Last week, we were proudly following the plan — sticking to it like seasoned RV shoppers who absolutely know what they’re doing. Where we left off, I had put in a bid of $60,000 on a 2018 Jayco Melbourne. The owner came back with, “I really want my asking price of $62,000.” Now, when an ad says “willing to negotiate,” you sort of expect… well… negotiation. In the grand scheme of things, I was only $2,000 shy. That’s barely a couple of accessories, a full fuel tank, and maybe one unexpected RV repair before you’ve even left the driveway. So instead of just giving in, I raised my offer to the halfway point and waited to see what would happen. Would he blink?
Would I blink? Would we both pretend this was all part of a carefully thought-out strategy? Turns out — he blinked. He accepted my offer, and I took that as a small but satisfying win.
The Deposit: Or, Why Reading the Whole Page Matters
Next step: send the deposit. Easy, right?
They sent me a link. I filled out the form, hit Send… payment declined. That fell squarely into the “what the (insert your favorite adjective)” category. I tried again. Same result.
I reached out to my contact, scratching my head — and then had a realization. As a true American male, why would I read the entire webpage before filling out the form at the top? Clearly unnecessary… until it very much is.
So I read the whole page.
At the very bottom, it said: “Debit cards not accepted.”
Now, in my world, a debit card is just a credit card with cash behind it. If you don’t have the cash, it gets denied. Simple. Apparently, the internet disagrees.
So I pulled out the Apple Card, entered everything again, hit Send… poof — approved.
What difference did it make? I still don’t know. It’s not like I could suddenly reverse the laws of finance either way. But lesson learned: the most important information is always located after the point where they assume you’re no longer reading.
Enter the Inspector (a.k.a. The Reality Check)
With the deposit sent, it was time to line up an inspection — sticking with the plan again. I contacted an NRVIA inspector and got in touch with Patrick from Florida RV Inspection and Repairs. He quoted me a price I thought was very fair, and we scheduled it for the following Friday at 9 a.m.
That morning, I received a text when he started… and another when he finished. Later that afternoon, he called with a preliminary report.
- Roof seals needed attention
- One stabilizer jack wasn’t working
- A bracket was hanging down from the undercarriage
- And a few other items that quietly whispered, “You’re going to want to read the full report.”
He followed up that evening with a 61-page report. Yes. Sixty-one pages.
I went through it page by page. Then Mrs. Weeble went through it too. We talked again, and he walked me through the findings in detail.
What stood out wasn’t one big catastrophic issue — it was the overall lack of maintenance. Nothing dramatic, just enough little things to make you picture a growing to-do list taped permanently to the refrigerator.
The 5 a.m. Decision
I slept on it. Or at least tried to.
At 5 a.m., I woke up and found Mrs. Weeble wide awake, scrolling on her phone — which probably should have been my first clue. I told her I was uneasy about the inspection report.
She looked up and said she had woken up thinking the exact same thing.
That was all I needed to hear.
So we walked away.
Back to the Hunt
So here we are — back online, searching again.
And now it looks like our next chapter might take us to Tucson, Arizona.
To be continued…
If you’ve ever had an inspection report change your plans, you’re not alone. Feel free to share your experience in the comments — I suspect this happens more often than people admit.