In three parts.

I.
I’ve been ruminating this past week about what to do with all my stuff. I have a small Uhaul storage unit for my climate controlled items (books, mostly), and my motorcycles and garage stuff is at a friend’s place.

It’s tempting to just donate it all, but the problem is … I rather like my books, have a couple of boxes of dad paperwork and photos, my truck rear seats that I took out when I built my platform back there, my massage table and chair, and other randoms. Yes, the fantasy of a fire hitting the Uhaul storage where I have my unit plays around my mind frequently, but I haven’t gotten to the point where I can yet donate or sell it all. And truth be told, I really don’t have too too much. I own no furniture, whittled down my book collection to a mere 30 boxes (ha!) and have a tool box and three motorcycles. Three bikes might be a little excessive, what what’s a girl gonna do? 

After deciding to leave it where it is until I find a place to land again, I went on to de-winterizing my camper water tank. 

II.
When I first got my camper, I was living in lovely northernish Arizona, elevation 5000′. Winters happen there, but none too harsh. Because of the vast elevation changes in Az., I was able to camp year-round. I didn’t keep water in my 20 gallon water tank during the cold weather, but I also didn’t bother to winterize it – which involves completely and totally draining it, and pouring anti-freeze into the hot and regular water tanks. 

Last year I moved back to the Midwest for a job (and to be closer to my mom and old friends). I lived out West for so many years, I’d forgotten the frozen hell that Midwest winters can be. We had an exceptionally hard winter this past year (of course) and I had failed to winterize my water tanks. After weeks of deep freeze, we had a thaw, and so did my camper. I noticed some puddling on the floor and freaked out a little. After throwing towels down and dismantling the wood around the tank, which can be accessed under one of the seats inside the camper, I decided that my little hot water tank probably had a crack in it. I hadn’t ever used the hot water, but I must have accidentally pulled water into it at some point. I then went about winterizing in hopes of not having more damage if we had another freeze. 

Once it warmed up a bit, I was going to try to pull the hot water tank – I’d never used it anyway, and it takes up usable space! However, it lives behind a sealed panel, and I didn’t have the confidence to dismantle that, so I left it alone. 

Yesterday, while at a friend’s house in Springfield, IL. I decided it was time to see if my regular tank would hold all the water, but first I had to get the antifreeze out. I closed the butterfly valve to the hot water, and put some water in the tank, crossing my fingers for no leaky.

Just in case, I set some rags down inside. There were no leaks so I proceeded to put a few gallons in and drain the anti-freeze out. It took a while until the water ran clear, but it finally did and now I have fresh water in my camper tanks again! Ready for the road!

III. 
It’s time to find a place to set down for a bit.
I think.
As much as I love being on the road, I miss the community created when in one place for a longer term. I get antsy with repetition, but I don’t mind some routine. I like my morning ritual of drinking coffee and perusing emails, which I do in my camper too. I get tired of each day being too similar to the one before it, which is often one of the reasons why I get twitchy after living in one place for too long. 

Last spring I landed in Columbia, Missouri for a job, not because I chose the town. As far as accidental landing places, it isn’t a bad spot. It’s major university town, with two large colleges, so there is a lot for scholastic entertainment. Population is around 110,000, so it’s a decent size: not too large for crappy traffic jams, but not too small where you can’t disappear in a crowd. The city made a concerted effort to have a lot of green space in town, so there are a bunch of lovely dog-friendly parks and walking paths. And it’s only about four hour drive from my mom and old friends. That all said, I didn’t choose it. It’s the Midwest, so there are tornadic storms, ticks harboring in those lovely green ways, and many other bitey, itchy bugs. Currently, my legs have at least ten mosquito bites from romping in my friend’s back yard with Argos doggie. Yuck.

So, to that end, this chapter for no-destination will be named the “Finding Home Tour”. 

If you followed along on my previous no-destination adventure a year and a half ago, you know that I think about the idea of “home” quite often. I’m sure I’ll write more about it while on this trip too. But more on that later.
It’s time to make coffee.