Alaska 10. Road Warriors July 19

This was a dark day. I am writing this one day after the events and I am going to have a hard time making light of it. 

BUT I WILL TRY.

No one is here to read about a CRY BABY!

But I WAS a cry baby. 

Initially, I showed normal, accepting resolve and sadness after discovering the solar panel was gone. We were absolutely stunned. We were united in our grief. This was, in fact, our SECOND solar panel. We lost the first one on one of our first outings with the camper. We never knew for sure what happened, but given the circumstances, we deduced it must have been stolen. We never ruled out the possibility it had fallen off — especially since we had traveled a very long, very rough road. We were close enough that we went back and looked for it as soon as we found it missing. I posted on social media but we never found it. We ordered a replacement from Escapod. They are EXPENSIVE. Solar panels, in general, are expensive, but these are custom formed to fit the curve on the back of the trailer. We had to wait for the replacement for a long time, and when we got it we tried hard to make it “fall off” but couldn’t. So we landed conclusively on it having been stolen. 

I bought a lock for the new one. I did more research and we resolved to only travel with it on the camper (going to and from destinations) when we were not on rough roads — just to be safe. But honestly, if you can’t have it on the back all the time, what good is it? It charges so slowly that you really need it connected as much as possible. 

Anyway, I checked it as we left the hitch place. It was solid. I know that definitively because I CLEANED it so that it could be as efficient as possible…

And now, three hours later, it was gone. 

We really don’t think it was stolen because we were with the camper almost the entire way. The lock was intact. But, one of the mounts was loose. Even with that, I still don’t know how it came off. But it’s not there, so…

It’s easy to see why I didn’t sleep much. Much rumination and trying to remember if the panel was on at various stops after leaving the hitch place (as well as feeling very, very sorry for myself) kept me tossing and turning all night.

We left the campground early the next morning, very morose, and headed into Whistler for some breakfast. When I opened the back hatch to grab the toothbrushes (which now seems a harbinger of doom), the “fixed” refrigerator was OFF. 

At that point, all my “this will be fine.s” And, “it is what it is’s” vaporized. I started crying and didn’t stop until I had a beer in my hand ten hours later.

Yeah, yeah, I’m exaggerating, but humor me, man. It was a HARD DAY. I did, in fact, cry on and off most of the day. More bad shit happened: the lock on one of the brand new Rotopax — which are the cherry-on-the-top additions to the Bronco in making it truly ALL SHOW and NO GO — seized up. So now, one of the gas tanks (which we now will need on a regular basis to fill the generator that I tried to force Dave NOT to bring along with us because I didn’t think we would need it…) is stuck to the side of the Bronco — held captive by a faulty lock that the manufacturer told me all I had to do was somehow get the pack off the vehicle and use some ridiculously sized bit to drill the lock core out and send them the guts for my “simple warranty replacement.” 

I’m more likely to go at it with the ax that I was worried the Canadian border patrol would seize.

More tears.

Dave hadn’t slept either, so I did some of the driving. While he slept, I listened to some music with headphones and tried to put everything into perspective: none of this is THAT big of a deal… But then a sad Josh Garrels song came on and I was crying again. 

Dave woke up and, as the passenger, got to work. …And was quickly frustrated by his inability to find a decent place to camp for the night, so he assumed driving duties and moved me back to my usual spot and I went reluctantly to work. Then I, too, got frustrated by my inability to find a decent place to camp for the night. — and I starting wondering: why are we even DOING this??

More tears.

If you research where to disperse camp in Canada, you will read about “Crown Land” and how you can camp on most of it. Supposedly it’s EVERYwhere. But I challenge you: just try to find some. In real life. On a map, on a website, in a train, on a plane. If you can find me some Crown Land to camp on in British Columbia, drinks are on me when I’m back in town.

So for now, it’s campgrounds. And the pickins’ are — while not slim — interesting. I was trying to get us a spot in a British Columbia government campground, but this was when I was schooled in the art of PLANNING. You want to camp in Beautiful BC? Plan ahead. 48 hours minimum, ma’am. So instead, we pulled into the quaint Caribou Place. $14 for the night. Free water and electrical (now an enticement, given that we are minus one solar panel). There were a few others at the campground, but it wasn’t crowded, thank goodness, because if it had been, I don’t think I would have been so, well, amenable. I’m an amenable sort, remember?

I’m still pretty weepy at this point. And when I say weepy, think more of an injured dog. An injured dog is so sad and pathetic and you just want to help it SO much, but when you try to help, LOOK OUT! Cuz it might rip your face off. You find out real quick that that sad, injured dog is actually really SCARY! — Dave is well acquainted with weepy Jennie and wisely steered far clear. 

As he parked the camper, I opened the back gate to start dinner to find…

Can you guess?

THE EFFING REFRIGERATOR WAS OFF. 

And not only was it off, but —this time— I couldn’t get it to come back on. I am actually amazed I didn’t sink to the ground and die right then and there. Just decide “I am done,” not only with this trip, but with living in general. And die. I consider it to my great credit that I made it to the bed in the camper before collapsing and re-starting the waterworks. 

I laid there, weeping, with my forearm over my brow, Scarlet O’Hara-style for about… I dunno. Less than 5 minutes. Maybe even less than one minute. Because all the sudden I was MAD. As in: what in the SAM HILL is going on with that stupid fridge?! It shouldn’t be this hard! It’s an electrical connection! I know how to fix those! And I THREW the door open and EMERGED. Dave was in his chair with his head down looking engrossed. He knew better than to speak to me — or even look at me for that matter. I whipped the fridge out, disconnected it loudly. Unstrapped it from its tray. HOISTED it off the tray and set it on the ground without hurting myself. I cast a quick sidelong glance at Dave silently DARING him to admonish me. He didn’t. Smart.

I CRAWLED into the cavity and yanked the 12 volt male end out to examine it. I can’t say for sure, because I was being pretty wild and dramatic at this point — and because didn’t want Dave coming over and meddling — but I’m fairly certain the collar on the plug was loose and causing the metal prong that sticks out the end to move around. If that was happening inside the connection, maybe that’s what was going on. I tightened the collar and reinserted it and tried to secure it with duct tape. But the area is so tight and so hard to reach that I’m not sure that did anything. 

Dave was, indeed, keeping an eye on things because at that point, he couldn’t help himself and asked, “Was that loose?”

“I. Don’t. Know.” I replied, petulantly.

I then set about HEAVING the cooler back on the tray and plugging things back in. 

It turned back on. 

Hallelujah.

But there’s always tomorrow, so no actual rejoicing just yet.

I was a very unmotivated chef and threw together some of the instant Pho I had grabbed from our Eagle pantry. Add leftover lamb chops (*eye roll*), stirfried the rest of the Napa, chopped some cilantro and — dang it! — SHOULD have added some peanuts on top! I’ve got them, but I just thought of that now! Oh well…. I drizzled some sesame oil on top and sriracha and we ate — mostly in silence. 

This is where the story comes full circle: I had a beer in my hands and I finally stopped crying. 

The end.