Bumpy road of a novice RVer

Our rented motor home shimmied and shook as we began the long climb up the Cajon Pass to the high desert. Traffic hurtled by to our left. We hugged the slow lane, crossed our fingers and talked about other near-death experiences.

“Going uphill is definitely not a strong point,” I said as a semi blasted by and the RV shuddered. Actually, I didn’t say it; I yelled it. So many things were rattling inside the vehicle -- the mini-blinds, the stove, the microwave -- that we couldn’t hear one another without shouting.

“It’s a much harsher ride than I expected,” Ted hollered back. “Your body takes a beating. And we look like a traveling billboard,” he said, referring to the 2-foot-high Cruise America advertisements scrawled across the sides of the motor home.

“I guess there’s not much chance people will think we’re old hands at this,” I said.

“Not the way you’re driving,” Dorothy said, laughing.

Laughter is a good thing, I thought to myself, and I hoped we would keep on laughing.

We did. Through the engine that wouldn’t start, the heater that wouldn’t work and the ladder that fell and almost beaned Dorothy. We even kept on laughing -- well, almost -- when the toilet waste tank splashed on us.

Several days later, when I told Cruise America executive Bob Calderone about our journey, he gave me some after-the-fact advice: “You need to take along a sense of humor the first time you rent.”

I had to admit I’d never given much thought to the problems a novice RVer might encounter when I invited Ted Panzer and Dorothy DesLauriers, who are veteran tent campers, to join me on a long weekend in the desert. The plan was to rent a motor home and see why RV travel has become a star of the travel industry. When other modes of travel faltered after Sept. 11, motor home sales and rentals surged. Families, especially boomers, piled into RVs in record numbers last summer, according to travel industry statistics.

And there had to be a first time for all of them.

“We try to make our vehicles as bulletproof as possible,” Calderone said. “But it’s a very complex system. It’s an apartment on wheels.”

I thought we might be in trouble when Ted and I went to the Galaxy Campers lot in Ontario to pick up our mini motor home. Surrounded by camper shells and RVs, Cruise America rental agent Karen Lovejoy introduced us to our 25-foot cab-over rig. She used words that usually put me to sleep: valves, switches, shorelines, hookups, holding tanks, waste tanks, generators, propane tanks, receptacles. Only now I wasn’t asleep; I was panicking.

“I don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” I blurted. “Relax,” she said, pointing to Ted. “He knows what I’m talking about.”

“Do you understand this?” I asked.

“Sure,” he answered confidently.

Our orientation lecture lasted about an hour. When it was done, I was more confused than ever.

“Just get in and drive,” Lovejoy said. “Don’t worry. You’ll have a great time.”

I crawled up into the driver’s seat and checked my rearview mirror, but all it reflected was the inside of the RV.

“I can’t see anything,” I said, my voice rising as I rolled down the window to talk to her.

“Relax,” she said again. “You have mirrors on both sides; use them instead of the rearview mirror.”

I waited for Ted to pull ahead of me in his car, then eased into drive and bumped out of the RV lot. Five miles of stop signs and lights en route to Ted and Dorothy’s house helped loosen me up.

My high-profile vehicle brushed overhanging tree limbs only a couple of times.

Ted and I loaded the motor home. We took a good look around the inside as we brought aboard food, blankets, utensils and other supplies.

Our rig, built on a Ford truck chassis, was a masterpiece of compact storage. It had 16 cupboards of varying sizes, a double bed, a dining alcove, sink, refrigerator, stove, easy chair, microwave and bathroom. The bathroom wasn’t much to speak of: The toilet stall was only 18 inches wide. There was also a tiny shower.

Besides the double bed, there was a cab-over bunk above the driving compartment, and the dining alcove converted into a bed. The double bed was standard size, but the two other beds were fit for kids or Lilliputians. The cab-over had only 18 inches of clearance between the bed and the ceiling -- a headache in the making if you awoke with a start. The dining alcove bed, where I slept, was only 5 feet, 6 inches long. Unfortunately, I’m 5 feet 8.

We picked up Dorothy at work and pulled into a gas station. We pulled out $50 later. It was the first of four gas stops we made as we prowled the desert, putting 633 miles on our rental and spending $143.55 on gas.

I rented from Cruise America because of availability and convenience. Like the other major player in the U.S. industry, El Monte RV, Cruise America has a three-day minimum. During fall, both offer special deals. Our motor home, for instance, cost $457.61 for three days and three days free.

One inconvenience: Both agencies have a small window for picking up and dropping off vehicles. For a weekend rental, for instance, you must pick up a Cruise America vehicle between 9 a.m. and 3 p.m. Friday and drop it off between 9 and 11 a.m. Monday.

Transported to another world

We topped Cajon Summit as the sun was setting. We were growing hungry, but with thousands of other weekend travelers on the road, we didn’t want to waste time stopping.

“This is why we have a motor home,” Ted said, as he peered into a cupboard in search of snacks. He reappeared with a savory wheel of Gouda and crackers.

“We may have gotten off to a rocky start, but there must be lots of other good reasons to vacation like this,” I said. “Seven million RV owners can’t be wrong.”

Ted answered quickly. “No matter how cold the weather is, you’re protected,” he said, recalling a night camping in the desert when the temperature dropped to 17 degrees.

“No matter how bad the wind is, you’re not out in it,” Dorothy said, recalling a storm last Thanksgiving that played havoc with their tent. “I think if you had kids or pets or elderly people along, it would offer a lot of other advantages too.”

About an hour later, we added another plus to our list when we arrived at Mojave National Preserve, our destination. This isolated 1.6-million-acre chunk of desert is so vast that it is one of the largest units in the National Park System, but there are no accommodations in the park. The closest lodging is a four-room bed-and-breakfast in Nipton, near the north end of the preserve.

There are two fine family campgrounds, one in a pockmarked volcanic region called Hole-in-the-Wall and the other set amid junipers and pinyon pines in a region called Mid-Hills. Both are first come, first served. We eased the RV over the washboard road leading to Hole-in-the-Wall and kept our fingers crossed that there would be empty campsites.

“Eleven’s open,” Ted yelled.

“Fourteen looks good,” Dorothy said.

We circled the campground and found several sites open. Our choice was one close to a toilet -- a pit toilet.

Why, one might ask, did we care about pit toilets when we had our own toilet on board?

Because our sewer hookup and sewage disposal lesson had been so intimidating we decided we would rather use a pit toilet than have to dump the storage tank.

OK, so we’re wusses.

With Ted’s help, I backed the RV into a campsite, and we settled in. Ted paid the $12-per-night camping fee, then stacked kindling and wood in our site’s fire ring and lighted it. We broke out some wine, relaxed in camp chairs and remembered why we had wanted to come. Above us was a full moon in a clear sky. We could see the stark outline of volcanic mountains in the distance, and we could hear the crackling fire and the far-off wail of a coyote. It was a six-hour drive from our homes but a world apart.

We talked for a couple of hours, enjoying the stillness of the 43-degree night air.

“Much as I love being out here right now, I’m glad I’m not sleeping in a tent,” I said.

Getting past the glitches

I would have been happier had my bed been a couple of inches longer. I also would have been happier if we had tested the motor home heater to make sure it worked -- and that we knew how to use it -- before leaving Galaxy Campers. The temperature dropped to 35 degrees around 4 a.m. I shivered in my bed and hoped daylight would arrive quickly.

We awoke at 7:15 a.m. to the sound of gunfire echoing off the surrounding mountains. It was deer hunting season, and it seemed that everyone else in the campground was already out stalking bucks.

I said a silent prayer for the deer.

Dorothy wanted to fix some coffee and asked how to start the stove. I looked at Ted. He didn’t answer.

“I thought you said you understood when Karen gave us the orientation.”

“I did understand,” he said. “I just don’t remember.”

Dorothy fiddled with things for a while, then got out the 117-page Cruise America manual. She had coffee brewing in a matter of minutes. We sat outside at our picnic table and planned our day.

Mojave National Preserve is a relatively new park, established in 1994 through the California Desert Protection Act. It is home to rose-colored sand dunes, limestone caverns, volcanic cinder cones, Joshua tree forests and nine mountain ranges topping out at nearly 9,000 feet. There is a variety of wildlife, from desert tortoises to bighorn sheep and mule deer.

There are about 2,000 miles of road -- much of it unpaved -- within the park. We planned a route that would take us through the center of the preserve to its northeastern edge and down to the southwestern edge. We knew it would be a long day.

“So what should we leave in the campsite and what should we take?” Dorothy asked.

“Score another plus for the RV,” Ted said. “We don’t have to leave anything. We can take it all with us.”

I wasn’t sure that was a plus, because it meant packing and unpacking. But at least we wouldn’t have to worry about anything being stolen while we were gone.

We marked the campsite so no one else would take it and headed out across the desert, Ted at the wheel. The park roads weren’t as good as the major highways we had taken to get here, and the clatter, rattle and bounce of our vehicle seemed to increase tenfold.

The age of our RV probably had something to do with the rough ride. Our 2000-model rental had more than 60,000 miles on it. The driver’s seat back was broken, the armrest was missing, the dinette table was cracked and we had trouble starting the engine a few times.

Seal Beach residents Brian and Rosie Brown had a similar experience when they rented the first time. Their 32-foot El Monte RV rental “was old and falling apart,” Brian said. “A door fell off in our daughter’s hand, and she’s only 4. It went 35 mph uphill; going downhill was worse because the brakes seemed so shaky.”

Nevertheless, the Browns said they had a terrific family vacation visiting the Grand Canyon, Bryce and Zion in Utah and other Western parks. “It was a great way to vacation with small kids,” Brian said. “We could stop when we wanted and move on when we wanted. And we didn’t have to lose a couple of hours every time we wanted to eat.”

So the Browns took the plunge. They just spent more than $100,000 on a used motor home.

A day in the desert

We stopped at the tiny town of Nipton, near the boundary of the park, to have lunch. The 1910 Hotel Nipton, the closest lodging to the park, is a step back in time. Four charming bedrooms lead off a parlor that has exposed beams, a wood-burning stove and Southwest-style furniture. The price is right: $69.50 a night. The downsides: shared bathrooms and a location next to a frequently used rail line.

Neither deterred Andralee Drescher, a Laughlin, Nev., resident who was staying at the hotel for the first time when we visited. “We made the reservations on a fluke. We were so happy when we got here and saw it that we were giddy. It’s a wonderful little place.”

We piled back into our rig and realized we needed gas again. The RV averaged 9 miles a gallon, so we had to tank up frequently. A 34-mile trip southwest on Interstate 15 took us to the nearest station, at Halloran Summit, where we paid $2.50 per gallon and met Boxer the rockhound. Actually, Boxer is an 8-year-old Great Dane-German shepherd mix that greets customers and chases -- and catches -- rocks at Hilltop Mart and Gas Station.

“Someone should buy that dog a Frisbee,” Dorothy said, laughing.

“Or invite him to be on Letterman’s stupid pet tricks,” I said.

We turned back into the park and drove south on scenic Cima Road, where thick stands of Joshua trees and rugged outcroppings of jumble rocks lured us into frequent stops to explore and shoot pictures. That made us late arriving at Kelso Dunes, a 45-mile-long sea of softly carved sand mountains that rise as much as 600 feet above the desert floor. A hike to the summit is about three miles, but with sunset beginning to tinge the sky, we decided we couldn’t make it.

Back at our campsite, we grilled steaks, drank more wine and counted constellations. Then I shivered again in my bed and wished, one more time, that I was shorter or the bed was longer.

What a dump

On our final day we drove to Mitchell Caverns, a state park within the preserve. Rangers lead tours -- for $3 per person -- through a lighted cave system that features limestone stalactites and stalagmites. The tour is fun, and the 65-degree temperature inside the cave was a nice break from the 85-degree heat outside.

We were hiking back to the ranger station along a 2-foot-wide trail about 500 feet above the desert floor when I caught a bit of movement out of the corner of my eye. A Mojave speckled rattlesnake was heading toward me. I screamed and backed away. The snake blithely crossed the trail and slithered down the hillside.

We retreated to the RV, had lunch and headed for home.

The next day I called Galaxy Campers to double-check on turn-in times. Lovejoy wasn’t there, and I talked to Shirley Yavelak, who said she was the owner of Galaxy Campers. I mentioned that we wouldn’t be dumping the toilet waste tank because we hadn’t used it.

“Yes, you will,” she said. “Or you’ll pay a $100 fee for returning the RV without cleaning out the tank.”

I called my friends and relayed the bad news.

Ted and I drove to a waste disposal station near the Galaxy lot. We expected the worst.

At least we weren’t surprised.

Despite our best efforts -- and careful reading of the Cruise America handbook -- raw sewage splattered us when Ted removed the sewer outlet valve cover. The stench was unmistakable.

Lovejoy later apologized and said she wouldn’t charge us the $100 fee. “The last person who used it obviously didn’t dump correctly,” she said.

It’s a good thing we’d packed our sense of humor.

Rosemary McClure is an editor in the Travel section.