Beneath the Rattling Roof

Our thirty-foot camper loomed in our rearview mirror. It creaked, swayed and groaned in the wind as we headed over the mountains of Utah toward Wyoming on the curving switchback roads. Majestic peaks, dusted with snow, soared in the distance, their silhouettes jagged against a sky that alternated between brooding gray and brilliant blue. On one side of us a twenty-foot drop-off to doom amongst rocks and shrubbery, where sparsely patched wildflowers also clung to life, splashing colors of purple and yellow against the rugged landscape. On the other side, towering ragged red- and sand-colored cliffs streaked with veins of ancient minerals hemmed the road.

Slowly, we moved forward. Thankfully, I was not driving and my eyes often squeezed shut. My heart pounded. Outside, the wind shrieked like a banshee, tearing through the narrow canyons and whipping up eddies of dust that danced across the road. I took long deep breaths and attempted to imagine a calm continence rather than a panicked one that could send me to an emergency room. There were no medical facilities of any kind in the mountains, few pull-offs and fewer people. I didn’t have to concern myself with the altitude. I’d lived up at 7000 feet for several years and the thinner air no longer affected me.

At the top of a crest, we stopped for a break. The wind was howling at a rate that grabbed the truck door when I opened it a crack, and then closed it with a herculean effort. I tried to steady my panic and go for a second round. I made it out onto the asphalt road and headed towards the camper. When I unlocked the door, the wind grabbed hold and banged it into the side wall. I wondered if it would fly off and take me for a ride like Dorothy’s house in The Wizard of Oz. The thought was absurd, yet I could almost imagine such an event. Again, all my strength was required to pull the door shut behind me.

The table, once anchored to the floor, had roamed a few feet out of place. The interconnected recliner had slid across the carpet. A better look revealed a three-section unit instead of one. On a calmer day, I decided I’d remove the middle section and change it into a friendlier loveseat to watch television, although the TV set, with its old black-and-white screen, did not work well even on a good day. We decided the amplifier with a DVD slot and the radio were broken. The warranty had run out. Upon reflection, we realized it hadn’t worked the day we bought the camper either; DOA. We didn’t watch shows too often in our house, even less on the road, except on sweltering evenings when we’re exhausted. Outside, the wind continued its relentless assault, rattling the windows as if some restless spirit wanted to come inside.

  Looking around more while the wind howled, I saw the baby slide-locks had held most of the cabinet doors closed, except for one. On the floor were bowls, cups, and bananas. I focused on these things rather than the camper’s wind induced tremors. The smell of ripe bananas mixed with the faint, lingering scent of the coffee we’d brewed that morning created a strange, comforting aroma that grounded me in the midst of the chaos.

The bathroom was my goal. The struggles I’d encountered to get inside made me believe relieving myself by the side of the road might have been a better choice, except for the terrifying, howling wind. Once I reached my target, I sat and focused on the shower doors. They are convex and initially refused to stay on the manufactured tracks due to a defect in the rollers. Before our trip began, we’d ordered new parts twice. Each time, they were different and dysfunctional. Even during the peaceful drives, the doors fell off. Adding a bungee cord helped them stay somewhat upright during this climb. When I stood with effort, the wind rattled the camper again. It felt as though the entire structure would, at any moment, become suspended between heaven and earth. I grabbed the sink to steady myself; it worked fine. After the journey to and from the truck, I was eager to get out of the blustering mountain winds to a calmer place.

Miles down the road, the wind velocity diminished, and the camper stopped rattling and shaking. The panic I felt dissipated.

It never ceases to amaze me when I think of the amenities our camper contains. Two propane fireplaces, a full kitchen and bathroom, and a television screen. The only thing missing was a barbecue grill, so we bought one. Upon opening an external compartment and stuffing it in, we soon noticed the floor of the camper was flooding. Initially, a mystery. We pulled the new grill out and discovered it was the culprit. It had turned on a faucet in the closet. The nozzle was side-ways and missed the drain. Hence, the water flowed into the camper and across the floor.

This trip, this first long trip, living on the road for only three weeks, was a novel experience. From the first day to the last, we continually adapted to living in a camper. When we parked for the night at a site and didn’t level the floor with jacks, the door wouldn’t close with a gentle touch. We had to slam it. The noise seemed to disturb us more than anyone else. Other campers had cats meowing and dogs barking. Still others had barbecues running, which filled the air with either the smell of charcoal or wood smoke mixed with an occasional whiff of grilled meat.

At some camping stops, we could only get 30-amp instead of 50-amp circuits, which affected our water heater and air-conditioning units. We could only run one or the other at a time. Funny, really, since decades ago we were satisfied with tents.

That night, after we made camp, we found a way to have an outdoor fire in an aluminum fire-pit instead of on the ground. The drafts under the flame were so good that there wasn’t any smoke swirling around chasing us as we’d encountered in the past.

As the sky darkened, and the first drops of rain spattered against the window, we moved inside.

The camper had all the comforts of home crunched into a box on wheels. No hotels to question their sanitation practices or adjust to a new bed every night. Cooking was easy and healthier than eating out every day. The COVID pandemic was beginning to recede. Our vaccinations were completed before our travels, although our worries remained. As we sat in the camper that night, listening to the rain drum steadily on the roof, it felt like a small haven against the uncertainty that had gripped the world for the past year.

We had hauled the camper across the country to move to Wyoming a year before the world locked-down by degrees. Our adult children left countries abroad to return and hunker down with us in Wyoming. Each one came at different times and each one quarantined in the camper for two weeks before getting COVID tests to clear them to join us in our house. So, I am thankful for our home on wheels. And now, as the future unfolds, we can travel with caution and see our country in the way we had intended for some of our adventures.

Copyright ©Elsa Wolf