RV repair story ahead... enter at own risk.

If you don't want to hear my pontificating, please move to the pictures of food below. That is, if anyone besides me is reading this.

For anyone who doesn't know how an RV electrical system works, here is the gist of it. You have a battery in the front of the coach for starting the engine and the general car-style dashboard gizmos. You have an alternative battery that runs the rear of the coach, though I have two because I like redundancy. Those batteries run the 12-volt cigarette lighter jacks for plugging 12-volt things into like TVs or iPod chargers and the lights in the back of the coach. When the engine is running, all the batteries are charged.

When one plugs into camp power, it is the same 120 volts you have running through your home. In an RV, the 120 is used to power standard home appliances that are built into the coach, like an air conditioner (a big one on the roof), a microwave, some outlets in the coach to plug your laptop or hair dryer into, AND a converter that drops the voltage to 12 volts (and rectifies the current to DC) to power all the things those two alternate batteries have been powering. And all the batteries are charged from the camp power instead of the car's alternator.

When you are boondocking (living off the grid), there is a petrol-powered generator built into the side of the RV that generates the 120 volts for you, if you need it. Trust me, you do. There are a whole lot of switching relays involved, too, that allow all this stuff to happen seamlessly.

So, when I am sitting here on me laptop and the lights start flickering off and on, I have about 4569 places to start looking for problems. As it turns out, it was a quiet night when I finally decided to deal with this. It has been going on for a while, now. Turns out, it only happens when I am plugged into camp or home power. Aha! That barely makes the situation any easier. Due to my sharp hearing, I discover that there is an arcing problem in my 30 amp main breaker. In this part of the system, the power is still at 120v and uses Siemens-standard residential circuit breakers. I pop the cover panel off and I can actually see bright blue arc flashes. Which is great... for welding, but no so great for your RV.

First thing to do is take the 30A breaker off and examine the damage. That is easier said than done, however. In the process of pulling the top of the breaker down to pop it off the the bus bar (the metal piece that it supplies power to or from), the entire bar breaks off of the TINY FUCKING ALUMINUM rivets that hold it to a piece of plastic. See diagram below for example!



Okay, the bar did not break off the rivets, SORRY. The rivets broke off of the piece of plastic (shown below) that also acts as the anchor for the circuit breakers. So now, what is there to do? Well, I say, go buy the replacement plastic bracket/bus bar assembly that just broke, swap it out, put the new 30A breaker in, pop the old breakers on, and voila!

FYI : the 30A main had to be replaced along with the bus bar because both had been pitted from arcing, which is a very HOT activity and damaged the shitty metal bar, which HAS to be totally smooth to allow the current to flow through the main breaker into the rest of the bar. ANY gap between the contacts in the breaker and the bar itself will cause... you guessed it, arcing, which is again good for welding or sparking an internal combustion engine but not good for RVs. So sanding the bar smooth was out, because it would never be smooth ENOUGH.



As my luck would have it, that piece of plastic does not come off and is not replaceable. It is a part of the entire converter/battery charger unit which is obviously not made anymore but CAN be replaced for about $500. So, my post from yesterday was not written accurately. This has not cost me $500.00 YET. But it probably will, because of my rash decision to extricate the rest of the plastic mounting piece with a rather large set of pliers. In my mind, if I take that out of the way, I can possibly fabricate a workaround to take its place.

In the meantime, I bought a residential 80A sub-panel, seen below, and removed the bus bar mounting from inside and have moved my breakers onto it and nestled it gently inside the cavity where the old mount used to be. The design of the original bracket was perfect for its purpose. I do not know how I am going to duplicate it, if I even can.



The real reason I am actually journalling about this is as a more detailed record of what work has been done to Althea since I purchased her. I guess I should add in the gennie tune-up and oil change, the re-wiring of the halogen fogs and the subsequent replacement of the insidious relay that fires off of the front right running lamp. An interesting workaround that one, but I can't take credit for it. Today I am getting the dashboard cigarette lighter outlet fixed and the grey water tank valve replaced.

NOW FOR FOOD TALK!

So, this whole thing yesterday takes me about 4 hours or more of driving up and down Highway 101 from RV shop to electrical supplier to RV shop to auto parts stores, etc. I am hungry right about then, so I am trying to find Cafe Mundo, which I hear is THE vegetarian restaurant to check out whilst in town.

I drive about the historic Nye Beach district trying to find it. But I can't. So I head up to the 101 and go to Thai Elephant! I love Thai food and figure I am good to go. Well, the place had the standard Thai feel: Buddhas everywhere, pictures of the Thai king and queen (whom I believed are venerated by the populace), crazy gold fabrics, etc. But the essential element is missing: Thai PEOPLE! I only saw a honky server and no one else. I perused the menu and saw the standard fare, that being some curries, some stir fry and rice. So I got the eggplant and basil and rice. For $6.95 out the door, not a bad price. But the food suffered from NW Food Syndrome, which means they are catering to white Pac NWers who would fall over dead should they actually get some food with a little bit of ZING to it. I ordered 3 stars and was not impressed. The flavors also were rather dull.

I think they do not wish to insult the natives, these ethnic restauranteurs, by overwhelming our palettes, but in the name of all that is holy, THAT IS THE POINT of patronizing these establishments. We WANT something DIFFERENT. I can only eat so much damned potatoes and broccoli. American food SUCKS, yo! Steak and potatoes=bullshit! If you want to be a heifer with heart disease, sure, great... eat yer meat and carbs. Where's the CRAZINESS, MANG!? I want skull-splitting flavors that put me in an alternate reality. I want to see GOD in my SOUP! Next trip... SW USA, babies! You are all coming along to experience diarrhea on a whole new level!

So, here is when you walk in the door... an elephant orgy.



Then the meal shows up.


Then I see they have my favorite dessert for only a buck ninety-five! How WONDERFUL!



That was real exciting, I know. But it is pouring rain here, I am about to be blown into the bay, so why not sit here and ramble in case anyone gives a shit.

Is it just ME or does anyone else get a sort of high from eating hot peppers? I have noticed this in the last few years. I eat a few pretty hot pepperoncinis or a jally and I am like... WOOOO... stoned red, baby.

Now... off to the shower!

RV terms to know:
Coach - the motorhome itself. RV refers to anything from an ATV to a PWC to a Class-A tour bus.
Boondocking - living off the grid, camping in the boonies with no hookups or external amenities. Think... Nascar parking lot.
Toad - your vehicle you tow behind your coach for moving about town and off the main highways. Bumper sticker I saw on a towed Suzuki Sammy yesterday : I am loved, I am toad!

Boycott Subway? Can it be done?

Before I get into the strangeness that is the Ore-eh-gohn, I am trying to find the willpower to boycott Subway Sandwiches. Though they are not the most innovative or interesting sandwich provider, I have gotten used to their flavorless fare and still patronize them when I get the urge.

But now, you see, they have dropped Michael Phelps' contract for one of the most retarded reasons, I can think of. Michael Vick, certainly. Barry Bonds, of course. I would throw Kobe Bryant out of the fucking building for his behavior, but his sponsors stick with him. And Ray Lewis, of course is a real winner. But Phelps gets a buzz on at some party and ADMITS TO IT, like a fucking real man, and gets dropped by Kellogg and Subway. Kellogg can go suck a frosted flake, but Subway I actually enjoy. Needless to say, I am well aware of their reasonings, and I think they are full of shit so they won't be getting anymore money from me. And the sheriff or whatever that wants to prosecute him... they can go screw themselves also, no-evidence-having unclefuckers. 

Back to the Ore-eh-gohn. You see, I pronounce it that way because Phil Lesh sings it thusly in Pride of Cucamonga. Oh yeah, Phil and the boys. I will tell you if I have not already told you. XM/SIRIUS radio is the shit. The Grateful Dead channel. Are you kidding me? I can drive all the day (and night) and listen to ENTIRE live shows and never lose the signal. Or listen to Air America and my favorite left-wing pundits and fellow insane asylum members discuss the state of my great country.

So, Althea and I left the Ass-toria and headed eastward along the magical Interstate 84 to the lovely little hamlet of Hood River. Why? What the hell is in Hood River? THIS is the question I have been awake nights trying to answer. Finally my testicles grew to the size where I would be able to discern the truth of my query to the gods.

On the way to Hood River there is a little loop of highway full of waterfalls, the most notable being Multnomah Falls. I did not stop to take pics cause I have already done that in years past. Fuck those falls! They are all wet!

So, I think I have figured out rural Ore-eh-gohn. It is like a Merle Haggard concert waiting to happen. The guys all have the same beard and haircut. WTF?! It is like a cookie cutter went crazy on the Ore-eh-gohn. And all the rejects got dumped in Portland. I remember when I moved to Seattle and everyone up there was like, oh the Oregon people. When they show up you will know. And I swear to it, it was true. You could always tell someone from Ore-eh-gohn.  Seattle at the time was a bit rube itself, and I think our neighbors to the south were a bit more.

Honestly though, these days it is hard to really say because of the influx of homies from all over the place. The OR rubes and the WA rubes are kissing cousins. I think the folks of Seattle are a bit more sophisticated than the PDXers... BUT the Portland is a very relaxed, friendly place where you don't get the Seattle 'tude. That is something that I have come to NOT like about my town. Back in the day you could wave or say hi to anyone and get it right back. Now... no one has the time to say hi, give you directions, or a quickie in the alley.

Please believe me that I am not condemning anyone from Ore-eh-gohn but for the sake of jest and satire. The people in Ore-eh-gohn are marvelous and very cheerful. Still... seriously, it IS a Merle Haggard concert waiting to happen. (whenever you see Oregon in the rest of my posts, please pronounce it Ore-eh-gohn. gohn rhymes with bone.)

When the radio announcers say, "The greatest hits of the sixties and seventies," the 'h' is so silent, they actually say, "The greatest tits..." I swear it. Listen. And then listen again. They be laughing in the background. "Tiiiiitttttssssss......"

So, this is what is going on in Hood River. Pictures ahead!

This is an old train depot no longer used. Unless you count the graffiti artists.

If you stop at a viewpoint the name of which I forget at the moment, you can look across the Columbia River Gorge and see a network of sluices that floated logs over nine miles from one town to another decaying on the side of the mountain. I had to pull out the 300mm lens to even see it on the other shore. Here is a section of it.

This is a small section of the Columbia River Gorge that divides WA and OR. The haze was tremendous, even more than my UV filter could handle. It is quite majestic. Really overpowering.

Some random pic of the forest I was admiring. Nothing really interesting, just a lot of fucking trees.

A small slice of heaven. Except that Full Sail (THE brewery in Hood River) is not that good. And their food sucked, too. But the locals swear by it. I just swore.

Here is the artichoke soup I got... which was suspiciously congruent to the artichoke dip. Except the dip came with more bread and some salad shit which I found hard to eat with a spoon, the only utensil I was given. Dip is the bottom pic.

Ah Nora's. What a great little bar and... consignment shop? Stoned I was not. I went in and asked for a whiskey/sour and the woman said to me, "I don't know that brand. Is it from Kansas?" She is lucky my camera cost more than cranial surgery. She lives another day.

One of the many odd denizens of Hood River. I actually took this picture completely level with the rest of the scene, but I heard this dude murmuring something like, "Ah... a pinch of mandrake and a fist of sulpherous ash and my mana will be at full strength! Then the Beast of Eugene shall quake in its cavernous den!" and my camera shook uncontrollably.

After being rebuffed by the magic of Merlin there, I stumbled off to the Big Horse Brewpub and hung it on. Bartender Lacey (whose backside is shown below) gave good ideas for beers. I obliged. Then the deluge of skiers from Mt. Hood showed up and demanded the best of this and that and why the hell didn't they stay in freaking Aspen?

Althea was grumbling about not getting the good barleywines or the whiskeys. I told her she would be rewarded in a later life as a toaster to some king of a defunct African nation.

Lacey's backside as promised. Not as interesting as the frontside. But she was shy. And high on speed, I am pretty sure. 

The evil toll bridge that cost me $1.50 each way cause I have TWO axles and the lady in the booth was jealous cause I could walk upright without helper monkeys.

I have exhausted all interesting topics for the day. I am now in Newport, OR, land of the delicious Rogue brewery. I will post more on that tomorrow. I can't seem to get away from Rogue! I am drinking one currently!

Oh yeah... if you are ever in (I forget the name of butthole town, OR) do NOT get pulled over for speeding. I was going 50 in a 30, right? On of those sits where the cop is RIGHT on the other side of the NEW speed limit sign. So, 20 MPH over. How much you think? I will tell you how the fuck much. $264.00. How is that for sticking to the out of towners. They think I am not going to come to court cause I live in Seattle. Dudes, I live in an RV. I will park outside the fucking courthouse and shit on the lawn. First I eat lots of black beans and corn.

Ass-toria... oh ass-toria!

Surely it is a wonder that Lewis and Clark lived as long as they did, given the travails of their historic journey. But here they came, to view for the first time as Americans, the great Pacific Ocean. I am camped not far from the trial they forged for Jefferson. Did I say trial? I did! I meant trail.

One man's trail is another man's trial, of this I am certain. And so here I am, in the mire of NW Oregon (pronounced ore-eh-gohn) known as Astoria. What is this mire, exactly? During this time of the year, it can be broken down into the following: gloom, fog, rain, moss, mushrooms, drizzle, muck, lichen and cold.

Yes, this is all true, but I have to say with all honesty, I love this damned town. Not just because there is a Rogue alehouse, which is the personification of the Pacific Northwest's identity as the microbrew progenitor, but because the Pacific Coast lurks only a few miles west from any point on the map. And with the Pacific Coast, you get such interesting entries into the photo journal as the following:

The "Peter Iredale" shipwreck on the coast of the Fort Stevens State Park.

The lone fisherman trying to get a steelhead at Coffenbury Lake.

The shore of Coffenbury Lake inside Fort Stevens State Park.

The bridge to Astoria says it all. The end of the world my friends, the end of the world. Or at least the end of Washington as we knew it.

I did NOT fall off the edge though. At the other side of this soup was a quaint little coastal town replete with booze, history, famous movie locales and black and white water fowl.

And I ended up at the Evil Astoria Rogue alehouse at the mercy of Amanda the Fierce and Jimmy from Escalante, UT. Here are some secret photos taken at risk of life and limb!

Lo' and behold mine fine friends! I neglect to mention that abutting the fine Rogue alehouse is one of the original Bumble Bee canneries. There is a COMPLETE museum with all the necessary goodies to prove its mettle. I found this out whilst trying to find a place to pee. The road to the loo was long and arduous indeed. For one, this ominous plaque scared off lesser men than myself!

It was posted along the route (via painted blue line through a cannery) to the pissoir! After relieving myself, I found these gems inside some rotting rooms. You could look through the floor and see the ocean below, no doubt. I did not take pictures of the ocean. They would be uneventful.

This dude was just sitting on a bench, presumably dead? :(

Here are some more pics of random shite.

Althea Harvey outside the Bumble Bee / Rogue pier 39.

This is my black bean/quinoa salad. Not shown is my yummy Rogue beer or the Dead Guy Whiskey shots I was impelled to take by Amanda the Fierce.

This was a check written to one of their Finnish workers to get him back home. It is an obvious copy and enlarged version, but back then a lot of their workers were such folks.

Here are some ducks that were just laying about for the taking. So I took... pictures of them!

Ahhh, well... the sneaky Rogue peoples sold me the barleywine for the road... luckily I am not ON the road. This stuff knocked me to next week... so I will have to sign off for the night, but I will leave you with a picture of the sun going down over the Columbia River. It is in B&W cause I forgot to change me settings on the camera.

Night all from the Great Northwest!

Nothing frozen... everything gained.

We have finally thawed here in Seattle and are now inundated with floodwaters of Biblical proportions. Which has closed I-5 for a twenty mile stretch south of me so I guess it is the coast for Althea Harvey and myself.

I am sure she won't mind the twisty windy out of Olympia. It is a chill drive until you hit the smell of Aberdeen with its 'Come as you are' sign trying to capitalize on its native and quite dead son. You can't blame them. What the fuck is there to do in Aberdeen expect start a rock band and hang out in Seattle?

After the thaw I inspected Althea for signs of damage from the freeze. I was having some doubts as to the veracity of the gauges that were showing the fresh water tank, the black and grey water tanks as being empty and the LPG as being full.

I was pretty sure there was something dumped into the black water tank during a test of the toilet. Maybe not enough to register a hit to the 1/4 tank sensor, I guess, as I took my 5-gallon Home Depot bucket and dumped about nine gallons down the toilet and the sensor showed 1/2 full. I am not sure how many gallons the black water tank holds because I can't find specs on my rogue or 'Maverick' Tioga, but I estimate 15-18 gallons.

I bleached my water hose and started filling the fresh water tank. I forgot that I had opened the drain valve during the freeze, so it would drain when the thaw came, so I hadda close that after an initial scare of 'crap, there is water pouring out of the tank!' I watched the level meter which lit up its increments as the tank filled. I started the water pump and turned some faucets. There went the grey water meter. I guess shit is all working after all.

Well, I had a scare with the water heater until I was told that it takes 30 minutes to really get some hot water. I also started the fridge for the first time and after 24 hours, it was cold and the freezer was frozen. 

The only weirdness is that the generator meter is not working and the LPG meter doesn't seem to be working. It is showing full, but the gauge on the tank shows 1/3 or so. 

I will have that all checked out before I leave for any period of time. Why am I telling you all this? I am not... this is all personal journal shit that happens to be publicly available. Don't make me slap you, you know you will like it.

One bit of oddness about this whole thing is the fact I am completely clueless as to how to decorate Althea Harvey. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, says to me... well, put things on the walls that you would like to look at. Make it feel like home to you.

Well, if you have seen my home, you would understand my dilemma. I have almost nothing on the walls. I do not have pictures of my family or loved ones (no offense to those concerned), I do not like pictures of trees or animals or cars or hot chicks or that kind of shit.

The only things I DO have on my walls are a fabric wall hanging that has no purpose or meaning, the national flag of Tibet, a picture of His Holiness The Dalai Lama, a picture of Barack Obama, a painting of Sakyamuni Buddha and Tara.

So, do I transfer all this shit to Althea? ^^ponders the implications^^ I will probably bring an image of His Holiness and maybe one of Jerry Garcia. Some Buddhist prayer flags might be nice hanging around. I will definitely need some for my awning should I ever use it. The colors are not all that bad, some kind of blue scheme is going on, but I will deal with that soon enough. I figure it is like the owning of a house, where it takes you awhile to really get the feel of what will work and what can be done.

Of course, I have owned my house for five years and it has five things on the wall.

Now, I have to shop for a toad, which is a towed vehicle behind the RV that allows you to park and set up camp and then drive to the local watering hole or off into the desert to be naked with the scorpions.

Oh yeah, word to all.. there will probably appear pics of me in various states of undress, as soon as I can find a nudist RV park.

Ohhh... just found 'em.

http://www.doegie.com

http://www.paradiselakesforrent.com/rvsite.html

Why is the Super Bowl in Roman numerals?

That is all. - Jim

Bowing to Insta-culture.

Something I wish to avoid with this particular online journal  is the requisite narcissism and ego-maintenance that accompany the very few non-professional 'blogs' I actually waste my time reading.

I tend to be long-winded and self-important in other places on the web, so I promise you -that would be any human being (sorry webcrawlers) who should be unfortunate enough to fall into this depraved corner of the virtual world - that I will attempt to maintain the humility with which I have been impressed since birth. Which of course on the face of it seems to be contradictory to the nature of online journals.

Why do we keep private journals or diaries? So we can look back on ourselves years later and see how immature, completely backward and hubristic we were, ergo we put them online so we can let everyone else know how immature, completely backward and hubristic we are RIGHT NOW!

Well, I already know all that stuff, so why let everyone else in on the secret? To that end, I plan not to engage in the proverbial puffing of the chest, the posting of the glamour shots, the outlining of the minutia that is the excrement of my life.

I will not pretend to be smarter, more important, ultra-clever or more beautiful than I actually am. With this comes one caveat: I may at times completely amaze myself, which will be noted here and would be noted in ANY private journal or diary anyway. i.e. AH was starting to smell like caca, then I realized I had not flushed her for three weeks. *ZING*

"Jim," you may ask, "if you are not so awesome as to need a place to advertise yourself, WTF man?"

In the interest of dissemination of information and a perspective thereon, I hereby claim this web address for ALL MANKIND to serve as a portal to... (oh, see! there is the hubris!)

Where does the word 'blog' come from? Interestingly enough the OED does not have a definition for the word 'blog', but it does have one of my favorite words, LYPEMANIA. Is blog not more mundane than LYPEMANIA? According to Internet references it is a short for web log. Which gets compounded to weblog. But then there are two letters removed, which gives you a contraction absent the apostrophe. So, it should be written as 'blog, but we omit the apostrophe due to the lack of the general public knowing anything about the English language anymore? (or anymo') I see the word til used very often without its requisite apostrophe. 

I may use the form 'blog here just to piss you off. Yes, Jennifer Thompson, YOU! The word apparently originates on the web in 1994, but not in conjunction with 'web log'. Probably talking about someone's huge dump they took at Burning Man.

"Dudeski... I fukkking just blogged up that porta-squattie!"

"No way, broski!?"

"Way, broooo! Is it the mushrooms, or did my dick just fall off?"

So, where was I? Oh yes. I wish to chronicle my personal journey about the country in my motorhome. I could do it on paper, but my wrist would hurt after 20 minutes, and I script like shit. I could do it on my laptop and keep it personal, but inevitably (already in fact) I would be asked how the trip was going, post or send some pics, etc. This solves many problems at once.

Oh yes, the name! Having been asked about the name of my coach, I decided on a two-name approach. Her first name is Althea, after the Grateful Dead song and her last name is Harvey, which is cool because it has RV in it, and it is a cool name besides. If I get really pissed at her or need her undivided attention, I may even toss 'III' on the end.

"Althea Harvey the IIIrd, you get your ass up that hill or I will sell you to the fucking Gypsies! I serious!"

So, yeah... I'll try to approach this whole thing with a healthy dose of humility. Be like Buddha... be Buddha.

The beginning of the end, friend-o.

So, it goes like this. 

My name is Jim Edgar. This online journal is going to chronicle my adventures around the U.S. of A. in my wonderful new RV. Why Jim, you are asking?

Because... I opened a bar in Seattle called Georgetown Liquor Company in the summer of 2006. Due to certain issues, I have decided to sell it and while I am still young (39) travel around my great country and document my travels here.

My website My Cat Hates You is where you would usually find such drivel, but my users have complained about my blatant political ramblings. Being a hardcore liberal does not appease everyone, and I have lost some users because they are NOT liberal and just want to look at cats and not deal with my espousing of 'socialist' agendas and the power of freedom from our corrupt leader, Dubya. 

If you don't like hearing about these things, I suppose you should go elsewhere. I plan to #1, talk about traveling in my vessel (yet to be named) and #2, delve into some political rhetoric. BUT, you will find that I do not ramble the party line or relate to issues in an ideological fashion. While I am an evil liberal, I deal in logic but moreso in compassion. These are aspects that I find beneficial to us as a culture involved in a larger world. 

As a great, if not the greatest, world power, we have a certain mandate to create a leadership role model for others to adhere to.

I have been busy researching life on the road and adapting to the nomadic model. I think you will be pleasantly surprised by how I relate my experiences to you.

I am not sure where to go first. I live in Seattle, and that is about as far as you can go before you run into Putin up in Alaska or the orcas in the NW pacific. So from here, it is ALL south to me.

Let me plug my books Bad Cat and My Cat Hates You real quick. They are both in major bookstores and would be great holiday gifts. Buy 'em up. It helps me buy gas for my trip and is good for your karma!

That is all. - Jim