RV Camping Lessons at Loft Mountain: Gray Tanks, Dogs, and Mother’s Day

Another Weeble Rule Is Born

As I have said before, some things happen to all RVers sooner or later.

This week, we had another one of those moments.

Actually, it was more like one of those moments that looked at us, cracked its knuckles, and said, “You thought you were getting good at this, didn’t you?”

All RVs have sensors in their holding tanks. Most of the time, they work pretty well. After my previous initiation involving the stinky slinky, I had made a firm decision that we were not going to have another problem in that department.

No sir.

Not this guy.

I was now an experienced RV sanitation professional.

At least in my own mind.

So I had been keeping a close eye on the black tank sensor. Every night before bed, I checked it religiously. The black tank was fine every single time.

Unfortunately, there was one small flaw in my carefully designed system.

I was only checking the black tank.

The gray tank was apparently sitting quietly in the background like a villain in a movie, waiting for its big scene.

There is no sleeping in when you are camping with dogs who are used to getting up around 6:30 every morning. In fact, they had been waking up a little earlier than normal, because apparently camping is exciting and breakfast should happen immediately.

Mrs. Weeble got them out for their morning ritual, and when she came back in, she was ready for coffee. We could not run the generator until 8 o’clock, so we used the APU to make her coffee, like we had been doing the last few mornings.

This is important because coffee is not just a beverage in the Weeblemobile.

It is a safety system.

While that was going on, I started up the Blackstone because pancakes were on the menu. That part of the morning was actually pretty nice. Coffee was made, pancakes were served, and we sat down for a quiet little camping breakfast.

Then we cleaned up, and I decided to take a shower.

That is when the day changed.

I opened the bathroom door, looked at the shower, and saw water standing at the bottom.

This was not good.

This was not even “huh, that’s interesting” good.

This was “we may have a new chapter for the blog” bad.

As it turns out, while I had been very focused on the black tank and the batteries, I had not been checking the gray tank.

The gray tank was not just full.

The gray tank had filed a grievance, declared independence, and stopped accepting new assignments.

Now there were really only two ways to fix this. The first option was to bail the water out of the shower so we could drive to the dump station.

There was just one problem.

I had nothing to bail with.

Apparently, in all my careful RV preparation, I had packed tools, hoses, adapters, chairs, dog supplies, and enough “just in case” items to survive a minor expedition.

But no little bucket.

The second option was to drive to the dump station with about an inch and a half of water sitting in the shower stall.

I did not love this plan.

In my mind, I could already see the water sloshing out of the shower and spreading across the bathroom floor like Lake Weeble. So we gathered up every towel we had and placed them around the shower stall like we were sandbagging a riverbank.

Then we closed up the RV, raised the levelers, and I began the slowest drive to a dump station in recorded history.

People walk faster than I drove.

Turtles were honking behind me.

Of course, because this is how these things work, the road to the dump station was on a hill.

Naturally.

We arrived at the dump station, and I was already thinking about my last adventure there. Mrs. Weeble came outside to observe the operation. I am not completely sure why, other than that she might have wanted to see whether I was about to receive another official RV initiation.

But this time, I was ready.

The check valve I had installed worked perfectly. I did not have to get down on the ground to hook up the stinky slinky.

Small victory number one.

I put the stinky slinky into the hole. And when I say I put it in the hole, I mean I put that sucker in deep. There was no way it was coming back out unless Newton’s laws decided to get involved.

Still, just to be safe, I put my foot on the hose to make sure it did not blow out of the hole. Then I stretched over to the black tank valve.

I would have crossed my fingers if I could have.

I pulled the valve.

The contents came roaring down the stinky slinky and right into the hole where they belonged.

Small victory number two.

I closed the black tank valve and pulled the gray tank valve.

Again, everything went exactly as planned.

Victory number three.

At this point, I was starting to feel dangerous.

Not professional, exactly.

But dangerous.

Now came the moment of truth.

When we got to the dump station, I had not looked in the shower to see how much water had sloshed out. I just knew it was not running out from under the bathroom door, which I took as a positive sign.

In RV life, sometimes “not actively flooding” counts as a win.

I walked to the bathroom door and closed my eyes.

Then I pulled the door open and opened one eye.

The water was gone.

Even better, the towels were dry.

Not one drop had spilled.

That, my friends, was not a small victory.

That was a major victory.

That was parade-worthy.

So I have officially started another list of Weeble Rules for RVing.

Rule number one: when you check the battery, the black tank, or the gray tank, you check all of them.

Do not admire one gauge and ignore the others. They are a team.

A strange, slightly smelly team, but a team nonetheless.

After all of that, I still wanted my shower. But I really did not want to start filling the gray tank again right after emptying it. Mrs. Weeble was also concerned she might run out of coffee, which is not a risk any wise husband should ignore.

There are many dangers in RV camping.

An under-caffeinated Mrs. Weeble is near the top of the list.

So we headed to the camp store.

I went into the shower room to get cleaned up. It was a coin-operated shower: five dollars for ten minutes.

Paid in quarters.

Naturally, I had no quarters on me.

I also had no five-dollar bills for the change machine.

All I had was a twenty.

And you know that machine was not going to give me back bills.

I put the twenty-dollar bill in, and suddenly it sounded like I had hit the jackpot in Las Vegas. Quarters came rolling out as fast as I could catch them and shove them into my pants pocket.

There I stood, a grown man in a campground shower room, jingling like a slot machine winner.

At that point, I had already survived the gray tank, conquered the dump station, and won big at the campground quarter casino.

The day was looking up.

A Drive Down the Blue Ridge Parkway

After all that excitement, we decided to take a drive down to the Blue Ridge Parkway. As much as I would like to say something “Weeble” happened, it really did not. We just saw some beautiful overlooks and enjoyed the drive.

I am not 100 percent sure about this yet, but I may actually like the Blue Ridge Parkway scenery better than Skyline Drive.

That may be controversial, but I said what I said.

Mother’s Day at Big Meadows

Now the next big question was Mother’s Day.

What were we going to do for Mrs. Weeble?

That was going to be a surprise.

As with most mornings, the dogs woke Mrs. Weeble up. But this time, they also wished her a happy Mother’s Day.

Or at least that is how I interpreted the chaos.

The pups got her a shirt with a picture of a German shorthaired pointer lying down. It said, “I hear you, but I’m not listening.”

That pretty much describes our hard-headed pups perfectly.

We both got our showers and got ready to go. Where were we headed? I had made a reservation at Big Meadows Lodge for their Mother’s Day brunch.

So we drove up there and had brunch.

The food was okay, and the service was adequate. Nothing to write home about, but it was nice to get out and do something for Mother’s Day.

After brunch, we headed back to camp with no real plans for the rest of the day.

And honestly, that may have been the best plan of all.

Mrs. Weeble got to spend Mother’s Day relaxing at the campsite, sitting outside by the campfire, and enjoying the day. I am not sure I could have planned a better day for her if I had tried.

Buster Makes a Break for It

Of course, because this is us, we did have a little excitement at camp.

I had hooked Buster to his lead, then went back into the Weeblemobile to get something. I have mentioned before that our dogs can get tangled up on their leads with impressive speed and creativity.

Buster is no exception.  

He managed to wrap himself around my chair. Then he pulled the chair over, which scared him. When he backed away, somehow his harness came off.

I am still not sure how that happened.

One minute, he was secured.

The next minute, he was standing there like Houdini with paws.

Buster, being the inquisitive dog he is, saw this as an opportunity.

Freedom.

Exploration.

Adventure.

Possibly snacks.

Fortunately, the campers across from us saw him making his move and hollered over that he had gotten loose.

I was hot on his tail.

Buster, however, was not especially interested in listening. In his mind, there was new territory to explore, and I was just the unreasonable man trying to ruin his expedition.

I finally caught up to him, and he gave me the classic “uh-oh” look because he knew I was not a happy camper.

Back at camp, Buster got to spend a little quiet time inside the Weeblemobile.

Sometimes explorers need consequences.

One More Stop Before Home

Tomorrow morning, we will pack up and head home. It has been a very good trip for all of us. Mrs. Weeble said she really enjoyed our camping trip, and that made the whole thing worth it.

As I was planning our route home, a Charlie Daniels song got stuck in my head. I was thinking about the part at the very end where he says something along the lines of wondering if anybody would think he was crazy if he rerouted his trip through Omaha.

Well, Mrs. Weeble and I may not be rerouting through Omaha.

But we are going to reroute our trip just a little.

We talked it over and decided we are going to make one more stop at Buc-ee’s on the way home.

Because apparently, once you have seen the beaver, you eventually have to go back.

The adventure continues…

The adventure does not stop here. Use the Previous and Next post links below to see where the wheels rolled before — or what trouble we found next.