A Motorhome Keeper

Sam and I own a towing company. Most of the time it's a pain in my behind, especially when I'm answering tow calls while grocery shopping with three small boys.

 But, as with any business, there are times you eat it (like when we answered a police call to haul an abandoned motorhome at Enterprise Reservoir, complete with a nest of rats underneath that prevented my driver from wanting to get anywhere near the driveline) and there times when you think you've fallen in a pile of "it" and actually come out smelling closer to a rose.

Such was last night.

We towed this beaut-ee from just past Mesquite into Vegas late last night. About 3/4 mile from the drop-off destination, all the tires pretty much simutaneously blew. Long story short: the owner didn't want to spend the money to get it going and gave it to us.

Now, usually I'm pretty skeptical about such deals. I've been burned before (see aforementioned Enterprise prize) and a 1970s motorhome Sam actually paid for (complete with petrified poop in the toilet). Ah, love my husband.

Well, this 1984 Fleetwood Pace Arrow is a real humdinger. You see, I have a soft spot in my cold, hardened towing heart for this vehicle. It's similiar in year to the Pace Arrow my grandparents owned while I was growing up. Lot of memories made in the motorhome: my cousin peeing in his sleep on the bunkbed and it dribbling onto my aunt below, playing board games while my parents gambled inside "Circus Circus," asking Grandpa why he had a pistol above the driver's seat and getting my first taste of good old-fashioned prejudice when Grandpa answered "it's for Mexicans." 

So, I think we may keep this old classic for a while.  

Add caption