This past week my boyfriend and I celebrated our three year anniversary. While it may seem odd to include the details of my personal relationship in a very public blog, Mark is very much a part of the trailer story, and my life, so I cannot resist but share a bit about him, and us, and her….
In 1967, Mark’s parents bought a trailer.
She was only 4 years old but a bit worn from her no-doubt harrowing journeys between the states of Arizona, Alaska, Washington, and everywhere in between. (The road through Canada to Alaska, at that time, was not paved) Mark was very young then and therefore cannot recall the details about why his parents never used the trailer. But they never did so there it sat, for 44 years, under a tarp, on the corner of land at his parent’s house.
After Mark’s parents passed on he inherited the house, and the trailer, and the chore of maintaining the property. One day late last summer I was helping him with chores around the place and asked “What are you going to do with that trailer?”
He sarcastically replied, “You want it?”
“Sure!”
“No, seriously, you DON’T want it!” was his best retort.
He had already tried to give it to a friend but she wanted him to fix it up so it would at least roll down the road. Since he wasn’t THAT vested in getting rid of it, the “deal” fell through. He even talked to a salvage guy about taking it away but the guy told him he would have to pay $300 for them to do him the favor of “disposing of it”. No go. By this time, in Mark’s eyes, the trailer was completely worthless. (Later we found out a couple of guys tried to steal it, just a few days earlier that same week, but a curious neighbor asked them about their intentions, they got nervous, and fled.)
See?! Now you know why I say “fate” led me to her!
I live in Oregon. Mark’s house is 150+ miles north of me so getting her “home” to Oregon would not be easy. My first task was finding out if her frame was intact and then, if so, getting new tires and wheels and bearings.
~Insert Les Schwab Tire Commercial Here~
I called Les Schwab, from Oregon, asking about their mobile tire service. The location I called was only a couple of blocks from where the trailer sat. I had asked them how much they would charge to go over and take a look at her. They said they wouldn’t charge me anything for a diagnosis.
They drove over, inflated her tires, towed her back to the shop, took off her old wheels and tires, inspected the frame, and called me with the prognosis: the frame was still intact, quite sturdy actually, and the owner of the shop was a vintage trailer enthusiast. (He used a forklift to put the trailer inside the shop each night so it wouldn’t get stolen while it was there awaiting service. His technicians thought he was nuts.)
Seven hundred dollars later I had new wheels and tires, packed bearings, and a welded-on tongue bracket for the new spare.
She was rolling, but she wouldn’t yet leave Washington for several more months…
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