Traveling in the summer is interesting, except if you are traveling between Toronto and Ottawa, in which case you might as well bring along packs of pins with which to poke your eyes to keep yourself from falling asleep. The only good thing about that stretch of road is the preponderance of truck stops, and we all know how I feel about those. Even though truck stops are 100% to blame for my expanding arsage, I still love them.
Anyway, highway 104 in Nova Scotia is pretty, and a lot more interesting. There sure are a lot of dead creatures on the side of the road. And so many RV trailers. Which are kind of the same as dead creatures, at least in terms of the speed at which they both travel.
RV trailers are a huge pain in the ass, am I right? They putter along and never pull over to let normal people pass them. Nope. They are vacationers out on the adventure of a lifetime and they aren’t going to let any more time, or any more vehicles, pass them by.
|On an adventure!|
Why is this activity, this dragging of a house along the highway, why is this considered living a dream? It’s almost always seniors. Is this something I’ll discover when I hit 70? I’ll turn 70, my boobs will officially hit my knees and I’ll wake up one morning and say, “Brian, let’s buy a $250,000 toaster and hurl ourselves down the bleakest stretches of Canadian highway for a whole summer”.
|Looks like FUN!|
He’ll look at me and say “Darlene (because he’ll be completely demented by then), let’s plan our route to hit all the tar spreading, gravel dumping, and lane reductions that we can”.
I don’t want to sound ageist, I think people do ridiculous, inexplicable things at all ages. Skateboarding for teenagers, having children for young adults, liking Sheryl Crow for middle aged people and, well, buying an RV if you’re a senior citizen. Are these rites of passage? Are we destined to follow the footsteps of our forebears?
Is it inevitable?
I don’t think it is, and I think that all of us, if we can, have to be vigilant in our fight to not join the ranks of “The People of the RV”. I think there are several keys to avoiding turning into one of “them”.
Do not wear matching track suits. Unless you are Brian and me, in which case it is ironic and sassy. No baseball hats with slogans that refer to you being a senior.
Do not wear suspenders.
Unless you are a fireman and you’re not wearing a top and you are carrying an axe.
Do not do this if you are over 35, even if you are a fireman.
Do not send back your toast at the diner because it’s not the right toastedness.
Do not shuffle in order to make yourself appear that you are hurrying, when you clearly walking at your normal speed. Below is a demonstration. You’re not fooling anyone.
Do not tell the girl at the Tim Horton’s that you remember when there was a Dance Hall on the site of this building. She doesn’t know what you’re talking about. She is hung over. She is today’s youth and doesn’t give a crap about anything.
To avoid being a trailblazing senior, be boring. People who go on RV adventures are usually into having a good time. I think it’s probably a weird seniors sex cult. I mean it all makes sense. Traveling beds, really. With mini fridges for juice and medications. Chemical toilets. The true 24 hour party people. Added bonus of 15% off at Safeway and the ability to be entertained by birds.
|100% Approved for a Sexy Road Trip|
Our tour manager, Wayne, has a fun game he plays with RV’s, like an Eye Spy game for bored musicians on the road to keep us from whining and wanting to stop every 20 minutes for pork rinds. Here’s the game:
RV’s all have names. On the back, they have a brand name and then another name like Spitfire or Firefly. What you do is put the word “anal” in front of that word. Then you laugh and laugh because otherwise you realize how much you hate being in a freaking van for 6 hours.
A small sampling of our results:
Anal Star Stream
Anal Fun Finder
And so forth.
It’s nice to think of the people of the RV in their Anal Zingers or their Anal Lances, trundling to grandchildren hither and yon. I complain, but really, their generation paid the taxes that supplemented my education, my overuse of the healthcare system and the roads that they currently block up with their complicated, expensive and polluting alternatives to motels. So I appreciate you, but I also curse you, Anal Road Warriors, one and all.