Limbo. Again.

I’m really starting to get sick of limbo. 

Those of you who have been following this crazy little adventure know the story; we’re trying (tenaciously and without success) to travel the country, in an RV, in search of the best craft beer in the lower 48.

You probably also know we ordered the RV in March, when we were told it would be delivered in September. I knew that was a pipe dream the minute the dealer uttered the words. Thanks to social media, we knew more about what was going on at the factory than they did. So I was neither surprised nor disappointed when we got the call, explaining that when they said September, they really meant February. I knew it was coming.

I also knew February was tenuous. We’ve been following all the missteps, gremlins and booby traps first-adopting owners have experienced. Some were pretty bad. Like locating major plumbing components, prone to leak, above the main electrical system. Seems like an obviously unwise design choice. But, who knows? Maybe, in Indiana, where this contraption is being assembled, water flows uphill? 

In my heart of hearts, I knew fixing all the problems would take time and that could mean another delay. I knew that. But, when we got the news, I didn’t take it as well as the first time. I guess, for a change, I was being optimistic. They’ll sort it all in time, I thought. We’re gonna be fine. Don’t fret. 

Yeah, right. We got the news from the dealer. 

Good news: the manufacturer is going to fix this. Bad news: they don’t know how or when. And it’s going to take a while. How long? We have no idea. Sorry.

Annoyed. Frustrated. Aggravated. More months of waiting, stuck, dead in the water. You can’t drive a parked RV. And you sure as hell can’t figure out how the thing works or customize it or play Tetris with the storage if you can’t get your mitts on it.

That’s what I get for being positive. 

But really, what’s another few months, right? In the grand scheme of things, I figure it doesn’t amount to beans. On the other hand, I’m nearing the end of my productive life. Even if I live 20 or 30 or (gasp) 40 more years, the next 10 are probably going to be the ones I can actually get stuff done. 

I need to get going. Now. My biological clock is ticking. Loud and ominous. One day, my to-do list will present important, momentous decisions like tapioca or Jell-O? Blue pajamas or red? And I hate, hate, hate having engineering failures and parts shortages and a worldwide pandemic keep my life on hold. 

Stupid COVID. Not that COVID is entirely to blame. But it’s convenient.

But wait. COVID. The COVID news parallels the RV news. 

Good news: we’re going to get past this. Bad news: we don’t know how or when. There’s a new variant the vaccines don’t work so well against, so you might as well stop going out and start wearing your mask again, 24/7. It’s going to be a while. How long? We have no idea. Sorry.

And I’m like, OK, we can’t travel the country, brewery to brewery, anyway. COVID put the kibosh on that plan. At least you’re still breathing, without help from a ventilator. Buck up. Count your blessings! Look at it as an opportunity, I catch myself thinking. 

But that has all the earmarks of positive thinking. And we see how well that worked out, last time I tried it.

Curse you, Norman Vincent Peale!

=S

TO BE CONTINUED

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