Road tripper camper trailer5/16/2023 ![]() I had installed clasps on all of the cabinet doors – the same as I did in my Tiny House – but I failed to realize how rickety my vintage camper would be going down the road. If only I had thought of that during the trip (forehead smack).Įvery single cabinet broke in Apollo during the 6,000-mile trek. The pump needed re-priming, which can be done easily by placing your finger over the water spout and pumping until pressure returns. I was so annoyed.Īfter the trip was over, we realized that we lost water pressure when we crossed over the Rocky Mountains (high elevation). Our vintage camper was, pretty much, and expensive hard shell tent. So, for a short time, we didn’t have water or power. This meant that off-grid water was not possible. Then, one day, the hand pump just stopped working. We realized that the lock was jiggling itself open! From then on, we had to bungee our door shut.Īpollo has a freshwater tank and greywater tank on board, which is great for off-grid parking. Nothing was missing, so we locked the door and continued on our way. Why did this happen? Did we forget to lock the door? We pulled over and assessed the damage. Apparently, Apollo’s door had flown open and was flapping in the wind! My eyes bulged, and I imagined everything in my pantry and closet littered across the highway. One day, while I was driving about 75 miles per hour down the highway, a car pulled up next to us with a horrified passenger waving her arms. Humless quickly sent a replacement unit to our remote location, and that fixed the problem. The jury is still out why this happened, but it meant that we didn’t have electricity in our camper, even when plugged into shore power (we wired the camper so that current would pass through the generator). It still functioned, so we left it this way for the rest of the trip (approximately 5,600 miles).Ī few days later, our solar generator quit working. The trailer hitch jack – which was already too low to the ground – bent and made a horrible sound as it dragged across the pavement. The next morning, I bottomed-out while towing. Luckily, it didn’t rain during the rest of the trip. Apparently, we didn’t do a very good job. Before you say it – yes we did try to waterproof these holes during installation with washers and silicone. It seemed that the holes that were recently drilled for our solar panel’s brackets were the culprit. With the top popped, water started to pool on the roof and, eventually, we sprung a leak. As I mentioned earlier, Apollo didn’t leak when we purchased him. Hmm, it might be easier to list what didn’t go wrong on my road trip. He’s more of a sit-parked-in-the-garage-for-twenty-years type of camper. Not long after we set out on our 6,000-mile road trip, from Seattle to Chicago and back, he started complaining.Įvidently, Apollo isn’t used to the abuse I was putting him through – ya know… being a camper. How many miles has he traveled? How fast has he been towed down the highway? I have no idea. I don’t know much about the last 45 years of his life, except that Apollo has had more than a dozen owners. As far as campers go, he’s a senior citizen. What I failed to consider is that Apollo is an ole’ boy. Bottom line: When it came time to tow, I wasn’t concerned. ![]() The axels and tires had been replaced within the last few years. The camper didn’t need any real bodywork. ![]() In the weeks leading up the trip, we pulled Apollo’s insides part, rewired the entire electrical system to work with our new solar generator (the Humless Home 1.5, if you were wondering), painted the exterior, replaced two broken windows, and decorated until Apollo was cute-as-a-button. This summer, I renovated a 1972 vintage camper with my boyfriend. We named him Apollo, by the way, so I’m going to refer to the camper as “Apollo” from time to time. So why was I struggling so much with this vintage camper? As you may remember, I spent an entire year towing my Tiny House. Earlier this year, I even rented a campervan and drove around Great Britain for 9 days. I’ve also taken road trips along the east coast, through Alaska, around the Big Island Hawaii, and all over Canada. I’m fairly certain I’ve driven every major highway between the Pacific ocean and the St. Every time I make the journey I convince a new co-pilot to join me, and I take a different route. Mostly my trips have been from Illinois (where I grew up) to the west coast (where I live now). I’ve driven across the country several times. I consider myself a seasoned road tripper. Something had broken, that was for sure, but what? Do we need to pull over? Can this be dealt with later? I rolled my eyes and turned on my hazard lights. These words have poured out of my mouth more than once in the last three weeks, since starting my cross-country road trip. ![]() What now?! I screamed, after hearing an ominous noise coming from the 900-pound vintage camper that I was towing down the highway. ![]()
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