The Stuff You Don't See.
The wife primed the whole interior of Scooter the Toxic Camper (children's book is in development), taking it from battered, 50 year old paneling to a bright white. It made a world of difference in the overall mood of the front half of the camper, and the paint fumes block out the stench of 50 years of mold. Bonus.
Meanwhile, I started prepping for the vinyl floor. Part of this was removing the water lines (are there supposed to be white growths in there?) and about 100' of old copper gas line. What I saw scared the hell out of me. In no less than three places were quarter inch gashes in the lines that had been poorly capped or just folded over and crimped. So, anytime someone turned on the gas from the tank to fire up the stove, they were also filling the camper with propane from multiple sources. I'm surprised this thing didn't explode years ago, which would have made it easier for me, but I guess the rotting walls leaked out enough of the propane to keep things from going car bomb. I guess that shows that even the dankest moldering hunk of crap has a silver lining.
When I started doing the floor, I carefully measured (five or six times) and cut out the sheet vinyl. I test-fitted the single, "I"-shaped piece , and then I started troweling out the adhesive and scraping it into thin pinstripes. I was a quarter of the way done when the whole piece shifted slightly. I tried to adjust, but the vinyl started ripping, so I just went with it. Like my bike-wrenching skills, my poor flooring ability ultimately resulted in a floor that is misaligned, which is plainly obvious as the tile lines aren't square with the cabinetry. As with some much on this project, "good enough" is going to have to do.
The linoleum, with it's brown and gray tile pattern, did make it seem a little more warm and inviting inside, as compared to the dirty old yellow vinyl that was originally installed. Hopefully the light tan paint that's going down today will make it look almost nice in there.
Thing is, the things that were the hardest to do and required the most time are the things that are hidden behind the "pretty" stuff. The framing and the wiring and propane lines and all of the other behind-the-scenes pieces are what's making this thing hold together and hopefully not explode (no guarantees there) are overshadowed by cosmetics.
I guess that's life.
I still have to deal with the back third of the camper, which is mostly bunk beds and storage, but that will have to wait a little while until this weekend's trip is done. Until then, I'm going to staple up some plastic paneling over the rotting and peeling walls so the kids who are sleeping in there don't get hepatitis.
I yanked the propane furnace, hopefully never to return. This camper just doesn't have the battery capacity to run the fan, nor a way to recharge it effectively for the drain. In it's place, I'm going to give a small propane "buddy heater" a try which can run off small camp stove bottles or be adapted to a larger tank. If that does the trick, I'll pipe in a quick disconnect with a shutoff for the interior and call it good. The advantage here is that it can be easily used elsewhere and does not require any electricity.
I'm actually paring down my already bare-bones approach to the electrical system. Considering the state of the existing wiring, there's just no need for a 115V breaker box and outlets. The only thing that needs to plug in is the battery charger, so an extension cord run out of a port on the side of the trailer will more than suffice. Three LED lights and a couple cigarette lighter ports for charging electronics will be about the extent of it, with maybe a hood fan for the future. That's it.
Stripping out a bunch of stuff from an already-stripped camper is somewhat satisfying. Installing stuff that can be easily removed before you do the final push off the cliff makes sense with a camper of this vintage and in this condition.
God, I hope she doesn't want me to make the fresh water system functional again, because I might throw myself off that cliff.
Nobody would see it anyway, because they'd be distracted by something superficial.
Meanwhile, I started prepping for the vinyl floor. Part of this was removing the water lines (are there supposed to be white growths in there?) and about 100' of old copper gas line. What I saw scared the hell out of me. In no less than three places were quarter inch gashes in the lines that had been poorly capped or just folded over and crimped. So, anytime someone turned on the gas from the tank to fire up the stove, they were also filling the camper with propane from multiple sources. I'm surprised this thing didn't explode years ago, which would have made it easier for me, but I guess the rotting walls leaked out enough of the propane to keep things from going car bomb. I guess that shows that even the dankest moldering hunk of crap has a silver lining.
When I started doing the floor, I carefully measured (five or six times) and cut out the sheet vinyl. I test-fitted the single, "I"-shaped piece , and then I started troweling out the adhesive and scraping it into thin pinstripes. I was a quarter of the way done when the whole piece shifted slightly. I tried to adjust, but the vinyl started ripping, so I just went with it. Like my bike-wrenching skills, my poor flooring ability ultimately resulted in a floor that is misaligned, which is plainly obvious as the tile lines aren't square with the cabinetry. As with some much on this project, "good enough" is going to have to do.
The linoleum, with it's brown and gray tile pattern, did make it seem a little more warm and inviting inside, as compared to the dirty old yellow vinyl that was originally installed. Hopefully the light tan paint that's going down today will make it look almost nice in there.
Thing is, the things that were the hardest to do and required the most time are the things that are hidden behind the "pretty" stuff. The framing and the wiring and propane lines and all of the other behind-the-scenes pieces are what's making this thing hold together and hopefully not explode (no guarantees there) are overshadowed by cosmetics.
I guess that's life.
I still have to deal with the back third of the camper, which is mostly bunk beds and storage, but that will have to wait a little while until this weekend's trip is done. Until then, I'm going to staple up some plastic paneling over the rotting and peeling walls so the kids who are sleeping in there don't get hepatitis.
I yanked the propane furnace, hopefully never to return. This camper just doesn't have the battery capacity to run the fan, nor a way to recharge it effectively for the drain. In it's place, I'm going to give a small propane "buddy heater" a try which can run off small camp stove bottles or be adapted to a larger tank. If that does the trick, I'll pipe in a quick disconnect with a shutoff for the interior and call it good. The advantage here is that it can be easily used elsewhere and does not require any electricity.
I'm actually paring down my already bare-bones approach to the electrical system. Considering the state of the existing wiring, there's just no need for a 115V breaker box and outlets. The only thing that needs to plug in is the battery charger, so an extension cord run out of a port on the side of the trailer will more than suffice. Three LED lights and a couple cigarette lighter ports for charging electronics will be about the extent of it, with maybe a hood fan for the future. That's it.
Stripping out a bunch of stuff from an already-stripped camper is somewhat satisfying. Installing stuff that can be easily removed before you do the final push off the cliff makes sense with a camper of this vintage and in this condition.
God, I hope she doesn't want me to make the fresh water system functional again, because I might throw myself off that cliff.
Nobody would see it anyway, because they'd be distracted by something superficial.
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