Funny You Should Ask: The Things We Do for Love

The Things We Do for Love

by Jay Webster

So, we did a thing.

It wasn’t something I wanted to do. I did voice my hesitations, but my concerns were outvoted. And so a year ago this December, we bought a 17-foot, 1973, two-tone Shasta Starflyte camper trailer.

It started like this; we went tent camping at Osage Hills State Park in March of the Pandemic, (the first wave). Over two nights we fought flash flooding, tornado warnings, and subfreezing temperatures. Combined sleep for the two adults was 40 minutes over both nights. But that wasn’t the real issue. The real challenge (apparently) was the girls didn’t want to go out with raccoons and

other creatures of the night in order to bare it all in the woods every time nature called.

So my wife, Ann-Janette, took matters into her own s’morestained hands and researched: “What’s the smallest camper available with an indoor potty?” To which the Googles happily replied: “The answer to your quest is the 17 foot Shasta Starflyte trailer, which your husband will be forced to pull from your vehicle even though he has no such desire to do so.” (Google has gotten incredibly specific as of late.)

If you stop to think about it, the whole idea of trailers is a little strange, right? I mean you’re essentially pulling a motel room behind your car to the outskirts of civilization so you can still enjoy civilization when you get there. It has everything typical travel accommodations have — except housekeeping. My problem is … well, one of my problems is … someone has already perfected this system — they’re called Holiday Inns. They thought, “Hey, people want to travel but they can’t strap a bedroom to their cars (Oh, that’s what you think), so we’ll build little bedrooms and when they get here they’ll have a place to stay.” Isn’t that convenient.

But, to her credit, my wife skimped and saved and researched and watched and waited and bid and rebid until finally we were indeed the new owners of one “vintage” (read used) 1973 Shasta Starflyte with limited water and fire damage and all original 1970’s wood paneling.

That’s when the decisions start, like: Are you going to keep it retro? In my case our new-to-us Shasta had a lot of retro … retro smells, retro water leaks, retro beds and cushions, retro wiring and fire damage … So, based on the advice of counsel — we gutted it. Now here’s the thing about trailers, there’s an old expression about how no one wants to know how the hotdogs are made … the same is true about trailers. Once you strip all the “aesthetics” away, you learn RV’s are really just made of toothpicks and aluminum foil. On the upside, for an idiot like me they’re also very forgiving when you’re trying to reconstruct one with no prior experience in mobile living units.

So that’s what we did. We gutted the Shasta down to the “framing.” We waited for wood and building materials to get as expensive as they’ve been in a generation, then we put in new insulation. Replaced damaged wood. Brought in qualified friends to put in all new electric and plumbing, twice (because I shot one electric line with a nail gun when I was installing the new paneling). We rebuilt the cabinets and seats and beds. We bought new appliances and lighting and bedding and decor. And finally, we water-sealed the outside and repainted it. It all took about six months. It would have gone faster, but I didn’t know what I was doing.

At last it was time to take our inaugural trip. We booked a weekend at lake Skiatook because we figured that was close enough that if anything went wrong we could easily transport the pieces back to our office dumpster. Fortunately for us, we arrived safely and without incident just in time for record-breaking high temperatures in June. Now the Shasta does have a

heating & air unit that can put frost on your nose, so we met that hurdle just fine. What it also had, which we didn’t know at the time, was a sizable hole in the “holding tank.” The holding tank holds (or is supposed to hold) just what you think it does. So with a hole and triple digit temperatures, it smelled like a hot August rodeo going into day three. It also had a broThe Shasta does get a lot of love from strangers and I ken valve release on it. That valve have to say, she is pretty comfortable inside. We get lots is supposed to keep the waste of offers from others who would love to buy her — all of water at bay until you get your which I have been willing to consider. But most of all drainage hose hooked up at the she’s a small act of love. dump station. If all this sounds technical, it should. You have to be a licensed plumber to work on all this stuff at your home. But put your home up on some wheels and drag it out to God’s Country, well then any idiot like yours truly is suddenly qualified in wastewater management and home utilities and sanitation. So with a broken valve, there was no longer anything damming up three days of camping sewage as our hero got down on his hands and knees to empty the “black water” from the now non-holding holding tank. Keep in mind … I didn’t want the trailer in the first place. And this is part of the reason why. When you’re at home and you flush something, your expectation is that you will never see it again. With a holding tank, the waste just goes to sewer purgatory until you relive the deposit experience by sending the “fresh” sewage through a three inch hose into a hole in the ground. It’s more information than the average first-world human wants to know about himself, his family, and his temporary camping neighbors … who are all eating and drinking like heathens because they’re, well, camping. We have now taken three “pretty fun” trips in the Shasta. I am relieved to say, the plumbing is mostly resolved. We’ve been through two torrential storms and stayed bone dry on both occasions. We’ve even survived a tire blowout, which miraculously (and I mean it) happened only after three hours of driving through the Osage hills as we literally pulled into town. The Shasta does get a lot of love from strangers and I have to say, she is pretty comfortable inside. We get lots of offers from others who would love to buy her — all of which I have been willing to consider. But most of all she’s a small act of love. Something I didn’t want, but my determined, persistent, and lovely wife did. So that’s that. I like my wife and daughter … and they like the Shasta so “what can a poor boy do, ‘cept sing in a Rock n Roll band” … and I can’t do that, so I guess this is what I can do. If you see us out and about in the beloved Shasta … stand back. I still don’t know what I’m doing. Cheers my friends. I’ll look for you next month.