I have had RA for 25 years, been riding over 40. Feet and hands are twisted, so one learns to ignore the pain of pulling on gloves or socks. The ach at the loss of bedroll camping is a bit harder to ignore. At the end of a ride I need a bed, not something to crawl into or over the end of-- a bed to sit on the edge of, stow my clown boots under and swing legs onto. And a roof. And heat. And a hot meal. And I want to enjoy the evening and morning light of camp at a remote location.
I don’t want to fold, insert, twist, or lift with my sore hands and wrists. I don’t want a heavy box with a fold out tent to pull along behind. I want a light, small pull behind that has nothing to fold or flop.
It has been a hard thing, hour upon hour scraping rust and running a wire brush through my past middle aged brain. The math left a rash and comprehending Ohms Law drew blood. But I have reached a threshold not often attained by married man, and today crossed over. My lovely bride consents to that first splashing of debt, the refreshing wade with feet on the bottom before the undertow pulls to the deep. My rig is so cool... it will need a patent. Galley, heated bunk, TV, shorepower or 12volt and ... less than a 4' coach.
Now the the big brown truck with all its fun crap from far away places, stops here, here in tiny Roswell. Chunks and bits streaming in like a slow-motion backwards explosion of an odd little motorcycle trailer. I picked up the frame from the fabricator today. He got it 85% right. I did that good on my first proto and I'm and old fart with twisted hands and it was made with bed-frame and old Honda wheels. I pulled it down to the Snake and up into Oregon behind a CT90 last week.
Even cooler than this.
