For my non-RV readers, a rig is your recreational vehicle setup. It could be anything from truck with a tear-drop trailer to a bus conversion with toad. Whatever it is, the entire thing together is called your rig. That's what it means to me anyway.
Four or so years ago, I purchased an F150 I named Daisy. You know, because she was a Hazzard. My Uncle had already started the restoration project but my Aunt got tired of seeing it in the yard. He worked long hours and didn't have much time to devote to it. She said "get rid of it" and he said "hey, Penny ..".
Three-ish years ago, I spotted a cute but run down little travel trailer that I thought Daisy could deal with well. The owner, a slightly distant cousin, said I could have it if I wanted it. Let's just call him Scotty, okay? [The TT, not the guy.]
Turns out it is a 1950/60 something Serro Scotty Sportsman Highlander and they've actually come back into fashion!
Sadly, Scotty was accidentally smooshed between an F350 and a back hoe one day. Dude tried to show how awesome his souped up F350 was and slammed the gas in reverse. Forgot the back hoe operator was lifting Scotty's rear out of the muddy ditch that said truck enthusiast had just zoomed into.
Note to self: never let anyone drive your rig!!
Daisy was next on the OMFG (oh my fudged gator) accident list. Someone was fixing her carb kit (yeah, she's that old) and did something wrong. When Daisy wouldn't start, he flooded her with fuel and said "start 'er up!".
The fireball that ensued could have been mistaken for an a-bomb and sadly, that was the last we saw of his eyebrows. He was a little luckier with his arms. Although singed and stinky, they're little permed 'do is kinda cute.
Note to self: ... (that rendered me speechless after I stopped laughing at his expression)
Why lie? At first, I was so depressed and angry. I wanted to have a little rig set-up so I could take my son on weekend road trips or heck, maybe even travel full time for a bit. My dreams were crushed (literally and figuratively) and only my son gave a hoot. Everyone else tried to comfort (?) me by saying, "they were old anyway".
Uh, hello? That was not the point! I liked my little set up. I liked Daisy. I liked Scotty. They were mine. They meant something to me and to my son.
Then, a sense of overwhelming odds struck me and rendered me essentially numb. I've let them sit there, getting rustier and avoiding eye-contact.
A year or more later, I'm looking at their carcasses going .. hmm. They are much worse for wear, of that there is no doubt, but they were never meant to be immaculate show pieces that never moved. They were meant to be a customized little home-away-from-home for a single mom, her son and a couple of critters.
The question is .. do I still believe in the Daisy/Scotty dream enough to put my effort where my mouth is?
Wishing you much peace, happiness and success,
Sounds like fun!
ReplyDeleteIt could be. If I go ahead with the restoration. [Literally, I'd fix them with my own hands.]
ReplyDeleteWell if you were building a home, I might take a min-vacation and come help you. But cars, I can do them but it would be slooooooooooooow going. :-)
ReplyDeleteLord, don't tempt me with a draft victim -uh- volunteer. ;)We're actually remodeling my Mom's place to make room for me, my son and our planned animal additions. I'm covering all the bases: auto, recreational, home, property and fence line too!
ReplyDelete