September 17, 2009 – Catching up

Yesterday, we had a leisurely morning while we tried to determine whether we would stay or go. After checking the weather forecast, because it was a beautiful sunny morning excluding the low bank of clouds over the west side of the lake, we decided with rain on the way, it was best to move on. As we were getting prepared to leave, I spoke with the gentleman camped a couple of spaces over. He has a 35+ foot Winnebago. He was having a couple of problems: one, his slides would not come in; two, his jacks would not retract. So there he was with his handbook, trying to figure out how to retract the slides manually. I pitched in to help (I’m trying to become more helpful to my fellowman). We found the retraction bolts, but he didn’t have the right size wrenches. I broke out my tools and found a socket that would fit. Carol grabbed the manual retraction wrench from our coach and it fit his also. Now armed with two wrenches, we set about retracting the first slide. His owner’s manual said to go slow as to avoid building up hydraulic pressure. Neither of us was aware of hydraulics being involved, but there was some resistance on the bolts. His end moved in some, but mine didn’t seem to move at all. So he said he would stop turning while I caught up. Three turns later, the bolt head snapped off in my wrench. There is no describing how bad I felt. I mean, if this guy’s day wasn’t off to a bad start already, this just put a capper on it. There was no way on God’s green earth he was going to get this slide in now. So there I stand with a wrench on one hand and the bolt head in the other. But he took it all in stride. I’m feeling absolutely terrible and he’s telling me not to worry, he would have done the same thing and now he just has to call Good Sam and get a pro to finish the job. Still feeling bad about the experience, we finished our own packing and rolled out towards Baddeck.

Baddeck, on the shore of Lake Bras d’Or, was the summer home of Alexander G. Bell. They have a marvelous museum, full of AEG stuff. I know of Bell principally because of the phone. The museum also highlights his work with the deaf, his family and his studies of aeronautics, sound recording and hydrofoils. He, along with Selfridge, Curtis and a couple of other aviation notables whose names escape me, was responsible for the first power flight in Canada. Bell collaborating with Casey Baldwin, build the worlds fastest boat using aviation engines and hydrofoils. Neat stuff, eh.

A quick lunch in the RV and we were off on a five hours drive to Halifax. Somewhere on the road coming up, I had seen a sign for an inn/gift shop/ restaurant named the Bras d’Or House. I really wanted Carol to get a picture of it, but I couldn’t find it again. Perhaps it was all just wishful thinking.

The drive wasn’t bad. We took the major east-west highway which is a wide two lane road with lots of shoulder and passing zones on the uphill grades. We had selected a campground based on a recommendation of a couple we had met who reside in southwest Nova Scotia. The campground was also well touted in Woodall’s, advertising Wifi and TV (I know Denny, I should have a disk). So we pay up front for two nights only to find, there is no TV and the Wifi processes somewhere between 5.5 and 1 Mbps. Wifi is virtually non-existent. Have you heard this complaint before? After a couple of steaks, mashed potatoes and a good bottle of red wine, it was all better.

We had bought a small electric heater to help off set the use of propane. I’m a bit paranoid about our propane use and worry that we will empty the tank and not be able to find a supplier. Since there was a frost warning last night, we set the heater fairly high, but left the coach furnace off. Sometime early this AM, Carol awoke and feeling cold, cranked the heater to max. Then checking the thermostat and reading 64 degrees, turned on the furnace assuming 64 is what it was set at. Little did she know that when you turn the thermostat off, it automatically resets itself to 72 degrees regardless of what you had it set at previously. With the bedroom door pulled closed, the little heater was happily working away, producing it maximum heat. On the other side, the coach furnace was readily warming the coach to the required 72 degrees, completely oblivious to the efforts of the little heater just a few feet away. Moments later, I found myself lying on top of the bed covers. The thermal eruptions from the heater were baking my toenails like thrown pottery in a kiln. My leg hair was surely being reduced to singe. I contemplated grabbing an extra blanket and sleeping outside on the ground. Until I remembered the blankets are under the bed. So instead, I dragged my sorry butt out of bed, stumbled over the dog, found the heater, glowing as I can only assume the fires of Hades do, and turned it down. Then, hearing the furnace click on, I went to the thermostat and set it at a reasonable 64 degrees. Having left the bedroom door open, there began an exchange of air between the bedroom which was by now a toasted 78 degrees and the rest of the coach. Not only did I have to fight my way back into the bedroom against gale force winds, small thunderstorms were building in the hall way as air masses collided.