D e s e r t E x p o s u r e
September 2009
The Dreaded Moreitis
He thought it couldn't happen to him. Then came the campers — each one bigger than the last.
I wrote about this disorder many years ago, and I vowed that I would never succumb to it, but I fell anyway. The affliction is most common among campers and boaters, but it can hit anyone from ATV owners to gun owners to truck owners to even homeowners. It actually knows no boundaries.
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The Cardinal camper
in action – an advanced form of moreitis. |
But I wanna focus on the campers because that is the area where I was afflicted most.
What is this malady, you ask? Well, as the title says, it is known as "moreitis," also referred to as "biggeritis" or "betteritis."
To try to properly explain it, I will use my uncle as an example before I talk about myself, since he had an extreme form of the disease. Unc started out by buying a pop-up camper to use when he joined Camper Club of America or some similar organization. He could camp all across the continent and he needed a vehicle to do it with.
It wasn't but a year or two before he decided that the family "needed" a better camper for these activities, and so he traded up to a self-contained Dodge motor home. Not a large affair, mind you, just more efficient. This rig lasted a coupla years and it too was gone for a bigger, better Champion motor home — the real deal.
More years passed and he found undesirable aspects to the Champion, so it too went down the byway, for the then-new concept of a fifth-wheel camper pulled by a three-quarter-ton Chevy dually pickup.
But he wasn't through yet. A coupla more years went by and he bought a much bigger fifth-wheel and a big, dually one-ton pickup. It was the ultimate camping experience, but the trouble was, the dang outfit was too big; he bent body parts trying to make turns, and the truck guzzled a lot of gas.
Finally he sold that rig, too. Now he lives in Florida five months a year as a snowbird in a small mobile home in a park that is far from the camping experience that he started out with.
See what I mean? Once the affliction grabs you, there is no letting go!
Which brings me to my own self. I used to laugh at him and all others like him, and vowed it couldn't take me; I was too smart for that!
Back 40 years ago, I started out with a small two-man, orange, nylon pup tent and the affair worked just fine. That is, until I accumulated too much stuff to go in the tent, and so I bought a three-man dome tent that could be assembled in just minutes. Aaah! I was now permanently content.
But wait, the kids came along and so did the concept of family camping, and the dome tent no longer filled the bill. So we bought an 8x10 cabin tent and spent many happy years doing the weekend and vacation camp-trip thing. The only problem was that it took two people to erect it, and if someone else wasn't along, like on some of my hunting trips, I couldn't use the thing!
So, four years ago, I sold it and bought an even bigger dome tent that I could put up myself; it even had a back door and a center divider in case others went camping with me. All was well once again — that is, until I had to put it up in a strong wind by myself and on rocky ground to boot. It took me hours instead of minutes. More disenchantment.
I had for years had the notion in the back of my brain that the ideal camper outfit would be a pull-behind, not too big, not too small, not too heavy, but just right. More or less a tent on wheels where I could carry all I desired and wouldn't have to pack and unpack.
The one added feature that it had to have was to be able to haul my ATV too, so that I didn't have to make two trips to my destination. There were commercial toy-haulers, but they were too big, too heavy and way too expensive!
I needed (wanted) an outfit about 10-15 feet long and weighing less than 2,000 pounds, to meet my hauling requirements. But nothing like that was out there — that is, until I fell into a deal from a good friend, just last October.
It was a 1970 Cardinal with a cabin dimension of 6.5 by 10 feet and it only weighed 1,200 pounds! And the price was right, too. It became my "winter project." I would convert it to a toy-hauler myself.
The Cardinal was in dire need of restoration and rejuvenation; it had been sitting for a number of years and the brand-new tires were thoroughly dry-rotted. The floor had a gimungic hole in it, as did the roof, from a rotted and torn roof vent. Every seam showed leakage and the tires wouldn't hold air for more than an hour. The paint was all but worn off and the springs were under the axle, causing a ground-clearance problem as evidenced by damaged lower front corners. Inside, amazingly, there was no evidence of vermin whatsoever, but everything had a deep layer of dirt covering it and there was an apparent odor. In other words, it was perfect!
I proudly showed the missus, whose only reaction was, "You gotta be kidding me!"
There were good points, though. The frame and body were basically sound, and inside it had a three-burner range, a sink, a closet, plenty of storage space and two types of plumbing. The bench seats/beds were in great condition as was all of the cabinetry. It was missing a table and chairs, but it had a nearly full tank of propane! It was wired for 110 electricity as well as 12-volt and the 110 worked fully as noted by the lights and plugs operating.
And so I started. I tore out the bottom cabinets under the benches and also the benches. I replaced the floor and revarnished the walls and ceiling with two coats. I built new, narrower cabinets under the portable, take-down beds that now went cross-wise to give more leg room when sleeping. I cleaned and cleaned and put in new curtains and a throw rug, and installed an upper bunk that would hold an adult, if need be. I built a portable table and two chairs, too.
Outside, I moved the springs to above the axle, giving me about six more inches of ground clearance, and I resealed every seam, installed a new, metal roof vent, and bought new tires. I rerouted the gas lines and then began the arduous task of wire-brushing the entire outside by hand and repainting it.
All in all, I had well over a hundred man-hours in the project by the time August of this year rolled around. And we went camping, and yes, the wife too! She actually came away saying that she'd go again! What a victory!
But then the project died. I couldn't get anyone to cut the back wall out and rebuild a ramp-wall so that I could load my ATV. Since I didn't have the skills to do it myself, I was at a dead end.
Then another friend came along who was selling a cargo-hauler trailer and my eyes began to gleam. It had two cargo doors in the tail end (praise the Lord!) and a side door and windows and a roof vent, too! The price was right and I indulged myself in what would become my "summer project."
It took exactly one month to convert it into what I envisioned. Across the front went a toilet space with porta-potty, a counter with a sink and a closet — all into 69 inches. I installed a hinged shelf for a portable gas range as well as an overhead, gravity-fed water system.
This time I installed padded bunks that hinged up out of the way on the side walls and when let down would convert into a queen-size bed. I installed an overhead shelf to hold all of the bedding and also full-length storage under the bunks. I would use portable LED, rechargeable lighting. There were overhead storage shelves, too, and I insulated the metal roof with carpet padding.
And best of all, when I drove the ATV in, it fit with inches to spare!
I still must hang color-coordinated curtains and a throw rug and buy accessories (the wife, ya know), but basically the project is done and a success. Then I must go on a test camp before the bear season begins; the wife has agreed to help test it all.
And so my disease is cured; there is no more. I'm done, finished, kaput. Trouble is, someone famous once said, never say never!
As always, keep the sun forever at your back, the wind forever in your face, and may the Forever God bless you too!
When not ramblin' outdoors, Larry Lightner parks in Silver City.