A Couple of No Good Very Bad Days

I sat frozen in the doorway of the Toy House.

To other campers perhaps it appeared that I was studying the park newspaper. I was just waiting. Sure I saw the picture of the Mountain Farm Museum. I didn’t smile as I might have at the headline “Enjoying the Park: Bears, Bugs and Snakes.” There was no joy at site A14 of Colby Campground at Great Smokey Mountain National Park.

It was impossible not to continue kicking myself for backing over the concrete curb and catching the rear tire of the camper off the ground. The lesson of the day was “when in doubt, get out of the driver’s seat and look behind you before backing into unknown territory!” The irritating part was that I had followed that lesson at the first site I thought to stay at. But nooooo. I had to move on to a different site that looked better somehow.

It should have been a simple horizontal pull in and park. But I had to back the camper just a little further, where the small drop off was invisible to me in the driver’s seat. Some young campers walking by took a look at the damage. I apologized for the bad words that just came out of my mouth when I saw the rear end resting on the concrete parking block while the tire hung in mid air behind it. We decided pushing the camper would be a bad idea.

No cell phone signal either. I walked down to the campground building and was lucky to find a ranger there. He let me use the phone to call my auto club and waited for them to call me back to confirm the coming of a tow truck. I had wisely taken out the maximum coverage from the Better World Traveler’s Club. At least I was well-prepared to relieve the major portion of my pain without spending a fortune on wrecker fees. The wrecker would have quite a distance to travel before it arrived. Good thing I didn’t need to go anywhere.

After about an hour of bouts of playing ball with The Dude broken by periods of sitting in the doorway of the Toy House in as close to a fetal position as was possible in public, I decided I should go on with my first evening at the Smokies. I took out some containers of cut up fruit that I had gotten on my grocery stop earlier that day and mixed a bowl of strawberries, cantaloupe, watermelon, and blackberries. The blackberries were sour so I splurged sugar on them.

Just as I began eating, the wrecker arrived! Relief! It took him just seconds to pop the camper out of its hole. Lucky for me he had come from a town within the mileage allowance on my club account so I just had to sign the work order, not write out a big check for the service.

Finally I could relax enough to set up camp, which involved pulling food out of the fridge and cooking it. After dinner (a bag of frozen chicken, pasta, and vegetables) the Dude and I wandered around the campground roads until we lost the light. Only a small section of the campground was open, but there were several loops of road to explore on foot. The closed part looked nicer than the open section, but I suppose that was just because it was empty, and we couldn’t be there. In the open section, we passed several other Toyota motor homes. The inhabitants were not about, so I didn’t have the chance to speak to any of them. I would have liked to ask how they liked that Dolphin. I didn’t have a chance to say, “Oh, I had a Sunrader. How do you like yours?” It was the most Toy Houses I saw anywhere in one place on the trip.

It rained hard and long that night. When I woke I discovered that the rain had found an entrance somewhere and had dripped on the edge of the bed all night. My heart sank again thinking of how I could go about finding the hole. The funny thing is that the roof never leaked again after that! Maybe it was because I bought a couple of different kinds of caulk and sealants at the next hardware store I came to. It wasn’t because I ever used the caulk and sealant. After draping the blankets around inside the camper so they could dry as I traveled, I jumped in the driver seat. A loud clanking started up as the engine did. Goody.

I had heard some milder version of the clanking periodically while driving the day before. As it had been a Sunday, I had thought I would get it checked out on Monday when I would be more likely to find a garage open. Lucky for me there was such a thing. I drove slowly out of the campground and stopped at a park service building where I saw signs of life. I asked a fellow there if he knew of a mechanic nearby.

He asked, “Where’s your car?” I pointed to the Escaper. “Oh, one of those,” the ranger said with a doubtful tone in his voice. I didn’t ask him what that meant.

He knew of a place called “Sam’s” but didn’t remember what its real name was. He asked a coworker, and they decided it was called Neighborhood Services. The rangers gave me excellent directions and landmarks to look for. Take a left at the post office, go about four miles on Route 321 and it will be there on the right near Teague Mill and Crazy Horse.

I drove slowly, listening to the horrible clanking and praying that I could make it the few miles to the garage. I expected the engine to die or some big important part to fall off. At about three miles there was some kind of mechanic shop on the left. But the ranger had said “on the right” several times and I hadn’t seen a mill or a crazy horse. I kept going. Minutes seem like hours when I’m worried and I saw nothing, nothing, nothing. But sure enough, soon I saw Crazy Horse Campground! Just a little way past it was a place with cars parked all over outside and a sign that said “Neighborhood Services.” To me it spelled “salvation.”

The people there were the best. I only had to wait about a half an hour before they could take a look. The mechanics had it figured out pretty quickly – the Harmonic Balancer was busted. One needs one’s harmonics in balance. It is also known as a crankshaft pulley. But could they get the part? Lucky for me they would be able to get the part the next day and install it! Talk about rescuing angels! The bad news was the cost of the part — $300. Plus labor.

A consolation prize was having the Crazy Horse Campground only a few yards back down the road, just past the Teague Mill Restaurant. I was able to drive there and get a site for the day and night I needed to wait.

The folks working there were also the best. The woman who rented me the site even gave me a hug because she knew I must have been feeling sad, broken down so far from home. She made sure she was giving me a site that was easy to get the RV into and was near the washhouse. Two fellows drove an electric cart leading me to my site. One guy noticed the picnic table was broken. He got me an intact picnic table, and after he set it in place, we talked about RV life. He and his wife traveled in a big diesel motor home and worked at campgrounds owned by the folks who owned Crazy Horse. He thought my little rig much too small for extended trips.

At first I thought $26 for a campsite was pretty high, as I was used to paying $10 or $14 per night. The place was plush though. It was also clean (I picked up less than a grocery bag of litter there). The shower and laundry building was new, clean, and each shower was a little private room. I took advantage of both facilities. The best part was that the park was sparsely populated so I didn’t feel like I was in a crowded trailer park. That’s how I tend to think of the private RV campgrounds with sites stacked as close together as possible. Located on the main drag to a national park, Crazy Horse must be worth a bundle especially with pretty streams rumbling over rocks in little waterfalls to a little fishing lake. Some sites had decks built overlooking a stream. They also had a few rustic looking cabins for rent.

I spent a pleasant, if somewhat worried day, walking with The Dude and putzing in the Toy House. I was tempted to walk over to the Teague Mill restaurant for dinner, but decided I was already spending enough at this stop!

The next day I hung out at Crazy Horse while waiting until afternoon for the repair part to arrive. I perused their gift shop and bought a sweatshirt that said, “Home is where you park it.” I also got a guide book written by a local woman describing short and long hikes in the national park and giving tips on plants and other things to look for. (Yes, I know I just said I had spent enough money on this stop.  A book is forever and a warm shirt lasts quite awhile. A meal is over before you know it. Thus goes my quirky and variable judgment on spending money.)

Once the part had arrived, The Dude and I spent the afternoon in the waiting room of the saint-filled repair shop. I thought it was nice of them to let him sit inside with me. The Dude paced the floor, grumbling something about what the heck were we doing here? I was too nervous to do anything else but sit and read and wait.

Thanks to everyone at Neighborhood Services and Crazy Horse Campground! Within a couple of hours, I was once again on my way. I was not far from the main northern entrance to the Great Smokey Mountain National Park. The Dude and I were overjoyed to be back on the road with no worries, at least for the time being.