Wind Assist, Emergency Buttons, and Other First-Week Adventures

As I headed down I-75 with Mrs. Weeble in hot pursuit, I set the adaptive cruise control at 65 mph. The speed limit was 70, but I was comfortable cruising in the slow lane with the trucks. Two and a half hours later, we arrived at Dayton International Airport. I had Mrs. Weeble take the lead and follow the rental return signs. My plan was to follow her to the drop-off. That plan ended abruptly when I saw a 7-foot-5-inch height restriction. The vehicle I was driving stood 11 feet 9 inches tall. She went left, and I went straight.

And just like that, I was circling the airport terminal in a full-sized motorhome.

As I approached the terminal, I noticed a security officer standing near the roadway. I played it cool — just a man in total control of his vehicle. Completely intentional. Absolutely not lost.

I circled once. Came around again. By the third and fourth pass, the security officer was definitely giving me “the look.” Fortunately, Mrs. Weeble appeared at just the right moment, jumped in, and off we went to my aunt and uncle’s house before I had to explain myself.

The Winterized Reality

When we arrived, the obligatory RV tour began. My uncle asked if we were sleeping in the RV or coming inside.

Inside, of course.

The RV was still winterized — no water and no bathroom. I wasn’t about to explain any midnight emergency dashes into the house.

The Great “It Won’t Start” Incident

On Monday, my uncle had physical therapy at the house, so Karen and I decided to get out of the way and “play RV.” We entered through the side door, which I had locked the night before. I turned on the furnace, and it fired right up, warming the coach nicely.

Feeling confident, I decided to reset the trip odometer. I pushed the start button.

Nothing.

Not a click. Not a flicker. Absolutely nothing.

Out came the iPad and the online owner’s manual — all 650-plus pages of it. Nothing indexed. Everything cross-referenced. Clear as mud.

The frustration began to build. Was the battery dead? Brand new unit, but stranger things have happened.

Then a thought crossed my mind — maybe it was a security setting. Remember, I had entered through the side door. So I opened the driver’s door and pushed the start button again.

It started instantly.

I swear I heard it say, “What took you so long?”

Later, I shut it off and tried again. This time the display said, “Insert key in starting basket.”

Now hold on. I have a key fob. There is no key.

Back to the manual. Still useless.

I searched the console and found a little flip door. I opened it and saw a red button. Against my better judgment, I pressed it.

A voice immediately came over the speaker asking if we were okay. I had just contacted the Mercedes emergency response line.

After reassuring them we were not in an accident — just technologically confused — they transferred me to consumer assistance. The representative explained that when battery voltage drops, the system can enter emergency start mode. I needed to insert the fob into the security slot located low on the console.

Sure enough, there it was. I inserted the fob, pressed the button, and the engine started. She advised us to take it for a short drive to recharge the system. So off we went.

Wind Assist… and a Minor Heart Attack

Tuesday morning we headed home. About 30 minutes into the drive, I felt the wind picking up. Then a strong gust pushed us sideways.

There was a loud bang, and I felt the RV snap back into position. The heads-up display lit up: “Wind Assist.”

The Sprinter’s crosswind system applies braking to a specific wheel when a gust hits, correcting your path. Impressive technology — and mildly terrifying the first time it activates.

There should have been a dashboard notification telling me where the toilet paper was located. I could have used some at that moment.

Mrs. Weeble Takes the Wheel

I asked Mrs. Weeble if she wanted to drive. Her face said, “I’m not sure about this.” Her mouth said, “Okay.”

We decided she would take over after we passed through Columbus, where the terrain flattens out. At a rest area, she climbed into the driver’s seat, adjusted the mirrors, and merged onto the highway.

After a while, I noticed her shaking her hands. “Why are you doing that?” I asked.

“My hands are going numb,” she replied.

That’s when I realized she had a full death grip on the wheel. I told her she was doing great — just relax a little. No one had flipped her off yet, so she must be driving fine.

She loosened up, drove for about an hour, and handed the wheel back to me. Later that day, she drove again, and this time I felt comfortable enough to take a nap.

That’s progress.

To be continued…