The day begins with blue sky and warm. Now remember, Grangeways is a swamp. What happens when you heat a swamp? You get a sauna.
By the time Ruby and I get back to Lady, around 8:00, I am dripping. Great day to be running around, packing and crawling around dumping the waste tanks - for the first time ever.
8:30 - the Wild Child begins his shift.
To-day is a bit sad. This is my last time in Lady for the year. This may be the first real winter for her.
I have breakfast including coffee from the crappy coffee funnel. Darn! forgot to turn on the water heater: no shower for a couple of hours. Guess I'll go outside and clean off the exterior: a few smashed bugs, some spider webs, clean the windows. I work in a desultory way: it's hot and humid. I hate the feeling of sweating.
I take a break with a cold drink and watch my various neighbours packing up and heading out. The group from along the way - the ones with the chocolat poodle - pull out. Hope they don't forget the dog. They all seem happy; laughing and joking while I feel melancholy and isolated. There's a Blue Jay who hangs out around my site and he is much in evidense this weekend. I wish I had remembered to bring him some sunflower seeds as a going away present. I watch him about his birdy business hopping here and there: flitting from fence to shrub to pine tree and back again. I wonder where his Missus is.
Once the water has heated up, I have my last shower, wash the dishes - such as they are. (My Lazy Lady pattern is white on white by Styrofoam.) And wipe down the hard surfaces inside. I guess it's time to tackle the job I've been dreading. Dumping the waste tanks.
Before we go any further I must give you a bit of background. There are two waste tanks, one for grey water from the sinks and shower and black water from the toilet. Rumour has it that the grey water stinks worse than the black. Go figure. Each tank has its own outlet and so dumping actually involves two dumps, one for each. And since the dumping is powered by gravity, the fittings are all on the bottom of the tanks, ie on the underside of the RV. Each tank has a large round fitting for the sewer hose and a metal handle to operate the dump valve which actually opens the tank.
The sewer hose is a fat plastic tube about 8' long and 3" in diameter with a "slinky" type spring inside. At rest, it contracts to about two feet. One end locks securely to the tank fitting but the other end has no fitting and it seems that one just stuffs it down the sewer pipe which is about 5" in diameter. The hose is quite "springy" and when I let go of it, it immediately springs back to its two feet of length. Has a mental image begun to form? Yeah, me too.
The second thing you need to know is that I have Rheumatoid Arthritis and I have good days and bad days. To-day happens to be a BAD day. I know it's going to be difficult getting down on my hands and knees to do this and that getting up is going to be worse. The ground is wet and mooshy not to mention slippery. I'm hoping I can accomplish it all from a bent over position.
As part of preparation to dump, I take a peek at the sewer pipe. About 6" down I can see water, well... liquid. Hmmmm. Don't think I want to dump down THIS pipe. I've been told the tank contents come out with a certain amount of force. Let's take a hike over to the new site and see what's up over there.
I hike over to "H19". The sewer pipe at the new site has a concrete brick covering the opening, which makes sense and when I lift it off and peek down, all I can see is darkness, which is a good thing. Back to the old site. Move the van. Fire up Lazy Lady (she starts like the trooper she is). I wriggle my way out past the hydro pole with no loss of paint or Lazy Lady body parts and motor over to H19. Zip, zip we're in. No problem. Real glad I've moved.However, parked where I think is best in the long term is a tad too far from the sewer so I pull forward 'till the RV tank outlets are opposite the sewer pipe. So far so good.
Next thing is to remove the black tank cover which is held on by two flanges. Unfortunately Mr. Muscles torqued it on last time and loosening it is going to require maximum leverage. Stooping isn't cutting it. But aha! I have a little Rubbermaid step I use instead of the fold away step and I bring it around to sit on. (Getting down to this step and more importantly getting up from it will be somewhat easier than from the ground, not to mention dryer.)
Keep in mind that as time goes by, it's getting hotter and humider and my moderately long hair is sticking to my neck and face while sweat is trickling down my back. Ugh.
The step is not a good idea. In fact it's worse, if possible, than from a simple bent over position. So I accept the inevitable and roll off and from a supine position and with much vocalizing, finally get the damn thing off. Now why anyone would crank the darn thing on so tight I can't imagine. It's not holding back the crap (literally). That't the valve's job. All this thing does is keep critters and general crud from getting into the pipe and gumming things up.
I roll up into a sitting position and retrieve the slinky hose from its home and lock it on to the tank outlet. I crab walk on my butt to the sewer pipe and stuff the other end down about a foot and try to balance the concrete brick on the hose to hold it in place. Not working. Best I can do is lean it against the hose. The RV is too far away to open the valve and hold the hose in the sewer pipe at the same time. This brick is all that's standing between me and a Robin Williams moment.
I have learned since that there are 90 degree gizmos that you can get at any camping supply shop which secure the hose in the sewer pipe with a friction fitting but I don't have one of those and it's a holiday so no place is open and I didn't know about them at the time anyway.
Crab walk back to the RV, grab the valve handle and PULL. No movement. Pullll harder, really putting my weight into it (I knew all those cinammon rolls would pay off). The valve lets go and I gouge about an ounce of flesh from the back of my arm on the corner of a piece of sheetmetal on the bottom edge of the RV. The handle moves back about 6 or 7 inches and I can hear liquid rushing out the slinky hose. I sit mezmerized by the thought of 30 gallons of crap gushing past my feet and suddenly it occurs to me. If the hose pops out, that stuff is going to be all over the ground: the ground I'm sitting on. But I'm frozen like a deer caught in the headlights... with blood dripping onto the ground.
Pretty quickly, the draining comes to a stop. The hose and brick have held. I close the valve. Time to get up. Oh yeah. Have you ever seen a cow get up from a lying down position? Butt first, right? Then you get the picture, only in slow motion and with a moderate amount of cussing.
I go inside but wait, the step is back by the sewer pipe. Back around the RV, get the step, back to the door, climb in, go into the bathroom, wash my arm, apply a row of bandaids (the only first aid supply I have here), open the commode valve and peer down. No black pyramid of death. So I divert just a few gallons of water down the shute. Just enough to rinse the hose.
As an aside, there are folks who spend a lot of time and money getting their black tank clean. Special power hosing, tornados of force, maximum flush. It's a BLACK tank for crying in a bucket. It's designed to collect poop and pee. After a day's use, it ain't gonna be clean any more.
My arm is stinging like a son of a gun. I have visions of Lock Jaw. And a slow lingering death by starvation. When was my last Tetanus shot? Decades ago. Or what about flesh eating bacteria? I'm doomed. Oh well, que sera, sera. Back to dumping the tanks.
(TO BE CONTINUED
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