One More Time

Sun City Hilton Head SC

It seems only fitting that I resume this blog with a tragedy, since that’s how it started, and especially since my misadventures apparently make you all chuckle out loud. (I can only imagine how hilarious you thought granny’s funeral was, or how Uncle Hiram’s bum leg made you weak with laughter every time he fell down.)

In any event, we’ve been in New York briefly, then in Mexico for two glorious weeks, then back up to Syracuse to pick up our newly repaired motor coach after only 7 months of delays. Turns out the subcontractor was holding up sending the doors to the body shop because the maker of our coach owed them money. We paid the subcontractor directly, and the doors showed up three days later. Go figure.

We hooked up our Jeep to the RV and took off again for more adventures. The drive south – believe me, the only place to head when it’s nineteen degrees everywhere else – took us through Tennessee, where we stopped for a rest, enjoying the 60 degree weather, shucking our coats and even contemplating riding our bikes. Not riding, just contemplating.

We got up the next morning to snow and a 22-degree freeze. Brrr. We put the coats back on, then another coat on top of that and decided to wait until the sun melted the snow. It didn’t, so two days later, we slipped and slid our way out of Tennessee.

We stopped overnight in Charleston, SC, and had dinner with our good friend Jimmie Moreland, then proceeded towards Hilton Head. We decided to have a look at one of Del Webb’s Sun City retirement villages and were going along a lovely palm tree-lined street, at 5 mph I swear, when John suddenly announced, “The bumper’s gone.”

Hello, what? What bumper? Gone where? From where? I hadn’t heard or felt a thing, and believe you me, you do get tuned in to trouble when you’ve had as much as I have.

I looked out the front window of the bus. “No," John said, “Not the bus, the Jeep.”

I jumped out of the coach and ran to the rear. There, trailing along behind us, was the Jeep’s bumper. To be more correct, the bumper wasn’t gone. The Jeep was.

Almost. It was holding on by a shred of plastic and in another five seconds would have been on its merry way, alone.

No sooner had we assessed this latest catastrophe than four men appeared out of nowhere and offered to help. “No face plate,” one intoned. “Bad installation,” said another. “Gimme that, “ said the third, taking the sledge hammer out of John’s hand and proceeding to tap out the connecting bolts.

Now this is a fact. I’ve seen it more than a few times in these eight months. Retirees are the most willing, helpful, generous people in the universe. It’s as if they sit around waiting to put all the skills they ever learned in life to good use. Have a breakdown and they fight each other to be first to offer assistance. Got questions about life in this community? How much time have you got to listen? Need directions? Hell, they’ll take you there, buy you a meal and wash your car while you’re eating.

Of course, they won’t hesitate to tell you why what you’re doing, or where you’re going, or how you were doing something is wrong, but that’s because they’ve done it all before, many times. It’s just the price you pay for the expertise.

We paid it gladly. They had the bumper shored up, the tow bar removed from the RV, and the Jeep ready to roll in a matter of minutes. Then they gave us directions to the Jeep dealer, information on where to park the RV for the night, and a baloney sandwich.

Okay, I lied about the sandwich, but you get the idea.

The RV park turned out to be a boat and RV storage lot, but it’s quiet, at least, and we do have water and electricity. And just because we love spending the big bucks, we’re going to rent a car while the Jeep is in the hospital and go see Hilton Head Island.

What, one little tragedy and you think we’d sit here in dry dock feeling sorry for ourselves, doing crossword puzzles, eating potato chips, and calling our friends to complain?

Actually, that sounds like fun. Talk to you later.