Most of you know that Chris and I had a tough burn in 2007, what with broken toes and crappy bikes and UTIs and insomnia and and and... We took pains this year to mitigate those problems. We got better bikes (though we really couldn't use them much... but that's a different post). We laid out the camp so there was no rebar/guy wire gauntlet to run at night. We both brought comfier shoes. We (ok, I) got a Rx for macrobid just in case I needed it (which, I am thrilled to say, I did not). We (ok, he) got Ambien. And we got Harvey.
Ahhh, Harvey. Thank effing Maude for Harvey. Harvey is a 1976 Country Camper. It has a Dodge 440-3 engine and a 727 drive train and we got it for a song. Now, we had to sink some $$ into it - most of the electrical needed to be replaced, as did the hoses and seals and back brakes, the cooling system needed work, we had to get new house batteries, and we had to get the AC revamped. But the engine is gorgeous, the front tires and brakes are both brand new, it has no apparent roof or wall leaks, and overall, for a vehicle of its age, it's in remarkably good condition. And even with all we had to put into it, it will still come out to be cheaper than renting an RV for two years in a row. Plus, we can use it for weekend trips!
Harvey was owned by the same family for 18 years - the father had been a long-haul trucker and knew from truck maintenance. The son, from whom we purchased Harvey, had used it several times a year with his family. His daughters are now in college, and he and his wife decided to downsize. Hence, selling Harvey. He still had the original manuals plus all the receipts for work that had been done over the years. He kept it tarped in the winter, and had even designed a system of canted poles which allowed him to keep the roof vents open for air circulation in the winter and prevented rain from puddling on the roof. You really can't ask much more from someone selling their RV. He sold it to us for about $500 less than it was really worth because he didn't want to have to clean it up (wash it, vacuum, etc.) and he didn't want to have to entertain a bunch of inquiries. [Chris had put a Wanted post up on Craigslist with list of what we were looking for. The Seller called
us.]
Inside, Harvey is pretty darn comfy. It has a king+ sized sleeping area over the cab, a curved bench seat that slides out into a (nearly) double bed, a bench seat with a fold-down mini table, a full kitchenette with fridge and freezer, wooden cabinets, lots of closet and storage space, a full length mirror and a bathroom with a tub/shower. Again, all in great condition. I do say that guardedly in a couple of cases - we didn't use running water or the commode, so we don't *really* know whether the grey and blackwater systems are tip-top. Seller said they were and he's been accurate in his representations so far. Maybe someday we'll consider this, but honestly, our camp rents its own portapotty, and there's always somewhere to stop for a bladder break. I am not averse to peeing by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere if the need arises. We needed the bathroom for storage more than we needed toileting facilities. We also know that the furnace needs work, but since our use will be primarily warm weather, it's not a big concern right now.
Aesthetically, Harvey is, well, dated. Harvest gold/brown shag carpeting. Wallpaper that's a brown and white delft pattern. Brown and beige striped cushions. Very 70s. But hey, we got it for Burning Man, so aesthetics weren't a priority. Indeed, brown covers a multitude of dusty sins. I have secret fantasies of replacing the wallpaper with something garish like pink and orange stripes and putting in lime green carpet, but it will never get beyond fantasy. I *am* however, seriously considering trolling my network of friends to find someone who does graffiti murals or some such thing and commissioning them to artify Harvey on the outside.
Harvey carried seven of us down to the Burn: Chris, me, Rowan, and our friends and camp mates, Darla, David, Khayah, and Gordy. Plus we carried all of Chris's, Ro's, and my gear, our bikes, and some excess personal gear that didn't make it on to our camp truck. Despite the overall great condition Harvey was in, the trip was not without incident: we ran out of gas.
Twice.
The first time was just outside Redmond, Oregon at about 7:30p.m. Harvey just lost power. Everything else seemed to be fine, and the gas gauge read 1/4 tank, but we decided to put 10 gallons in from the jerry cans we'd brought. That did the trick. This led us to believe that the gas gauge had NOT been fixed properly when we'd taken Harvey to the mechanic. But we got to a gas station, filled up, ate dinner, and got back on the road. We had about 180 miles to go before we stopped for the night in Lakeview.
Now here's something about Oregon: you can't pump your own gas there. So we were at the mercy of the attendant, who stopped pumping at the first click-off of the pump. Being as Harvey is ooooold and has an ooooold gas tank, you have to pump past the click-offs to really fill it, though we didn't know this at the time. The attendant did not know this, either. So Harvey didn't really get filled all the way, even though the gauge needle was resting on F. Also, Chris, um, did not refill the jerry cans. When I asked about this, he did the math and figured we'd have enough to get to Lakeview. He was *almost* right.
We ran out of gas the second time just six miles outside Lakeview. It was about 1:30 a.m. We were aware it might happen when the gauge registered 1/4 tank, but we were hoping to just get there. If this seems reckless, you need to know that there is no gas for 140 miles before Lakeview. Actually, I think there might be one station, but it's one of those middle-of-bumfuck places where you expect to see a couple of old codgers sitting on the stoop in overalls and Kenilworth hats discussing how Elmer Jackson's cattle over there to Christmas Valley have been mysteriously disappearing for six months now. Plus it's not open past 6 p.m. or something. Anyway, point is, no gas for miiiiiiles.
Tombro was driving at that point - he'd come over from the moving van to spell Chris - and knew about the gas issues, so the power down wasn't unexpected. We pulled off the road as best we could, set up reflective triangles, and called the moving van (thankfully cell phones still get reception). The van people went in to Lakeview, registered at the hotel, then woke up our OTHER travelling party who'd gotten there WAY before we did since they were driving a Jeep Cherokee and not lumbering lummox machines as we were. Kari, the Jeep owner, made two trips to ferry us into town, then waited with Chris and Bill for AAA to arrive with gas, 45 minutes later.
During the time we were waiting for Kari to arrive, Tombro, Darla, and I stood outside while our other passengers slept. I had a good cry; I was so tired and stressed and a little peeved at Chris. Tombro and Darla held me close and told me I was allowed.
The night was so very quiet, except for the wind making the power lines buzz. It felt weird to talk above a whisper... as if it was sacrilege or something. And so very, very dark. The stars were hanging just a few feet above our heads and the Milky Way was brighter than I've ever seen. They make much of seeing the stars at Burning Man, but really, between lasers and headlamps and EL wire and blinkies and art cars, there's a lot of light pollution out there. But outside Lakeview? Amazing. I saw a meteor streak through the night and a I saw a satellite traverse the sky on its way around Earth. Despite being cold and tired and stressed, those minutes out there were good. I'd love to live out there in the dark and quiet.
We filled up the next day AND bought two more jerry cans, so we could carry 20 gallons of gas with us. We headed toward Alturas and the cutoff which would take us into Nevada - about 50 miles away. Now there's precisely ONE gas station in the 140-odd miles between the cutoff and our destination. We decided to top off at Alturas partly so we'd have enough gas, but also because it looked like we were using more gas than we predicted, which led us to believe we had a leak somewhere.
Well, when we filled up in Alturas (sans attendant, since it's California), we saw that the gauge needle was sitting about 1/4 tank ABOVE full. It seems that when the mechanic in Seattle reset the faceplate of the dash after replacing the wiring, he didn't seat it correctly. Good to know.
We also asked around as to whether there was a mechanic who could take a quick look and see if we had a leak. We found someone - Dan or Dale or something - and indeed, our vapor recovery line was visibly leaking. He rerouted the line, bypassing the vapor recovery system, and voila! Problem solved. Took about a half hour and $40. Here's to small towns and their mechanics!
The rest of the trip down and back was completely uneventful. Our passengers were exceedingly patient with the Friday mishaps, for which I am grateful. We travelled with a full 20 gallons in the jerry cans thereafter. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, won't get fooled again.
On the playa, Harvey was wonderful. Comfy and slightly more soundproof than a tent at night - no sleeping bag necessary, just some blankets - and cool(ish) and dark during the day. A closet for our coats and dresses and kimono. No rummaging bent over through bins for that garter belt or those bike shorts or that cute little pink and black chemise! The bathtub for Ro's outfits and as a secondary closet. Space for a dirty clothes bag. A mirror to use while I put my contacts in. A drawer for lipbalm/advil/eyedrops/5htp/vitamins/and any other personal care type stuff we needed. A drawer for headlamps and sunglasses. An overhead cabinet for hats and costume accessories and another for our landing gear, batteries, gloves, and rope. Cabinets in the kitchen for our liquor and our munchies. As much as I love falling asleep feeling the thump and hum of the city's heartbeat through my camping pads, I'll *never* go to the playa without an RV again.
[And, yes, I'm allowing myself to feel a wee bit superior about the fact that Harvey is old and well used and *ours* instead of shiny and rented and expensive and without character. There are so many rented RVs out there - many of them huge bus-sized jobbers, too - that parts of the playa look like a sales lot. I admit, it's nice to have a little buffer and to have to do a little less set up and breakdown work, but that's the extent of it for us. We *still* used the portapotties and the camp shower. We cooked with our camp over a grill and a propane stove. We didn't run air conditioning or use a microwave or have an ice maker. Harvey was mode of transport and a space to sleep and store our stuff. That's it. Rationalization, maybe. But there it is. Harvey lets me feel like a "real" (i.e., old skool) burner. It's a mark of commitment: we're citizens and we'll be part of the community for the long-haul.
We are back from the playa safe and (mostly) sound, and are readjusting to allergies and alarm clocks now. Reentry is never fun, but at least it's been fairly easy so far. Ten days in the desert is too long and not long enough.
Sort of a faux Asian + fluorescent thing. Big Trouble in Little China meets Mad Scientist.
We also had some unstructured offerings including mah jongg, a glowing shadow wall (stand in front of it, light flashes, shadow stays behind), and a four square court, complete with a lop-sided, factory defect ball which we told players was the "advanced" ball. You'd be amazed at how many people chose that one over the regular balls.
We lit the space with nylon bubble lanterns and multicolored christmas lights, and at night we had a black light which made everything pop and glow. We hung saris around the open edges of the chute to create a visual barrier. We provided futons and papasan chairs and large cushions for folks to sit on. We had a massage table provided by one of our campmates, Sierra, a massage therapist. We had a hookah on our central coffee table with some amazing, fruity, Bahraini shisha (tobacco) to smoke. The whole thing was really lovely and I'm damn proud of what our little camp accomplished.
