It Runs In The Family

I know, I’m way behind in posting. The truth is, I’ve gotten hung up on some things that should be fairly simple, which makes it easy to start doubting yourself and giving yourself the old “maybe you should have thought this through a little more” parental speeches while staring forlornly at the behemoth in the driveway.

But the other truth is that I am on the verge of a ton of things that might fall together rather easily once I cross this hump, so I am crossing my fingers and telling my parental self to suck it. We’re here now. No going back.

I’m still shooting for Midwest Reggae Fest at the end of July. Gracie won’t be anywhere near done, but if she is at least water-tight, mold-free, and we have a bed to sleep in, I’m calling that a Win. At the moment, we are 2 for 3 on that list. Putting the rear walls back in so I can get the bed frame put back together is our latest hurdle. I would love to have gotten her painted by then, but that’s probably a pipe dream, so I should let that one go and focus on the important stuff. Like not getting wet while sleeping. So she’ll look a little rough, but with enough dancing and celebrating, maybe no one will notice.

In the meantime, I am going to save all the things I HAVE accomplished since the last post for the next post so it will look so much more impressive all grouped together. Cause I’m tricky like that.

So what are we doing here today, then, you ask? I thought you might like to know a little bit about what makes me nostalgic over this girl. I come by it honestly. Both sets of my grandparents managed to instill in me qualities that landed me here. Whether I am crediting them or blaming them is a matter of interpretation.

Where We Began – Me and Gracie

My maternal grandparents, Howard and Bernice Simon, were lovers of all things history. They were the keepers of the family lore, the family cemetery and a great deal of the family belongings. My grandmother was a genealogist by trade and many of my early days were spent in cemeteries and talking over stories of relatives long gone. My grandfather kept a family museum, an actual museum, in the basement of their house that was lovingly cataloged and dusted for anyone who wanted to take a look. Most of those items now reside in the Boardman, Ohio Historical Society museum.

Bernice and Howard

My paternal grandparents, Ernie and Claire Cooper, loved the simple life of camping and being outdoors. They owned a trailer that stayed in a campground at Lake Berlin, OH, as long as I can remember. Much of my childhood summer memories revolve around that trailer, the other long-term residents of the campground who were our deepest friends, and hours on the lake or around the campfire. Fridays in the summer were “packing up for the lake” days, and I remember the 1/2 hour drive to the campground almost mile for mile.  I feel utterly blessed to have gotten to spend so much time with them there, basking in their undivided attention, and hanging out around that little trailer with people who were at least 50 years my senior. The smells and sounds of camper life are closer than the 40 years since they happened. I’m not exactly certain how big that trailer was. My kid brain wants to make it enormous, but in reality it was probably somewhere around 25′ feet long.  (Dad or Aunt Shirley, feel free to correct my estimate.)

Claire and Ernie

Enter this broken down old dented up aluminum tin can I have named Gracie. She’s old. She has memories. And she talks to me.

Here’s what I know about her so far…

The Trotwood Trailer company’s birthdate is in 1932, at the height of the Great Depression, when 2 school teachers in Trotwood, Ohio, decided to take their hobby out of the garage and share it with the world. They were innovators, developing new axle systems and were the first company to introduce the side door floor plan over the rear entry, which is now the industry standard. They are credited as the inventors of the “canned ham” style trailer, a most celebrated and coveted vintage trailer style with its own cult following. By the time Gracie was born in 1960,  neighbors were not surprised to see 12 trailers a day rolling out of the factory near downtown setting out on new adventures across the country. Trailers ranged in size from 13′ to 43′. Gracie clocks in at a relatively diminutive 16′ from tail to tongue.

I found this old map at a flea market. I plan to have it framed with a star placed at the location of the factory (just above where it says OLDTOWN) to hang on the wall when she is done.

Sadly, fire destroyed the Trotwood factory in 1981, and the company was not able to recover. It was never rebuilt. There aren’t many Trotwood Trailers left anymore as age and the elements have taken most of them. But their reputation as being well-built and sturdy is what makes them sought after by collectors. Where other trailers of the same era have rotted away, much of the original frames and structures of Trotwoods are frequently still intact, if they were loved and cared for in any way. Gracie is one such trailer, despite her desperate appearance and stint as a hunting trailer in a field.

So this is why I feel connected to her. I believe I am preserving a bit of Ohio history, which my Simon grandparents would love. And I hope to have a place to create new memories with people I love, on which, I like to think, my Cooper grandparents would have gleefully come along. It’s fate, really.

My aunt said recently that my grandparents are looking down on me and smiling. I’m smiling right back.

 

 

The Starting Gate

I have set myself a goal. I need Gracie to be leaf-proof, mold-free, and sleepable (like, with beds and stuff) by the last weekend in July. She doesn’t have to be done. She doesn’t have to be pretty. But I need her to be functional, because I wanna party. That’s my 50th  birthday weekend, and we are heading to MidWest Reggae Fest at Clay’s Park in Canton, OH. It is sure to be an outstanding weekend, and I would love to bring Gracie along as part of the celebration. Plus, it means not sleeping on the ground in a tent. A big plus for me. 😉

(If you are interested in Reggae Fest, check out the website here. So. Much. Fun.)

That gives us about 8 weeks. Therefore, we can’t be sitting around. We got work to do.

Before

Before we dig in to the dirty stuff, I want to give you an idea where we are starting. So here are some “before” shots for reference as we go along. Hopefully, at some point, we will look back on this fondly and laugh. Without crying.

A close up of Gracie’s boo boo. Apparently, one of her previous owners jack-knifed her into her own car while backing up. Oops.

A peek inside the front door.

I’ll be honest, this is what captured my heart. These countertops and cabinets are nearly perfect.

The dinette, also nearly perfect. Just don’t look at the wall.

Kinda proud of this, the original logo.

 

A look toward the back bunk area, with the top bed down.

Not sure why I don’t have good pictures of the cabinet opposite the kitchen area that has the larger cupboards and the fridge, but trust me, they’re there. The fridge is not original, but that’s ok. Yay, cold stuff and ice cubes.

 

Some of the less attractive features, the (really gross disgusting) (I think it was blue, but I can’t be sure) carpet in the back half and the (what the hell where they thinking) green “marble” stick on tile in the front half. And those nasty mini-blinds on the front window, along with the side roller shades that were screwed to the wall (see the inside the door pic). Don’t ask me, I don’t know either.

Love that carpet/tile combo. Not.

But here is our biggest problem… so far…

Yeah, that’s mold in the corner, over the top bunk. Try not to breathe while you look at these pictures, just in case.

There is a similar, although less damaged section in the opposite corner. So that is where we start.

Demo Day(s)

Technically, the very first thing I did while I was waiting around for the tow truck on that first day was rip up the carpet. Might as well be productive, right? Out it went. Cough, wheeze. Next, as soon as we were home, and I mean almost immediately because it bothered me that much, was to get those hideous window treatments out. I literally threw them out the door with glee. Also quick to go were the foam cushions for the bunks. I was hoping to reuse them, but closer inspection left me grossed out, so I think they will serve as templates for new cushions instead. I was astonished at the amount of foam also wedged under the bottom bed inside the bed frame. Add it to the list of Why Did They Do That.

At this point I was able to do a bit of cleaning. Walls, cupboards, surfaces. The cupboards are surprisingly intact. The insides are very clean in the undamaged sense. And if it weren’t for the holes in the front overhead cabinet from the (insert cuss word here) previous owner poking holes in them with a screw driver to hang speakers, the front cabinets and insides almost look like they did when she rolled out of the factory in 1960. Thanks, (insert cuss word here) previous owner.

The next morning I was able to start putting a plan together. And that plan entailed getting into the moldy corner. I started by taking out the bed platforms (2 for the top and 2 for the bottom, because they slide out). Then off came the moldings that held in the top bed frame. And then out came the bottom bed frame, but not without a lot of swearing and yelling at old stubborn screws.

This little blanking screw was the only thing holding the bed frame to the camper.

One screw… I will not let it beat me.

Once the beds were completely out, I could start ripping into the wall and ceiling panels. Literally. Much of them came off in my hands, they were that water and mold damaged. Blech.

Note: safety glasses, masks and ventilation are critical here. Just do it.

On first examination, it didn’t look like there was much frame damage from whatever leak was plaguing our girl. That was wishful thinking. However, considering her age and the condition I have seen of other similar models, I still think we got off pretty light.

I will admit to you that I do not believe I have ever uttered a string of curse words more vile and lengthy than I did during this portion of demolition. You know how they say that things built in the mid-20th century were made to last? They came close. I seriously believe that no one ever intended these interior panels to come down again.  They used a fastener I have never seen before in my life. From the front, it looks like some sort of decorative brad or pin. But on the back-side, it has a sick twisted screw end. There was no way to grab them from the front side of the plywood. My dream of getting the panels off semi-intact to be used as templates for the new plywood crumbled in a sea of profanity as I had to literally rip off sheets inches at a time until the Nail From Hell was exposed and then pry it out with the claw end of the hammer. What. The. F#*&. They are now my mortal enemies. Get thee behind me.

Looks so innocent, doesn’t it?

 

Demon spawn hardware

Along with all the old plywood came the moldy insulation. That was fun. But finally she is exposed. Her insides. Gross.

I need to stop here a moment to reiterate that I am a rescuer and not a restorer. It is at this at this point in our story that a more financially lucrative person would opt for a full frame up restoration to completely rip out and replace the rotted part of framework and put all new skins on to start over. I am not that person. I fully understand that the steps I am about to tell you are going to make some die hard renovators gasp in horror. Too bad. This is my camper. Get over it. She and I are getting along just fine for the moment, and when we need to take more drastic steps, we will. Until then, bite me.

Ahem. Sorry.

Side note: we found evidence of a few former inhabitants. Some dead. Some still alive. Imagine me, in full safety gear, jumping back in horror and doing a writhing shuddering dance. That was me, meeting the ant colony.

A little spider nest. I can handle this.

Abandoned wasp nest. Kinda cute.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. There is no video, but the floor was moving.

First up (after insecticide)… get rid of the mold so we can all breathe. Everything moldy that could come out came out. Everything else got sprayed down with a heavy dose of bleach and left overnight.

In the morning, I was breathing easier. Literally. But now it was more obvious the locations and extent of the damaged framing. Two spots in the floor took the worst hit. The screwdriver test (poking it to see what flakes off) pretty much took out whole sections of mushy wood. Ungood. So, a little google and you-tube action led me to 2 products… Wood Hardener and Wood Filler. I used Minwax products found at Home Depot.

The wood hardener looks and smells like nail polish remover. Once you clean away all the loose stuff, use a small disposable brush to apply over anything that remains soft and let set for a couple hours. Like magic, you have hard wood. (Don’t make me go there, perverts.) Then mix up the wood filler (mostly putty looking stuff with a little hardener mixed in) and use a putty knife to fill in the gaps. But work fast. And I mean like lightning. The instructions said to only mix up what you could apply in 15 minutes. But they meant 2 minutes. By the time you get the first layer down and figure out how to work it, it starts petrifying. I won’t show you a picture of how it looks applied, because eventually the new wall will cover that sin. Live and learn.

Now that the insides are more stable and I am fairly convinced we won’t disintegrate on the road, it’s time to go outside to see specifically where that water was getting in. It didn’t take long.

What the…

Here’s a tip… if you take off molding and replace it with something else, and your new piece is not as long as the old piece, DON’T LEAVE A GAPING HOLE WHERE THE OLD NAIL USED TO BE. I didn’t think I would have to say such things out loud, but apparently I was wrong. Another item added to the Why Did They Do That List.

At some point, all of this molding will come off and be cleaned up and/or replaced with new (of the correct length), along with new butyl tape underneath to ensure a good tight seal. In the short term, I plugged the hole with caulking, as well as several other places along the trim that were a bit, shall we say, drafty. No longer.

It is during my foray into the caulking gun world that one of my neighbors told me “You need a man for that.” I am fairly certain that he understands now that I do not. For the record, I have several awesome very supportive and helpful neighbors. He is not one of them.

Up On The Roof

(For your listening pleasure and ear worm of the day…)

Now that I have seen the condition of the roof up close and personal, and the source of the water has been eliminated (I hope), the roof top itself needs some attention. From my elevated kitchen window, the roof looked discolored. Closer inspection revealed that whatever old roof sealant there was had long since worn away, and the aluminum roof panel was exposed, allowing it to start to rust in places. This is no good. No wonder it gets so hot in there. It’s like a giant Easy Bake Oven. The roof was brushed off and scraped, cleaned with a mild dishwasher detergent in water with a broom and rinsed, then left to dry. The next morning, I hit the worst spots with a rust inhibitor and let it dry (it’s fast.) Then I put on 2 coats of roof sealant, which pretty much goes on like a thick paint. Oh my gosh, the difference. It almost glows.

Roof before. No bueno.

Roof after. I don’t know how to say “better” in Spanish.

Later that night, a storm blew over, giving us the first test of my handiwork. The roof was wet. The insides were dry. You rock, Gracie. As an after note, the roof work was done about a week ago. I got up and checked again today. You can see where some spots that didn’t get adequately scraped before have started to come up. At some point in the near future, I will have to go back up there, do another better job at scraping the loose stuff away, and give her at least one more coat of sealant. But for now, this is so much improved, I am gleeful.

It is about here that progress begins to slow significantly, because demo is fast, but reconstruction is much slower. I spend a lot of time staring at things trying to figure out what is supposed to happen next and how the hell I’m going to do it. So I will end this (excessively long) post here, and pick it up with putting things back together.

Stay tuned, because I get really excited about using new power tools. In case you are keeping track, we are ahead of schedule. Damn. I just jinxed it.

 

She Followed Me Home

Where were we? Oh yeah… I bought a vintage camper. Um… I’m sorry…whaaaat? I must have lost my mind. But I love her. And I’m turning 50 in a couple of months, so Happy Birthday to me. I am giving myself challenge and adventure for my birthday. ❤

Her name is Gracie, and she’s a 1960 Trotwood Cub, 16′ from nose to tail. This is what she looked like when I found her.

And of course, we had an adventure just getting her home. 🙂

I had great plans for pulling her with my 2010 Chevy Equinox, only to discover that my 4 cylinder engine has a tow weight of 1500 pounds, and Gracie comes in at an only slightly larger 1750, without any cargo at all. So we need to go to Plan B. Plan B was Mark’s van, but with his mother’s passing this week, the van fell to the bottom of the priority list, as it should. So we’re on to Plan C. (Judy, we’ll miss you, and I’m sorry we didn’t get to do a camping trip together. We’ll catch you on the other side. 😦 )

Plan C is to have AAA send a flatbed to come get her from her former (neglected) home because of her sincerely flat tire and then rent a Uhaul pickup to get her from the tire store back home. By myself. Right. That’s the plan. A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

That’s preeeeetty flat.

Apparently, AAA doesn’t like to send flatbeds, because they are expensive, so they didn’t bother to relay ALL the information I gave them about our situation. But after a couple hours delay and several phone calls with the towing company, our ride finally arrived with the proper truck. And we were off and running. Or on and driving. You know what I mean.

Here we go!

“Does this trailer make my butt look big?”

Uh oh… Just a readjustment on the road. Whew!

Roadside assistance.

The tire store, Taz Tires, was chosen because they had the tires I needed and they are halfway between where we started and where we needed to end up. So it seemed logical. I had never been there, but we all set our Google maps, and headed out. Turns out, the store is in the not-very-flatbed-friendly inner-city. Also, the first address Google maps sent us to was boarded up and abandoned. My drivers are not impressed. A quick call with someone who spoke very little English revealed that they had moved up the street, so we kept going and finally found them.

My rural-based knights in shining armor where less than excited about the ghetto location of the tire store I chose. and I think they were happy to leave us and go. But they were good sports. Thanks, Flynn Towing who drove all the way in from London, OH for this tow!

The gentlemen at Taz Tires were excited to see us pull in. I think. The owner assured me that they had very good tires for me. So I left Gracie in their capable hands while I went to get the Uhaul truck.

Did I mention that this was the Friday of Memorial Day weekend, and everybody and their brother were moving that day? When I arrived at Uhaul, there were 10 people in line ahead of me, and 2 attendants. They were doing their best, but still, an hour wait…

I finally get to the counter to discover that Uhaul trucks normally are stocked with 2″ ball hitches. My Gracie is a delicate flower, so she only needs a 1 7/8″ hitch. No problem, you can just buy the accessory adapter you need there. Except that they were out of them. Which is when I started to panic, and it must have shown on my face. Karen, my trusty Uhaul guru, disappeared out the side door for a few moments and then reappeared lugging a 1 7/8″ hitch with the correct adapter for the Uhaul. “Just bring it back.”

You guys, she gave me the hitch off of her PERSONAL VEHICLE, so I could get Gracie home.

Karen, at Uhaul on Morse Road, (I hope you’re not getting into trouble for this), you are my hero. Seriously and truly. Girl Power.

So back to Taz I go in the Uhaul, later than I had hoped, to find no tires installed, 3 men still under the camper, and not looking happy about it. “Veddy veddy hud jub. Veddy hud jub.” Apparently, Gracie doesn’t like having her feet messed with. I get it, Gracie. I’m not a fan either.

With some perseverance and about another half an hour,  new tires were on! They guys helped me hook her up and the most stressful part of the day (because the stuff before wasn’t stressful enough) began as Gracie and I pulled out into traffic, hearts pounding, prayers sending.

I look skeptical.

I took the long way home. There was no way Gracie and I were getting on the freeway just yet. We bounced and rolled our way through C-bus. (Somewhere along the way, we lost the exterior light fixture and light bulb. Sorry to whoever’s car they must have fallen on.)  And oh yeah, my street is narrow. And I live on a cul-de-sac. And I have to back her in to my driveway.

THANK GOD, my dutiful friend Stacy, who was on Ian Transportation Duty, was still at my house when I arrived to help with the “turn this way”, “no, a little more that way.” With much backing and forthing, and turning and looking, and this way and that way, I DID IT.

Gracie is home.

That was just the first day of our adventure, but this post is already too long, so I will save what happens next for the next installment. It’s dirty and gross, but I’m still hopeful and I haven’t cried yet, so you will just have to wait and see for yourself.

Thanks for following along! See you soon, from Gracie’s insides…