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BALLARD'S CAMPGROUND, HAMBURG, N.Y. — I survived.

And so did the 4th-wheel-slid that I stayed in.

For the most part.

Don BaroneThe Life of Riley, in the RV.

I don't have a screwdriver. No pliers. Zip-oh on a wrench. My wife has some of that stuff, but she won't let me touch it.

I'm a duct tape kind of fix it guy. My tool box comes in a roll.

I don't know how things work. For example, I have never figured out this: Defrosters.

Pretty much most of the summer when I drive around, the whole bottom half of my front windshield is all frozed up. On humid days I have to drive around with the wipers on.

If a black Toyota Minivan with a Hula Girl stuck on the dashboard drives by you in your town during the summer months and the front windshield is all ice, wipers on high with no rain, and some crazed looking driver is sticking his head out of the sunroof to see ... that would be me.

Please wave.

I have no patience for all things even remotely mechanical.

In college I once threw a manual typewriter out of an apartment window because it kept spelling words wrong. My wife drove home from work to find an Olivetti impaled in the asphalt driveway.

I break more than fix.

The mysteries of RVs worry me. I'm sitting in a tin can that somehow LIGHTS UP. It has THREE different kinds of water: Something called hook-up (think garden hose but instead of watering the garden it waters YOU), Gray/Grey/Gra-Hey, which seems to be pretty much what all the hook-up water manages to get off you and the dishes, and black water which is a whole other color and nothing I even want to get near.

RV'ing is a laid-back life, but you've got to be fast.

I'm a big shower guy. Prunnie shower guy. I have been known to get through the entire 17 minutes of In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida (drum solo on the luffa included) and not even have lathered up yet.

Most RV showers have 6 gallons of hot water available, after that you're screaming and looking for the towel. I use more than six gallons of water to gargle. The more I, eh, expand, the more water I need to get the stink off.

RV maker guys, ditch the oven thing I use as a book case, I haven't cooked anything that didn't involve nuclear power, or whatever it is that makes microwaves, since they took TV dinners out of the aluminum trays.

Don't know what a "convection" oven is, but give me that if in it's place you can put a hot water tank big enough to get me through BOTH sides of a Jimi Hendrix album, and still have time for soaping.

All that being said, will I buy an RV ... yeah. Mainly because of dirt.

No offense, but I like my dirt, not your dirt. I can live amongst my mess, but not yours. If I see one more TV news feature on motel rooms lit with blue lights, the next time I check into one of them, I will do so covered completely in Saran Wrap.

So, if in your town you see some sort of motorhome coming down the street with the front window all frozed up, windshield wipers on high on a clear day, WAVE, because inside the rv, that would be me.

PS: A shout out of thanks to Earl, Daryl and Margie at Ballard's RV Campground for handing me the keys to one of their units, and then closing their eyes. Another shout out to the folks who make the Newmar rigs because they have somehow made them as db proof as humanly possible. Thanks all for making this adventure come alive.

— db

Don Barone is a member of the New England Outdoor Writers Association. Other stories of his can be found on Amazon.com. For comments or story ideas you can reach db at www.donbaroneoutdoors.com