Adventure 1: The Sprague Motel

Fric

Frac

Our very first adventure began when we pulled out of the Airstream lot towing our "new to us" 23' International, and headed West on I-90 toward Sprague.  We arrived about dusk and gently puled into one of a half dozen gravel slabs nestled behind the old Srague Motel in an area that doubles as a most inglorious RV park. Bordering one edge of the park was a row of tired single wides barely hidden behind a weathered fence as tired as the forgotten town. Beyond the opposite border was an expanse of dryland, which was part basalt heave and part scraggily wheat field. Had it been light, we'd probably have just turned around and driven home, but we were ready as children about to find excitement. I began connecting water and power to the trailer, the procedures still fresh in my mind from the two hour orientation we'd just been through. Happy enough, we had electric power and were just about to engage the propane furnace when I heard the sound of splashing water. Thinking I had hooked the water up incorrectly, I went out into the dark, flashlight in hand, to investigate. I soon realized the fresh water tank was spewing water out its bottom as fast as the Sprague city water came in. So there I was, wriggling on my back in the damp gravel, flashlight nestled under my chin, learning the newly obvious truth about the water tank's drain valve: it closes opposite to the lefty-loosy rule. Drenched but not forlorn, I finally solved the mystery, and we proceeded to spend a fitful night acclimating ourselves to the hums, clicks, and gurgles of our new home on wheels. Inauspicious as the first night may have been, the new morning reminded us that life is clearly good, especially today.