Check Engine Light: Stupid As Spam

For those of you following my travels on Facebook or through this blog, you might have picked up on some "issues" with my new Tillie2 that I acquired at the end of September 2014. Here's the latest...

Ironically, my previous vehicle, the venerable Tillie the Turtle, a 27' Gulfstream Class C motorhome,  my home/office/vehicle for 9 years (183,000 miles on it), despite the (ahem) sorta chintzy construction, was a pretty reliable vehicle, but gas mileage sucked wind (10 mpg).

Thanks to a small inheritance from my Mom's estate, I was able to (I thought) downsize/upgrade to the Sprinter van. At 24' it is smaller, especially narrower, lacking the abundant storage Tillie had. Diesel mileage exceeds 20 mpg on occasion! It drives like a dream. I've gotten used to the smaller footprint, inside and out. I've got to say my Mercedes-loving Mother is smiling upon me.

Sportsmobile in Austin, TX outfitted the Sprinter, and basically did a fine job, with a few unmentionable caveats that I think are fixed. The insides are cozy but efficient and solidly constructed. I was able to customize, based this time on experience, as opposed to Tillie's purchase when I was totally clueless.

The front end of the vehicle--the engine and dashboard--those are under the Mercedes-Benz warranty. And that's where I've been vexed.

The first sign of issues was back in October when Pat LaMarche and I were on our Babes of Wrath tour to Montana and surrounding states. I had just had T2 for weeks, and had read the manual but had not grasped the finer points. So when the dashboard lights lit up like a Christmas tree, with ominous warnings "Visit Workshop," and symbols that looked like nuclear weapon warnings flashing, well, I was dismayed.

The first time the light show occurred was in the middle of a reservation in South Dakota, far from a MB workshop or any vehicle service station. I kept driving as Pat scanned the owner's manual for clues. Since the vehicle seemed to be operating properly, I tried to not worry. Eventually, the lights went away. I don't know how. But I was happy they were gone.

I visited my first MB dealership for the 10k mile oil change/service thing. They were a tad not helpful, and other than doing the basic service, I didn't get any info about the problems I had encountered. But no lights were on, so I was happy.

But then, like Spam, lights returned. Intermittent. Ominous.  I visited another dealership. Sensor problems. Fixed them. The Check Engine (CE) light again blinked at me. Another dealer. Same routine.

By this time I'm annoyed. In one month I've spent more time in MB waiting rooms than I've spent in doctors offices for the past 40 years. I fired off a civil, but stern letter to the MB CEO. For credibility, I enclosed the mighty fine article the Naperville Magazine ran about me/HEAR US.

Within days I heard from Susan in the Customer Care department, addressing my concerns.  I will say I think she's sincere, and she offered ongoing assistance that makes me feel like I'm not the 2nd class citizen that some of the dealers seemed to convey (or at least I think they did). She volunteered to make a pre-visit call for my next service stop. I agreed. The dealership treated me royally. They addressed the issue properly.

But then (are you picking up on the theme?), the CE light reappeared. I'm en route to KS, so my possibilities were limited as was my time. Susan to the rescue. The dealership got me in and on the way within a reasonable amount of time.

Now I'm CE-light shy. I glance down, almost expecting my favorite little light to shine. I'd like to hide it under a bushel basket, but I worry that it won't be a benign sensor, so I pay begrudgingly attention like I do with my Spam folder, never knowing when the essential message might be lurking among the slime.

I think of Tillie, my gas-guzzling faithful "steed" of so many years. Nah, I'm not going to snatch her back, but it makes me appreciate the relatively trouble-free existence I took for granted (Thanks to Mike's Auto and Truck in DeKalb, IL for years of stellar, fairly-priced and hospitable service!)

Happy (Changed) Camper!

CHANGE

Change tends to be difficult, and my changing from "spacious" Tillie the Turtle, my motorhome (and only home) for the past 9 years was no exception. I made the switch to TillieToo, or T2, at the end of September, and it has been a, well, difficult transition.

Change (almost, if ever) never happens the way you intend. I'm almost to the point of thinking "why plan?" since my best laid plans hit the shredder on a fairly regular basis. Despite my best efforts, downsizing, and planning for a smooth move, didn't make a difference. Friends had needs and unanticipated interruptions kept me from focusing on the task at hand.

But would I have focused had I not been otherwise distracted? I don't know. I suspect not.

I have the wherewithal--mental capacity, financial means, support network--to handle change, and yet I struggle with it. I can only wonder what happens when others, less endowed with ability and resources, get the "opportunity" to change tossed at them.

My inability to smoothly cope with change might serve as a clue to remind me that everyone struggles. I might need a bit more practice to grasp this concept. Maybe (!) I'm a slow learner.

After 3 months of struggling with a few major glitches in T2's inner operations (you don't want to know, trust me!), I did what I could do to get it fixed. It meant a trip to Austin, TX where the vehicle was outfitted. Luckily, they worked with me and addressed the problem.

Bunches of lessons to be learned from this time of change. The most basic that needs my entire attention is GRATITUDE. It flips the bad to not-so-bad, or even better. And sometimes that's all you can do with a bad set of circumstances.

So this happy camper will continue to pursue her mission of providing opportunities for families and youth experiencing homelessness to share their stories (www.hearus.us). I'll try to keep in mind my recent episodes with change and use that perspective when I might be tempted to be judgmental, a shortcoming that I continue to struggle with despite my best efforts.

And I'll be grateful for the little things in my life that work, or that push me to look at what needs to change. Yeah.

OK! Oklahoma Backroad Travel Gems

OK! Oklahoma Backroad Travel Gems
(musings and photos by Diane Nilan, © 2014)

I appreciate the value of the Interstate system, initiated by that last great Republican, Dwight D. Eisenhower in the 1950s. But I also love the secondary, and third-ary pavement, too. Why? Today was a perfect example of the BR advantage. Strong winds compromise a vehicle's stability, especially taller ones, like 9’ Tillie2. Instead of dodging lane neighbors, I enjoyed weaving over lines without playing bumper cars. And, the bonus, I could swing through interesting towns and muse. And photograph. And learn.

Today's treasure chest included this statuary combo in El Reno, OK, a bleak oil industry town west of OK City. I did a UE (much easier in T2) and took a few shots. I'm not sure what this collection is all about, but I would have loved to get the story. I'll have to use my imagination.  But this person sure got serious about Lady Liberty. And the sea...?

Chickasha, OK had plenty of fascinating eye-candy, but the Verden Separate School sign got my attention. The "best 1-room school house" for, you guessed it, black kids (though I'll bet that's not how they were referred to back then). The concept of separate schools still exists, aka many public schools, as well as the illegal but still functioning schools for homeless students.

Moseying south on, yup, a secondary road, I was treated to more authentic OK sights. It was a rainy/stormy day, inspiring me to pull off into a gas station parking lot. Viola! Bargain divorces, a conflict with the Sooner State's largely Christian values, I suspect, but I guess Christians need to save money, too, especially when families are splitting up.

Plenty of old (you may insert "dead") towns along the route. I did some reminiscing back to my Dr Pepper days (I was a contrarian as a kid, rejecting Coke). I think this sign hearkens back to the good ol' 50s when high fructose corn syrup hadn't been devised.  Seeing the ever-darkening skies, I started to move on, but, last moment, I glommed onto the visual of the flag and (humble) Christmas decoration. Now, I mused, if "Jesus is the reason for the season" as the saying goes. Why do we have such pathetic birthday decor? Couldn't a local oil baron who got rich ravaging the land and people donate some nice decorations for the Savior?   Just askin'...

Stuff. We Americans have stuff. Wonder how many "antique" stores sell our trash, er, stuff? This one at least took a clever approach, using humor to evoke a chuckle from this stuff-adverse tiny home driver. I didn't stop to shop.

To my ongoing point of the death of many of American towns, I will use Ryan, OK as an example with their empty sidewalks. Rest assured I could find thousands of others. And what's with this raggy flag, flying, of all places, at the Ryan American Legion hall?!

Continuing to pick on Ryan, they might want to reconsider the "No Trespassing Oklahoma" sign. Just a tad on the hostile side. But it got me to smile!

I'll pick on TX with my next post. Thanks for traveling along!

(12/14/14)

Butt Kicked. Slimmed Down. Ready to Roll.

The past 6 weeks of life in a slimmed-down motorhome have, in some ways, kicked my butt. In other ways, I’m delighted. I’ve learned a lot…

Space matters. Less space means less stuff and wiser decisions about what goes and what must be given away or gotten rid of, tougher decisions than I thought. I’ve also needed to spend time figuring out the jigsaw puzzle of space in a cabinet—how to not waste an inch. Phew.

Being slimmer makes travel nicer—no more worries about squeezing through construction barriers or navigating thick traffic, well, at least not the oversized concerns I had. Weird to be able to park without going through angst about where I might fit. 

Tillie the Turtle,
my original--larger--motorhome

Now that I’ve gotten sort of organized—to the point of even getting my simple decor stuck on my limited wall space—I’ve got to say I’m happy that I’ve downsized. It goes beyond my ability to bypass gas stations and my marvel at filling up for $60-70.

TillieToo has pushed from my comfort level into a different space, with my awareness of how much I have (beyond what I need to survive). It’s a perfect opportunity for me to ramp up my gratitude.

We’re heading towards our national obsession with distorting holidays originally designed as times to to be kind and grateful—Thanksgiving and Christmas. 

No matter our religious persuasion (or lack thereof), we can take a few moments to absorb the reality that lots of people in our country and beyond are doing without even the basics. 

No matter our financial standing (or lack thereof), we can do something, at least consider with compassion the plight of millions in our country and the world who lack a safe place to sleep, food to eat, or access to medical care. If we’re able to do more than be aware and kind, even better!

I’m looking forward to the unknown challenges ahead. My nomadic lifestyle gives me opportunities for “afflicting the comfortable and comforting the afflicted” that I take as a personal challenge, even when my comfort is a tad less than I’d like it to be.

Thanks to my Mom, Ellie, whose passing in May 2013 made this phase of my journey possible. You’re laughing, me driving a Mercedes. Well, I’m laughing, too. I get to zoom past gas stations!

Weird, Wonderful Disconnect

Internet, ubiquitous, except when it’s not. 

Little Tillie2 (rt)

After a hectic surge of preparing to disconnect from Tillie, my home-motorhome of 9 years, anticipating with some anxiety the acquisition of TillieToo, my new motorhome of smaller dimensions, and preparing for 2 talks and delivering 1 (one sabotaged by weather travel reality), I was ready for a new normal. 

Instead, I landed in a place where I’ll have very limited internet for a week, at a time I think I need it most.

My anxiety when not able to access internet in my travels has been off the charts. Now I don’t have phone or internet. 

The offsetting factor, being with a friend and her sister and their dogs in a peaceful, beautiful haven in the New Mexico mountains. 

Internet access is possible, but requires deliberate action as opposed to grabbing a device and hopping into the swirl.

My only news is what I absorb from the frenzied flow of TV news that gets turned on once in a while. My dismay at the choice of stories is only matched by listening to the blaring TV political ads and the warning-ladened pharmaceutical ads.

My world is different for a week, a change of pace that makes me appreciate what I take for granted. It’s hard, as hard as these kind of things can be in the scope of real world crises. I catch myself thinking more. Not sure if that’s a good thing, but it’s what we’re created to do. 

My friend commented about her fear that we will soon hit the wall when the techno-gurus run out of answers and solutions for the swarms of tech terrorism that seems to be out of control. I wish I could present a counter argument. 

In the meantime, I’ll clean my hard drive, a task that doesn’t happen when I’m so easily distracted by realtime online action. I’ll make time for hikes and talking with people. I’ll tweak the crammed storage in Tillie2, preparing for my first travel companion, Pat LaMarche, on our ambitious Babes of Wrath trip to Montana, Homeless On the Range. 

Life, ubiquitous, when you let it be.  

Loss, Presence and Presents

While I’m not a packrat in general, you could probably accuse me of being a wall-pack rat. 

I can remember my bedroom when I was 12 or so, every possible inch covered with posters of Dr. Kildare/Richard Chamberlin and Peanuts characters. My decorative trait stuck with me.

So it’s no surprise that Tillie, my motorhome for the past 9 years, has been decorated inside and out to make a statement. Outside, my HEAR US presence—the blatant reminder that over 1.7 million kids are homeless in the US. Inside, well, a more personal statement to/about me, the (mostly) lone occupant. 

I'm in the process of further downsizing, with Tillie2 being readied for my next round of travel. And I'm selling Tillie, hopefully soon, to be ready for my new, more concise, fuel-efficient wheels due to arrive by the end of August. So strip the walls I must...but not without plenty of reflection. 

Perhaps the image I turned to most was this—a photo I had taken of a hot air balloon with a quote that has continued to remind me that what I’m doing makes sense despite moments of despair. 

It is simple. We are where we should be, doing what we should be doing, otherwise we’d be somewhere else doing something else…. (anonymous) 

Yup, I needed reminders like that. I’ve spent these last years doing what even I thought was crazy—chronicling the dreadful (and growing) reality of family and youth homelessness in America, the country that used to inspire nations to want to be like the U.S.

But I digress…this is a personal blog, not one for my societal rants. 

Here's a clip (CLICK here 3-min video) of my inside mementos that kept me company because some of you might be curious (and because I won't be able to display them in Tillie2). But let me comment on just a few of the images and items....

In my first not-knowing-what-the-hell-I-was-doing year, 2005-06, I interviewed 75 kids from across the country. I asked them to share what it was like to not have a home, and what school meant to them.  

A 7-year-old girl named Lacey had plenty to say. Trouble was, fledgling filmmaker that I was, I didn't have the wherewithal to keep the camera pointed in the right direction and rolling. I did get lucky, and for anyone who’s seen My Own Four Walls, my documentary, you can recall her saying “I have to make new friends,” and her unmistakably sad sigh. 

Lacey gave me her heart, well, just half of it. It’s a rubbery thing probably out of a vending machine. It says “Best” and the other half, which she kept, says “Friend.” She's 16 now. Wonder what her life has been like?

The other part of this task that got to me was pulling down the photos in my bedroom. Head shots of special people were clothes pinned to a draped string on 3 sides of the room. Family. Friends. Personal. 

As I unclipped and dusted each one, I held that person in my heart. Some—my Mom, Dad, and sis Patty, along with Aunt Catherine and cousin Christi—have died. Some are struggling with heavy stuff. Some are doing OK. I felt connected with spirits of all, dead and alive.

My life has been pretty soft compared to many people I know. My heart has been dinged by loss enough so I can at least, I hope, relate to—or at least bear witness to—the vast sadnesses of my houseless, disenfranchised sisters and brothers along my path. 

I’m gearing up for Tillie2 and my next unknown route. I’ve learned lots more than I can express in these past years of incredible experiences and travel. I’ve been loved much more than I (sometimes) think I deserve. I’ve grown from a nomad to a pilgrim. 

To journey without being changed, is to be a nomad. To change without journeying is to be a chameleon. To journey and to be transformed by the journeying is to be a pilgrim.  Mark Nepo 

One thing I’ve figured out—I don’t know what’s ahead. But I do know it will be interesting, and worthwhile. So, please travel along with me…if you can stand doing Facebook you’ll get the daily update (and more, which you can pass over or not). 

Your presence is important…to me and to those whose hope is desperately attached to the possibility that our nation, our communities, ourselves, will move toward the ideal that everyone needs a place to call home. 

Tillie: Tithe Your Way to Good Karma--Buy Me!

You may know me as Tillie TheTurtle, Diane’s alter ego on Facebook. 

I’m here to let you know what’s behind my being “retired” and what you might consider doing to help this happen so my transition is good for all involved.  

No, I’m not sick/dying. I’ve got lots of life left in me, as Mike, my “doctor”/mechanic will attest. True, I’ve aged in the past 183,000 miles, but nothing major…a few scrapes and blemishes, idiosyncrasies that come with aging, but I can still roll with the best of ‘em! 

Take a look at these photos to see what I mean. 

And no, Diane isn’t giving up her life on the road, her incredible, unique and effective HEAR US Inc. mission to give voice and visibility to homeless children and youth. She’s found a younger, more svelte companion for her journey. I can’t blame her. She’s got places to go and things to do, and my, um, “holiness” has been slightly problematic, as has my voracious appetite.  

She likes going where it’s cold,
and I don’t keep her warm.

I have to admit that I didn’t keep her warm in those brutal winter days because of my porous nature. And she’s figured out, thanks to my tutelage, that “less is more” when it comes to stuff. She’ll be OK, and will be able to continue traveling cross-country to create awareness of and compassion toward homeless kids.

“Tillie2” will be slimmer, smaller and won’t eat as much. Yeah, I know she’ll miss me and my abundant storage, my creature comforts, and my (now stripped) visual presence.

So, now that they’ve removed the blatant reminders that kids are homeless, signs that grabbed the attention of passing travelers, my boss needs to sell me. But she’s figured out a way to do this that will help homeless families. 

And we both know that I’m a Karma Queen—every moment of my existence has been to do good. We figure that counts for a bunch. 

To make this purchase even more enticing, Diane will tithe 10% of my purchase price to either your/her favorite homeless family shelter. Here’s the link to the basic info you’ll need to know. 

Yup. The buyer and Diane will agree on a purchase price. The buyer writes a check for 10% of the agreed-upon price and donates it to a program sheltering homeless families (she knows some excellent ones if the buyer doesn’t), and Diane will deduct that donation from the final purchase price. Tithing and good karma plus you get me, a 27’ motorhome that will give you lots of great camping experiences!

My replacement, Tillie2, is getting readied and will be available at the end of August, in time to get prepped and ready for September travel. The way time flies we don’t have much time. Diane has a place to temporarily stay once she lets me go, so my new owner can acquire me any time before that.

Check out my photos on the HEAR US website. (Check out the fine work we’ve been doing, too!) You can contact Diane for more information. If you’re in the northern Illinois area, you can arrange a visit.