the-top. Just cool water on a hot day with nowhere important to be. Too cool for me. I got up to my thighs and was missing the 105-degree water of my soaking tub from yesterday. I chose a different path.
Another vacation luxury: a guilt-free nap.
Not a quick doze.
Not a power nap.
A full-fledged, middle-of-the-day, “wake up and wonder what year it is” nap.
Highly recommend it.
One of the real reasons for stopping here for two nights was the opportunity to spend some time with our son. Which was a too short, but fantastic time to hug, catch up, eat, and hug again.
That meal was the culinary highlight of the day and came courtesy of Tender Smokehouse. Texas takes barbecue seriously.
There are entire regions of the country that argue endlessly about barbecue. Carolina. Memphis. Kansas City. And Texas.
I’m not getting involved in that debate.
But if Texas barbecue is wrong, I don’t particularly need to be right.
Tomorrow the wheels start turning again. New roads. New scenery. New adventures are waiting in the Texas Panhandle. A place I have never experienced.
But today?
Today was about rest.
And after more than 1,400 miles on the road, it was exactly what we needed.
By the Numbers
Miles Driven: 0
Fuel Consumed: 0 gallons
National Parks Visited: 0
Pool Time: Several hours
Naps: One
Family Time: Priceless
Texas Brisket Consumed: Not enough and still, too much.
Day 6 started before 7 AM and may have been one of the most peaceful mornings of the trip so far.
We left Gulpha Gorge Campground on foot and hiked two miles down to Bathhouse Row. The trail was absolutely serene. Birds chattering. Squirrels fussing. I’m pretty sure they were discussing the two humans wandering through their neighborhood before breakfast.
The hike itself was considerably more technical than yesterday’s walk across the Mississippi River. Plenty of roots, rocks, elevation changes, and places where you had to pay attention. But the real challenge was the final 200 yards.
The trail suddenly decided it no longer believed in moderation.
Nearly straight downhill.
Part hiking trail.
Part drainage ditch.
Part staircase.
It was one of those descents where you realize gravity is in charge, and you’re just hoping for a good outcome. I had the help of trekking poles. Susan faced it unaided.
It was a fantastic way to start the day.
The Buckstaff Experience
We arrived at the Buckstaff Bathhouse shortly after opening. If you want to “take the waters”, this is the only way. They don’t do reservations. Even arriving at opening, there was a line and the Massages were sold out. We couldn’t get the full package we intended to purchase. So we settled for just the “bath”.
The Buckstaff has been operating continuously since 1912, making it the only bathhouse on Bathhouse Row that has never stopped offering traditional thermal bathing services. More than a century later, we were following essentially the same process our great-grandparents would have experienced. Kinda.
Walking inside felt less like entering a modern spa and more like stepping into a medical facility from a bygone era.
The closest comparison I can make is the hydrotherapy room from One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest.
Steam.
Valves.
Pipes.
Old marble.
The whirring of industrial fans.
The sort of place where it feels like someone is about to prescribe hydrotherapy for ANYTHING that ails you.
The attendants move you through a sequence of stations that includes a whirlpool bath, loofa scrub, sitz bath, steam (Vapor) cabinet, and hot packs. The entire operation runs with an efficiency that can only come from performing the same routine thousands of times over the last century.
The marble is worn white and gray.
The fixtures are old.
The building feels every bit of its 110-plus years.
And that’s both its charm and its limitation.
One unexpected benefit was that my cell phone was locked away in a locker for two hours.
No alerts.
No texts.
No emails.
No weather checks.
No scrolling.
No photographing every moment for the blog.
Just hot water, steam, marble, and whatever thoughts happened to wander through my head. Scary.
We spend so much of modern life filling every spare moment with a screen that I often forget what it feels like to simply sit and be present.
Oddly enough, that may have been the most therapeutic part of the entire experience.
As for the bath itself?
I’d rate it a solid 7 out of 10.
I’m glad I did it.
I don’t regret it.
But if I were spending money purely for relaxation and self-care, I’d probably choose a modern spa next time. I like my pedicures and Amanda’s Healing Hands.
The Buckstaff feels less like a luxury experience and more like participating in a living piece of American history.
At any given moment, there were some fifteen naked men being efficiently herded through various hot-water stations. It felt more like a factory than a retreat. Moooo.
Efficient? Absolutely.
Interesting? Definitely.
Luxurious? Not exactly.
Nudity? More than anyone needs.
Still, it was worth doing once.
Susan’s experience apparently operated on an entirely different timeline. The men’s side finished nearly an hour before the women’s side. We were facing a checkout time at the campground and since her phone was still locked up, we had no way to communicate. We had already discussed a ride share back to the RV if time was tight and we couldn’t (or didn’t want to) walk back. With the clock ticking, I eventually Ubered back to camp, finished packing the RV, and then drove back into town to rescue my wife from whatever secret spa dimension they keep hidden upstairs.
One Last Look at Hot Springs
While waiting for me, Susan was able to find some RV parking downtown so with the RV parked and travelers reunited, we spent a little more time exploring downtown Hot Springs.
We wandered through town, explored a few more blocks, and split a panini for lunch before finally pointing the RV west again.
Hot Springs surprised me.
Hot Springs tries to be America’s answer to the Fountain of Youth. Generations of people have come here hoping the water would ease their aches, restore their libido, cure what ails them, or at least make them feel a little younger. After my Buckstaff experience, I can’t claim any miraculous age reversal, but I did leave a little cleaner, more relaxed, and less attached to my cellphone. That’s probably worth something.
Have you noticed that since the pandemic, we have far fewer water fountains in the world? NOT True in Hot Springs. There are water distribution stations in every block and fountains all over.
I spoke with a woman who had two 5-gallon stainless steel Jerry Cans. (I will leave it short, but those who know me know I LOVE a good Jerry Can. I have one riding in this very RV, though I hope not to need it.) So I fan boyed on her cans. (haha) She comes once a week and fills up. It is the drinking water for a family of five all week. People definitely BELIEVE in this water. I left with a liter in my water bottle, and now I am wondering if it is ok to put lemonade powder in 4000-year-old hot spring water?
Large Scale Water Filling Table
It isn’t what most people picture when they think of a national park. There are no giant waterfalls, dramatic mountain vistas, or massive wildlife herds.
Instead, the park exists because of the water.
Great Smoky Mountains National Park was about scenery.
Hot Springs National Park is about history.
Two parks down and already two completely different experiences.
With so much more to come!
Bonus State!
The GPS apparently decided interstate highways were overrated today.
At some point it routed us through a small corner of Oklahoma.
That means we can officially add a bonus state to the trip count.
Even more interesting, part of that route crossed through the Choctaw Nation. For a brief stretch, we were technically traveling through sovereign tribal lands.
It was impossible not to talk about the connections between this area and the places we had visited just a few days earlier. We passed a motel named “End of Trail”. Seems simple enough, but the trail we believe is being referenced is the Trail of Tears.
The Cherokee we encountered near the Smokies and the Choctaw lands we crossed today are sadly connected by one of the darkest chapters in American history.
The Trail of Tears forced Native American nations from their ancestral homelands throughout the Southeast and relocated them west into what became Oklahoma. Thousands died from disease, starvation, and exposure along the way. Definitely NOT America at its greatest.
Only a few days ago, we were driving through Cherokee, North Carolina.
Today, we found ourselves passing through the Choctaw Nation.
The distance between those places is measured in miles.
The history connecting them is measured in deaths.
A simple GPS detour unexpectedly became a reminder.
Texas Backroads
The route into Texas was anything but interstate travel. In fact, I don’t think we did a single Interstate mile.
At one point, though, the GPS appeared to be taking instructions from a committee of cattle.
Eventually, we found ourselves traveling on one of Texas’s famous FM roads.
For non-Texans, FM stands for Farm-to-Market. Texas invested and built thousands of miles of Farm-to-Market roads to connect rural communities with nearby towns.
Today, they form an enormous network of two-lane roads that crisscross the state.
And honestly?
They’re a lot more interesting than the interstate, though they can take a little more concentration. The trade-off was that I had miles with no one in front of me. That takes some of the pressure off.
The scenery changes.
The speed slows, for the RV on these roads, but they are still posted for 60, 65, even 70 MPH. I was telling Susan today about driving a road in TX and when I got to a School Zone it lowered from 75 – 55. Really, Texas? A 55 MPH School Zone? SMH
65 MPH in a Work Zone, Unattended Burning Debris, Barely a Shoulder, Oncoming Trucks.Good Times.
You pass places that never make it onto postcards on these roads.
Places that make you scratch your head.
However, we actually got to see Texas rather than simply cross it.
Disconnecting
Cell service was spotty for much of the day on these back roads.
There were long stretches where the outside world simply disappeared.
Normally that would bother me. And it did today, too if I am being honest.
Instead, after spending the morning without a phone at the Buckstaff, it kind of felt like a nudge from the Universe that maybe more disconnection is good? He wonders as he pauses writing this post to check a notification on the phone about having exceeded mobile hotspot data quota and “Speeds will be reduced until the next billing cycle.” Hmmm…just send me a sign, Lord…should I disconnect more?
The road, the landscape, and whatever happens to be around the next bend.
I may be rediscovering that being disconnected isn’t the same thing as being out of touch.
Looking Ahead
The RV ran well all day. A brief scare about 30 miles from our campground when an engine light briefly blinked. We pulled over immediately, and it stopped. I will hook up the OBD2 scanner in the morning and read any codes. We’ll keep an eye on it, but it was flawless the rest of the way in. We have a whole free day here to check things out. There is also a bit of a rattle developed that sounds like a loose heat shield in the engine. We’ll look at that tomorrow, too.
The repaired tire continues to hold air without complaint.
The temperature topped out around 88 degrees.
As I type this, we are roughly 1,400 miles from Buttervale.
Tomorrow and the next day bring a welcome change of pace. We’ll spend time visiting our son, catching our breath, recharging, and preparing for the next major westward push.
The first week has already taken us through the Smokies, across the Mississippi River, through Elvis country, into America’s oldest federal park which was created around thermal springs, and now into Texas by way of Oklahoma and the Choctaw Nation.
Not bad for six days on the road.
The adventure continues.
Day 6 By The Numbers
Wake-Up Time: Before 7:00 AM
Morning Hike: 2 Miles
National Parks Completed: 2 of 10
Bathhouses Experienced: 1
Buckstaff Rating: 7/10
Paninis Consumed: 1 (Shared)
Bonus States Added: 1 (Oklahoma)
Tribal Nations Crossed: 1 (Choctaw Nation)
High Temperature: 88°F
Distance From Buttervale: ~1,400 Miles
Tire Problems: 0
Mechanical Problems: .01
Cell Signal Bars: Frequently 0
Wildlife Encounters: Birds and Squirrels, too many dead armadillos to count
The Buttervale Life 