How's that working out?

Another dam walk at Lake Shawnee (Topeka, KS)

Leonard estimates (conservatively)
that during our last 18 months in Costa Rica, we walked approximately 1,000 miles. Vigorous walking served as our primary form of cardiovascular exercise, supplementing membership in a local gym where we also engaged in strength training. Our commitment to physical activity remains part of our crafty ploy to stay as fit and alert as we can for as long as we can.

After deciding to make the move to full-timing, we began surfing various RV chat groups for tips on exercise setups for road warriors. Sadly, we found little discussion on the topic.

(This could mean that either the camp-on-wheels crowd doesn't go in for pumping iron, or they do but prefer not to brag about it. I plan to reserve judgment pending further research.)



The Accupedo app for
Android makes tracking
cardio workouts easy

Those active RV aficionados whom we have met favor the simple approach to cardio workouts. They walk, hike or otherwise take advantage of nearby paths and trails to get out and move. That approach works for us, and we're already hard at work racking up the miles.

Figuring out a way to keep up our strength training routine while living in the RV proved to be more difficult. Kong's (our RV) spatial limitations simply make it impractical for setting up a workout area.
Weight also factors into the equation. We reckoned the load needed to equip ourselves with a basic set of weights would amount to about 300 pounds. The fact that adding weight to Kong means reducing Truckzilla's (our Ford F350) fuel efficiency not withstanding, this still left us with the problem of where to stack all those dumbbells.

Nesting weights by Bowflex save space and reduce carry load

The solution? Some nifty nested weights made by Bowflex that permit the user to dial each piece to set the desired load, anywhere from 5 to 52.5 lbs. The two-piece set weighs 105 lbs., compared with 670 lbs. if all the individual weights were purchased separately. Each weight takes up only slightly more space than would a single heavy dumbbell. Throw in a folding weight bench for good measure, and we now possess enough equipment to keep our muscles screaming for years to come!

Now we enjoy workouts under the open sky fanned by morning breezes and serenaded by whatever song birds happen to be out-and-about at the time. I ask you, does it get any better?

I don't mean to give the impression we're exercise maniacs. Truthfully, we can talk ourselves out of a workout with little-to-no provocation. Then, guilt takes over, and we're back at it.

In the battle for health and vitality, Nature ultimately wins. When all is said and done, let it be known we put up a damned good fight!



Weights and bench tucked away in Kong's garage (under-carriage storage unit).

 

Dog days

Moving again! Will there be iguana poop to roll in?

The day we arrived in Costa Rica back in June 2010, the pet transport agent with whom we had contracted to deliver our beloved dog Sprocket arrived at our hotel with what appeared to be a pooch who had deftly coped with the stress of two flights - Chicago to Houston then
Houston to San Jose. The operative word there is appeared. Little did we know that what lie beneath that cool beagle façade was an extremely
anxious canine who, as Leonard and I stepped out for our first meal as Central American expatriates, was himself feasting on food stuffs that we had "muled in" for delivery to a couple of fellow expats. Exhausted from our own travel experience, we returned from dinner ready for a good night's rest in preparation for the next day's drive to our rental casita some 90 minutes away. Instead, we found Sprocket standing atop our hotel bed amidst a pile of fat-free, sugar-free pudding mix laced with tiny bits of cardboard that were once pudding boxes. It would be the first in a series of events marking Sprocket's transition from suburban Chicago dog to rural Costa Rican perro.

Fast forward to May 2013. Seeing as how the best predictor of future behavior is past behavior, Leonard and I should have known that unless we changed our training methods, both canine and
owners were likely to repeat our earlier mistakes. In our quest for independence, meaning that Leonard and I could leave the 5th-wheel without worrying about what creative outlets our pet might have discovered to relieve his separation anxiety, we forced the transition process,
ultimately setting us all up for failure.

Not that we're total idiots. We did our share of research on pet RV living. The overwhelming consensus there is that once an animal sees your mobile dwelling as its home, he/she will behave just as he/she had while occupying a brick-and-mortar abode. Armed with this assurance, we watched for signs that our boy was adapting.

Our first outing lasted about an hour. Sprocket seemed fine, though there were tell-tale signs that he'd spent a good bit of time pacing across the upholstered furniture. No big deal, really, as couch hopping is a favorite activity among beagles everywhere.

Looks like someone took the word "exit" to heart. Note
the detached screen tab and slight tear (upper left).

The second time we left the dog home, we returned to find the following: 1) claw marks on top of the dresser, accessible only by leaping from the nearby bed; 2) dried doggie drool on every wood surface in the RV; and 3) a screen with its plastic removal tab yanked out and just the slightest hint of a tear in the screen. Okay, now what?

At this point, I should mention that
we've been traveling with a wire dog crate since our stay at what Leonard now refers to as the "Daze Inn" in Dallas. Wondering why we weren't using it? After that second episode we asked ourselves
that same question and came up with the only explanation that made any sense: we're lazy. It seems we thought it easier to search the retail centers of southwest Topeka hoping to find scratch-masking furniture polish than to spend a few hours teaching Sprocket the finer points of life in confined quarters.

The perpetrator returns to the crime scene.

Crate training has had its share of ups-and-downs. In what can only be described as the doggie equivalent of "flipping the bird," our dear boy chewed
up his recently-acquired bedding just enough to get some attention. Fortunately, subsequent crate sessions have gone more smoothly.

In light of these recent events, I find myself wondering if it was such a
good idea to turn down the offer made by our Topeka vet to give us some "doggie Prozac." Next time I see her, maybe I should ask what dose I should be taking (just to be safe).

Shoreline, hills and "glamping" in the Ozarks on $10 a day

Whoever thought up with the idea designating Arkansas "the natural state" got it right. The nation's 25th state, at least the parts we've seen, is spectacular!

We've been parked at Starkey Campground on the banks of Beaver Lake (near Eureka Springs) since Wednesday. The lake is situated in the heart of the Ozark Mountains, an area probably better known for touting its folksy culture than for the splendor of its dense forests, spectacular limestone hills and sparkling blue waters.


A pair of Canada geese enjoy a peaceful morning at Beaver Lake.

True, Ozarks promoters do their share to preserve the area's image as a kind of Hillbilly haven.
Featured attractions include opries with lots of banjos and corny jokes told by comics with blacked-out teeth, rickety log cabin rentals that sometimes look like they're straight out of the movie "Deliverance," and meals of butter-fried everything. But all of that mixes with updated offerings: spa retreats, gourmet dining and jet skis, activities that any modern-day Hillbilly (a nickname given the Scots-Irish who settled here) can appreciate and enjoy for a fraction of what it would cost in the "big city." To my mind, the Ozarks is one of the United States' hidden gems.



Given its size and weight, we've named the 5th wheel "Kong."
This camping spot is just barely big enough for Kong & Truckzilla.

Leonard and I chose this campground
as it was the only one with spaces large enough to hold our 5th wheel. Mobile Suites' 36-foot models actually measure
a bit over 37 feet on the outside. At 8'5" wide (without the sliding rooms extended), they're also wider than most.

Although our campground options will be limited - most older public sites were built before these bigger models came into use - we will have more flexibility than if we'd selected a longer model.

Frankly, we became so comfortable with the small-space living approach we adopted during our days in Costa Rica that we feel no need for more area. As long as there's a bathroom door and enough counter space to cook a decent stir fry, we're happy!

The heat is real; the flames are not.

Small-space living (in our case, 390 sq. ft.) doesn't necessarily mean leading a Spartan existence. In fact, what we're doing, a mix of glamour and camping, is what I've taken to calling, "glamping." The term seems appropriate given that we sleep on a queen bed with real sheets, wake up to freshly brewed hot coffee then wash the dirty breakfast dishes in our very own dishwasher. To the purists among you who say, "That's not camping!" I say, don't knock it 'til you've tried it.



Look at those happy campers!

Better still is the fact that we are enjoying our current woodland retreat for just $10.50 per night (including electricity, water and sewer hookup) courtesy of a federal program that lets U.S. citizens and permanent residents ages 62 and over visit participating public facilities for a 50% discount. We made up the $10 cost of Leonard's senior pass our first night here. Turns out age really does have some privileges after all.

Before closing, I want to thank Julie of Rob and Me in our Little RV for enlightening me about adding widgets that make it easier for friends and family to follow this blog. Julie, your help is much appreciated!

Tomorrow, it's off to accept delivery of our personal effects from Costa Rica. Topeka, here we come!






 

Are you smarter than a 5th wheel?

Now that's what I call manual labor!

Last week's weather downturn created a great opportunity for us to test out the rig's heating systems, brew a cup or two of tea, and devote ourselves to plowing through the massive stack of user manuals that came with the new rig. In short, we enrolled in RV university in the quest to answer that crucial question: Are we smarter than a 5th wheel?

It's been awhile since I've faced climbing such a steep learning curve. The experience prompts an occasional flashback to my days in physics class learning how to calculate amperage, voltage and all things electricity related. It's fun and definitely challenging enough to keep things interesting.

Our class load requires study time with the occasional pop quiz thrown in for spice. Leonard and I passed the first one - how to use a convection oven without burning a frozen pizza - without too much trouble. The next test - avoiding running out of propane just before it's time to turn in for the night - didn't go quite as well.


Let's see now. At 40 degrees F that's
105,000 BTU's per 40-lb tank x 2 tanks....

It's our own fault, really. Once outside temps started to dip towards the low 30's, we switched from heat pump, which runs on electricity, to the more capable furnace, which uses liquid propane. At that point, we should have jumped to the textbook chapter on LP burn rates but chose instead to live in the moment (something I got especially good at during my time in Costa Rica) and focused on more pressing matters, like figuring out how to connect the iPod to our really cool entertainment center and where to rent the latest DVD releases.

The result? After four days cozily living at 70 degrees as conditions outside hovered around the freezing mark, we suddenly noticed that the burners on our stove wouldn't light. We very quickly deduced that the 40 pounds of gas that we thought would last until the next full moon was now empty.

Normally, that wouldn't even prompt a shoulder shrug because shifting to tank number 2 is a simple matter of walking outside, opening the tank compartment and flipping a lever. Unfortunately on this occasion it was now 10 o'clock at night and still a might brisk outside. Leonard gallantly offered to  rectify the situation, and soon we were back in business.

Looks like someone's got control issues.

Shifting back for a moment to last week's tailgate incident, the body shop in Springdale managed to procure a replacement much sooner than expected. Truckzilla looks as good as ever! This Wednesday we pull up stakes for a move to Beaver Lake near Eureka Springs, AR for our first experience at a state park.

For now, that stack of manuals requires further attention. Only trouble is the sun is once again shining over our little corner of the Arkansas hill country. It's sure getting hard to concentrate. Maybe I'll skip class today. (Just this once?)

Good news, bad news

"It could have been so much worse," I said to Leonard as he stood gazing dejectedly at the badly-damaged tailgate of our now three-week-old F350. Though it took awhile for that notion to really sink in with both of us, we later agreed we had been lucky that Tuesday's mishap wasn't more serious.

 It was our first full day as RVers.

The incident began with a knock at the door and a representative of our RV dealer asking if a couple of his crew could hitch up the 5th wheel and take it for a short spin around the dealership. This step would be necessary to insure that our trailer brakes worked properly before we hit the road.

Now, every time you tow a trailer, it puts both structure and contents through the equivalent of a high-magnitude earthquake. Anything that isn't tucked away safely and securely becomes a projectile. If it doesn't break, it likely will make sure something else does. Armed with this knowledge, Leonard and I quickly and (I don't mind saying) expertly readied the unit for departure.

Leonard then started up the truck and masterfully proceeded backing it into the appropriate spot. After guiding him the rest of the way to couple hitch pin and pin box, the pros proceeded to review the hitching arrangement and make sure it was secure and ready for towing. Except it wasn't. Here's where this little tale turns nasty.

Two of our rig's six hydraulic stabilizers

Once parked, a 5th wheel sits on legs that keep it from tipping forward, backward or side-to-side as its occupants move about the inside. If that arrangement becomes imbalanced, well, it's just not good. The rear stabilizers can be stowed just prior to towing and without difficulty because an unoccupied trailer's wheels keep it from rocking backwards. The front, however, is a different story. Once those front legs are raised, the 4000 pounds (give or take) of unsupported weight wants to go one place. Down.

As long as the hitch pin was sitting in the jaws of the hitch in the middle of our pickup bed, everything was fine. Once the truck pulled forward, all bets were off, and all that weight came crashing down on the tailgate. The gate was a total loss.

The good news here, and there is good news, first of all is that the accident was the dealer's fault. The service manager arrived on the scene within minutes, instructing his crew to remove the damaged part and transmitting information to a local body shop arranging for a replacement.

Better still was the fact that there was no damage to the RV or the truck bed. Amazing.

Best of all, no one was hurt. In a "worst case" scenario, had that truck not stopped the tipping of the RV, someone standing in the wrong spot easily could have been killed.


Looks like Truckzilla's got company. Ain't she a beauty?

The bad news? Well, it looks like we may have to hang out in the Springdale area just a bit longer than expected awaiting delivery of our new tailgate. If so, we'll scrap plans to check out Beaver Lake, Arkansas so we can stay on schedule for a mid-May return to Kansas.



Eyes on the road! Towing requires good
driving skills and even better concentration.

Today is a new day. After two nights parking at the RV dealer's lot, we successfully relocated to our first proper RV park without incident. Here, we'll focus on the challenge of learning the ins-and-outs of operating a home on wheels.

[Spoiler alert: Watch for a future posting about how to dump an RV's sewage tanks. (Good times!)]

 

Truckzilla is here!!!

Last Saturday was another big day for the Finney-Timm household. After an uneventful flight from Sioux Falls and an overnight stay in Dallas, we rented a car and made our way 190 miles northwest to the Texas metropolis of Vernon to pick up our new ride.

Sprocket after completing his post-purchase inspection

Why haul our cookies all the way to the middle-of-nowhere Texas to buy a pickup? Turns out the kind of vehicles capable of hauling our 5th wheel aren't easy to come by. They're wide, heavy and pricey (both to own and to operate). As a result, few dealers carry them, and those who do don't maintain a large stock. After considerable research, Leonard discovered the Ford dealer in Vernon whose management apparently has set its sites on making their dealership tops in the pickup world. (I wouldn't be surprised to find that the number of dual-rear wheeled pickups on the Vernon Ford lot exceeds the population of the local elementary school.)

Not to be outdone by Leonard's research, I, too, have kept busy learning about the RV world. The result? I've discovered that a common practice seems to be naming one's rig. Descriptive monikers like "Big White Beluga" and "The Beast" appear in various RV blogs and message posts. Maybe it's part of the national obsession with vehicles. Maybe it's the result of inhaling too many campfire ashes. Perhaps scientists someday will unravel this mystery. In any case, we're going to take a stab at it and introduce to you the latest tool in our RV arsenal, TRUCKZILLA, a Ford F350 that's four tons and 400 horse power of diesel drinkin' fun!!!

Does this console make my butt look big?

Okay, honestly, I'm not all that excited about buying a truck - more of a Prius girl myself - but when it comes to being able to pull 16,000 pounds of trailer safely through the steep grades of the Rocky Mountains, it turns out that more definitely is better. YouTube is rife with videos of poor slobs who tried to make do with less truck than the situation required and ended up burning out their brakes and engines as they frantically struggled to keep a two-ton vehicle from being dragged backward down a mountain road by a nine-ton trailer. While it might make for interesting cinema, it does not make for fun travel.


Dog hair on the seats? Not on my watch!

So, we're back in Dallas - Leonard, Sprocket, Truckzilla and I - awaiting word on the delivery date for our 5th-wheel.

At least we have Truckzilla to occupy us as we learn the ins-and-outs of its operation. The owner's manual sits on the hotel nightstand as I write this. No doubt it will come in handy in the event of an attack of insomnia.





 

Domiciling in the State of Emergency

When we added Sioux Falls, South Dakota to our repatriation itinerary, Leonard and I knew we could expect cold temperatures and maybe even some snow. What we didn't know was that Mother Nature had in store for the place a crippling storm complete with ice, snow, power outages and business closures. Being the minds-like-a-steel trap folks that we are, we quickly figured this out.

We first knew we were in for some real fun when, upon touchdown of our flight from Houston to Denver, we checked the departures listings for our connection to Sioux Falls and saw that most dreaded of all words in the voyager's lexicon, "CANCELLED." United Airlines' cheerful (not really) customer service rep informed us that we'd already been rebooked on a later flight. After a five-hour delay, a bone-chilling walk outside to the airplane, a glide up a "that's not a ramp, it's a skating rink!" jetway, and a thorough de-icing of the plane, we were airborne.

(As an aside, Sprocket appreciated that little outside stroll as it gave him a much needed chance to relieve himself without risk to Denver International Airport's lovely carpeting.)


Welcome to Sioux Falls!

Once on the ground in South Dakota, we were greeted with an ice-covered rental car along with equally frozen roads. On the bright side, there weren't many other people who were foolish, desperate or, dare I say, stupid enough to drive under those conditions, so we didn't have to fight any traffic.

So what would drive two reasonably sane adults to endure all of this? One word: domicile.

Everyone needs a place to call "home." It affects where you pay taxes and how much you pay as well as where you get a drivers license, vote and get insurance. It even affects costs of cell phone service. The process of claiming this home, in legal-speak "domicile," can be easy or complicated, depending on the state you choose.

In the world of full-time RV living, three states make the list of domicile favorites: Florida, Texas and South Dakota. We chose South Dakota for several reasons, not the least of which is that even after factoring in costs of two trips to Texas (first to clear immigration, second to take delivery on our pickup), we will save a boatload of money on the sales taxes associated with the purchase of our 5th wheel and truck. It's also relatively easy to declare yourself a resident of the state, though state law requires prospective residents to spend at least one night there before doing so. Unfortunately for us, that night happened to fall during what officials here have just declared a State of Emergency.

So, you see, there is a method to our madness. We're not stupid, just cheap!

I've heard of frosted glass, but this is ridiculous!

Tonight's forecast calls for 6-10" of snow, but with a bit of luck and slightly warmer temperatures to melt the roads, we just might have our drivers licenses and voter registrations in hand by close of business tomorrow. I'm keeping my (slightly frost-bitten) fingers crossed.