As with new babies, campers apparently need names. Owners like to say that they're taking Southern Belle, Tiger Lily, Big Blue, or The Sparrow on the road.
No bird, flower or butterfly is going to adorn the side of my Scotty.
I hereby christen my 1974 Serro Scotty : The Scottish Mongoose.
Can't decide which one of my ancestors' tartan patterns to use, but I believe there will be plenty of time to make decorating decisions. Seeing as it took me 9 hours today to remove everything from the outer skin.
The rear wall crumbles when touched, all three other walls are trying to catch up.
Windows were anchored in black wood dust. Only thing holding them had to be the copious amounts of caulking slathered on by a previous owner, after half a case of beer (because nothing else can explain why it looked like an elephant sneezed caulk all over the trailer) .
Youtube tutorial instructed to remove all windows, lights, ports, everything.
Everything came off, but the door (I don't want Dax to play in it unsupervised).
Some things are too crispy and I need to find replacements.
Scottish Mongoose is stripped naked on her first day!
...345 caulking junked Robertson screws later.
Before knowing if they'd be various sizes, I individually bagged each item.
My OCD side made me do it!
Guess what? They're all the same size! All I have to do is buy 2 lbs of new stainless steel screws.
Seeing life through rose tinted glasses.
I can't wait for my next day off, Youtube says to pop all the rivets on the J strip and peel the outer metal cladding. Stay tuned next week for the shedding of the skin.
More than a fortnight has passed since I bought my Scotty camper from my neighbor. After two long weeks of anticipation, I call Scrappy and tell him that I have the day off, can I please come get the trailer? High noon, after he's taken his tools out... As my dually is at the body shop, Flynn takes his lunch break to bring the farm truck for the job.
Scrappy says if we take it easy, we should make it down his bumpy driveway without it breaking apart... yes, the rear wall is that rotted. Tends to happen when a broken out window is facing the prevailing winds for eons.
Flynn drives, I follow, making sure to pick up any discarded pieces and record snakes bailing.
No calamity going down Scrappy Lane.
Now, for the front end misaligning concrete speed bump across my entry gate.
Home free!!!
And the inspection begins. Chief Mechanic checking out frame. No major rust detected.
Before being Scrappy's tool shed, this was a hunting camp in Georgia. I'm guessing opening cupboard doors was too much of a hassle for a man cave, so they were ripped off?!? Thank goodness Scrappy is not one to toss much of anything, some of the doors and drawers are found, alas, not the full set.
Flynn's six feet make his head rub the ceiling.
He's standing in front of the entrance to the bathroom cubicle. I'm not sure how anyone who's not a gymnast is supposed to use it, but maybe there's a Youtube tutorial on that too.
The original propane dinette light still intact.
Ditto for one of the electric lights. Years of bird poop adds to the mystique.
All emblems are still attached.
Both original wheel hubs.
All original light lenses! I can't even claim that on my 17 year old dually! I'm very thankful this Scotty has received minimal renovations that could've stripped it of its authentic artifacts.
Time to roll up my sleeves and get 40 something years of crud out.
Gingerly using a stick to lift debris and insulation looking for snakes and wasps.
1980's flea infested seats hurled to the road.
Meanwhile, for his own safety, Dax is outside, fretting.
Reliably annoying, yet reassuring by his omnipresence.
Eventually all the garbage is out, everything vacuumed, walls and floors washed-- Dax can conclude his internal investigation.
The King declares this to be an acceptable second home. Even though I'm planning a total redo form the frame up, salvaging what I can along the way, I can't stomach working up to my eyeballs in roach and mouse feces, nor am I capable of ignoring my active imagination telling me what portly hunters had done to the walls of the micro-bathroom over the years.
Tantalizing clues start popping up. Helping me pinpoint the model and age of this camper.
I use a propane torch to melt the accumulation of paint off the frame to reveal the VIN #.
Eureka! It is a 1974, 15 footer, Serro Scotty Sportsman with Gaucho interior. Manufactured on Oklahoma and originally sold in Kansas. The camper is officially 3 years younger than myself. Which makes me feel that this old gal's exterior (even if I'm planning to peel walls) need A Spa Day.
My hands are still burning from all the scrubbing with bleach water, but worth it.
I detect she's on her third paint job: original being the standard white and aqua, next white and blue, then beige and black roof (which wins the Einstein award when parked anywhere in the Lower 48 from March to November). Remember the rock guard:
Tugged at my heart strings to remove decades of intricate lichen. Massive amounts of scrubbing and this begins to emerge:
His Lordship inspects progress. Finds peasant woman old and slow, but seeing as he's fresh out of minions, he tolerates her.
Peasant might earn an extra serving of gruel tonight.
But, she'll get no alone time.
King's favorite perch is now on my lap when I'm working on my computer.
If only he could proof read, and not stand up, which is surprisingly counterproductive.
I may have bitten off more than I can chew with the renovation of the trailer, but what an adventure lays ahead!!!
Sometimes I indulge in reverie, look ahead at the little white nub of a tail that my old legs are trying to follow at a pace not my own...
...I imagine it's Cole incarnate. Then the bubble burst and I'm reminded I've fallen in love with the most impertinent, uncivil, ill-bred German.
Bless his heart, he can't help himself. I've given up crying, raging and threatening to kill him, laughter plus another year of saintly patience and I should have a gallant gentleman on my hands--- or at least a dog that won't have daily matricidal thoughts running through his pea brain. And yet, I look forward to both my daily runs. To greet the sun and tuck it into bed.
It's what me, Dax, Peter and Garrett do: we are a pack, we travel together. Nightly ritual: we all three split and apple before falling asleep.
Teamwork. Every night.
My gentlemen and the heathen.
The face of a chubby angel.
The other angel.
Now if I could carve out more than the narrow strip of bed assigned to me!
