Wherever the Road Leads

Where’s the Water?

Where’s the Fleabag?

Yes, we had no water for a night here at Lake Harmony. The RV Park had been on its own well water for nigh on twenty years. But wear and tear on the concrete base that houses the pump and the storage tank, plus increased government regulations recently forced the Park onto County water.

The Park well had water pressure of about 45 – 50 psi, perfect for RV plumbing connections and hoses. The County water came in at almost 70psi. As we all scrambled to install Flow Restrictors between the Park faucet and our RVs, we lost water completely. At dusk, water started bubbling up from underneath Old Bob’s RV, indicating that the PVC water pipe in the ground was leaking. Larry, the owner, shut the water off to everyone’s RV for the night.

Fortunately, there is a separate line to the Bath House, so many of us were lining up at the sink to fill gallon jugs and pails with water to make it through until the leak could be fixed and the water turned back on. The gallon jugs and pails were not needed by some… the smart ones.

We ALL – me included – have on-board fresh water tanks with a pump to get water to the water heater, the shower and the faucets. However some – me included – have never filled those fresh water tanks, either because we have been in one place for a long while, or because water is heavy when you have to tow it. I had never filled my fresh water tank, wasn’t really sure how to fill it and couldn’t be sure that the pump would run after this long without use.

Time to learn, I reckon.

My fresh water tank, filled from the outside, is under the bed. The new mattress weighs much more than the struts supporting the bed platform were designed to carry, so I had to find a way to hold the platform up, relatively safely, so that it didn’t come crashing down on my back or sundry appendages. My slide lock, the bar that holds the dinette slide in place – slid in – while traveling, was pressed into service. OSHA may not have been proud of me but it did the trick.

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This is the storage area under my bed. As you can see, it is used to store many things that do not get used on a regular basis. It is multi-purpose. Not only does it house the fresh water tank, it is where Tupelo goes when he is scared… of anything in general, thunder in particular. He goes through the access door at the bottom of the picture, to curl up on my carry-on suitcase with the brown hand-towel on it in the back left corner. Yes, in the top tight of the picture, my alarm clock sits on a box of Red Rose tea bags, high enough for me to see it from the new, thicker mattress.

I filled the fresh water tank and tentatively turned on the pump. Its great racket and vibration produced no water to the faucet, but at least it turned on. I crawled closer to the maze of hoses around the pump and by sheer genius… well, perhaps blind luck… managed to open the correct valve as, when I turned on the racket and vibration the next time, I also got the sound of water flowing from the faucet.

RVing – a piece of cake.

Here’s another view of the storage area under the bed with the Fleabag in question up close and personal…

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Here’s another view of The Fleabag. I stepped out the trailer door and couldn’t believe my eyes…

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Do you see him from this closer view? Being as he was always going to be a house cat, he’s declawed… can you believe it?

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Okay… here’s where he WAS. He took off as I got close…

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Tupelo coming home to roost a few minutes later….

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He really IS in the above pictures and he sure took me by surprise. Click on the pictures above. Each will open in a new page, in full size and circled where he is. They are vary large files and would have taken forever for this page to load if I had inserted the original pic.

He’s getting too settled in here and adventurous. Moving each month, like before, gave him a new territory every thirty days so he never ventured as far as he does now. I am trying to accept that one of these days he may return broken beyond repair. In the meantime, I’ll just enjoy him.

 

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Damned Fleabag.

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