Snowed In

Our travels brought us to the middle of nowhere in IL and the sudden breakdown of the Admiral's truck has left us stranded here. The snow that began yesterday afternoon has not yet stopped, so besides being stranded we are also, for the first time ever in the lives of the majority of the crew, snowed in.

We did not begin our snow adventures very well. Last night after supper, the Commodore made the unpleasant discovery that the gray tank was full. The Admiral and I had no choice but to go outside into
 the cold and empty it.

Just the thought of it was enough to make us shiver, but we survived.

This morning, we were a bit more cheerful about our situation. Being snowed in is very like being hurricaned in. Only colder. The only thing for it is to wait the whole thing out, and try to have a little fun.

Since the Admiral did not have to leave at the break of day, he and the Commodore cooked breakfast for the crew. We were lucky enough to have farm fresh eggs from a nearby Abbey that we visited on Sunday. Believe it or not, there is a very big difference.

Farm Eggs

Store Eggs

After breakfast, the younger crew members decided to go sledding. The floats that they were sliding on are wearing thin, but there is still enough slippery left to slide on. After a while, they even managed to convince their captain to join in. 

Their first order of business was to give me a lengthy lecture on proper technique.

After that, there was a demonstration. It was not a successful demonstration.

So my instructors decided I could just try the hill, under close supervision.

And that was at least a better idea.

.












We still had to try again.

  

Finally, we did get down. A crew ought always go through with what they attempt, after all.

 

Even if that means that all there is left is walking back up the hill to Tallulah to eat soup, lounge around, and nurse whopping bruises on knees for the rest of the day.

Snow Day

We made it all the way back east across the frozen Mississippi River to Illinois. Although our previous time in IL did not inspire any fondness for the state, we were compelled to change our minds when we accidentally stumbled across a Dick Blick outlet store in Galesburg. After two hours that went by terribly quickly, we moved on to the only open campground in this part of IL.

Today, the crew enjoyed the thrills that can only arise with the combination of snow, a great hill, two year old inflatable rafts and and a day off from swabbing the deck can deliver.

We've spent hours trying to find appropriate sledding gear, but it would seem that the natives snagged them first. We finally realized however, that what's good for the water is good for the ice.

 

Of course, I would say that the best part is that it is not even necessary to inflate the rafts. They did  begin with them inflated, but that didn't last long. 

 

 

And of course, this was followed up by a snowball fight, but there are no pictures of that because the First Mate required chastising for conspiring against the Captain.

Neighbors

One of the interesting things about living in an RV is the neighbors that one runs into. Sometimes they are nice, and sometimes they are not. Once, we were even camped next a very loud group of  ogres. Another time, we were neighbors with a family with an extremely pleasant boy about the about the same age as the 1st AB. And, of course, there were our Alabama neighbors in Wyoming, who gave us antelope meat. Whether nice neighbors or not nice neighbors, however, they are usually at least a little bit interesting. 

I

We were parked beside the RV in the above photo for three days. It looks like a perfectly average Class C. There were no people in it during our stay; empty RVs are not often terribly interesting.Last night I took a new route home from walking the dog. I noticed some writing on the back of the RV. I stopped to read it. 

 

 The Amazon.com "about the author" says

"Life story of an Iowa farm boy who grew up during the great depression and with no high school or formal education went on to become a pilot , prisoner of war in World War II. A leading farmer, business man and entrepreneur in Iowa.A father of six children and other acomplishments."

Despite having never met this person, I am inclined to believe he may have been very interesting.

A day at the Indian Hills Inn

When traveling, it is easy to find a nice place to stay. One can find something nice to say about even unpleasant parks (At the worst, there is the pleasant moment of bidding the place farewell.) Places that exactly match the whims of an entire crew, however, are few and far between. The Indian Hill Inn and RV park has made it onto the small list of campgrounds that have all of the most important things.

First off, friendly people. Being welcomed to a camp always makes it better. Only having to connect one end of the hose because a campground person has already taken care of the other end, is a very nice perk as well. Also, pull through sites. There is nothing like not having to back up in the snow and ice.

And of course...

Ice skating.

Or rather, ice sliding.

 

Hmmm. Ice tumbling maybe?

Well, whatever it was, it made for a very happy crew. 

The 2nd AB.

The 1st AB.

And the 1st Mate.

 Oh Yeah!

Whilst the crew was gone ashore, the Commodore decided to ready a large piece of venison for eating. The ship's dog offered to help, but the Commodore declined assistance.

 

After the crew returned to the ship, we drank some hot chocolate, and then decided that it would be nice to go swimming in the Inn's indoor pool. It turns out that the best place to get warm around these parts is in the swimming pool's building.

The 1st Mate and the 1st AB.

 

 The 1st Mate, 2nd Mate, 1st AB, and 2nd AB.

The 2nd Mate.

The 1st Mate, 1st AB, and 2nd AB.

Of course, the day did begin and end at about 4 degrees, we did have a slight problem involving a frozen black tank valve, and there is the terribly annoying and messy combination of gravel snow and boots, as well as the aggravation of having to add six layers of clothing in order to go outside for even a minute, but overall, we really are finding the Indian Hills Inn in Albia, IA to be a delightful place to spend the weekend.

Welcome To Iowa

After packing late into the evening on Wednesday, we were preparing for an early departure on Thursday when we made a most unwelcome discovery. The slides that make living in a thirty-five foot long space with six other people possible refused to move. Not in and not out. The motor for them made not a sound, and the button only gave us a very, very disheartening "click." After a meltdown or two, we decided to plug in the camper and wait until morning. Morning came and offered only the revelation that the slides are run by the same motor as the leveling jacks. The leveling jacks being the persnickety beasts that they are, this was not exactly comforting news, especially since the breaker that the jacks pop wasn't popped. Fuses. How many fuses are there in an RV? Dozens, and all in different locations. And what are the odds that the bad fuse would be exactly the one that the Commodore pulled out? I don't know, but that's what happened, and that is why we were only a few hours late getting out of the yard of Thursday morning.
Those few hours, however, were critical. As anyone who watches the weather knows, there is a fairly horrible storm threatening the south. Terrible Winter Storms are not things that one desires to drive through. Especially not in a thirty-five ft long thirteen ft high bus. No indeed. Winter Storms are things to be raced and circled around and avoided. Fortunately, despite our late start, we made it north of Tennessee by mid afternoon and just at nightfall we pulled into camp in Mt. Vernon, IL.
We started alright this morning, but immediately after pulling out of camp, we realized that all of the stores we needed to stop at for supplies existed in the very town that we were in. Nowhere else in Illinois would this unprecedented phenomenon repeat itself. We stopped, of course, and completed all of our errands at once before heading on to Albia, IA.
We have never been to Iowa in the winter. Quite honestly, we have never been in winter. I cannot actually recall ever seeing temperatures drop below 10 F. in AL. We did experience 9 F. weather, back in Douglas, WY, but somehow, 9 just seems so much warmer than 1. I think that that 1 degree has completely changed my outlook on the weather. Really, what IS that degree thinking? Why is it still holding on? Why can it not summon eighty or so of its brethren? I do not know.
Actually, right now, it is much warmer than that. It is a full 10 F. So we're good. It isn't supposed to get down to 1 degree until around 2:30 AM. Whew! Am I glad to hear that!

Not-a-Plan B

Well, it is Sunday evening and here we are, sitting at base camp. The crew has caught a really horrible case of landlubberiness and is fighting being whipped back into shape. So now it is time for not-a-plan B. Not-a-plan B will probably play out something like this:
1. Panic
2. Destroy any semblance of order. Begin digging through the mountains of stuff that has somehow migrated to the living room and attempt to convince it to exit to the camper in an orderly fashion.
3. Scream. A lot.
4. Spend the entirety of Monday night completing the process that is called packing, but which should be called something that sounds much more menacing. Chaucer would know a word for it.
5. Go to sleep at 5 am on Monday. Leave at six.
That's the new not-a-plan. Our crew is done with planning.

Packing Again

Take off has been set for 11:00 am tomorrow, Saturday the 23 of January. This, of course, means that by that time we will have clothes, books, toys, cooking ware, cleaning ware, maps, computers and cameras and cords, (oh my!) shoes, food, blankets, more blankets because we are going to IOWA, a dog, and (most difficult of all) people, loaded into Tallulah. Preferably without any casualties.