Those of you who’ve been following along from the start of this trip will know of the troubles we’ve encountered leaving the motorhome in storage for four years. Then the clutch went, a month or so into travels. Well it seems the universe feels that the drama shouldn’t stop there.
Pssst. Himself usually wakes me with the promise of coffee. Today I get a pssst. It’s not a good sign. I open one eye. There’s no smell of coffee, just a worried look. Attempting to shut said eye and ignore him isn’t an option. It always amuses me (and I assure you I use the word in its loosest and most ironic sense) that almost 40 years in, Himself simply does not understand that I am not a morning person. Waking me early with a problem, especially without coffee is akin to me smacking him with a stick at 2 am and asking him to party. Not going to happen.
I can’t get the heater to come on says he. Yes folks, there’s trauma with the Truma. See what I did there? The Truma serves as both heater and water heater so it’s either a solution or cold showers.
Coffee, I croak, I’ll look at it after coffee. He whips into action while I run scenarios in my sleep starved mind. Coffee inhaled, it’s on to the job at hand. We run all the combos possible – it’s a complex system with electric, gas, combo, summer and winter settings. Nothing. Other gas operated appliances are working, so it’s not that.
There’s nothing else for it, I’ll need to get the impossible to get off cover off and pull the key connection for a hard reset. That hail Mary fixed it last time and should do so again. Which takes time and effort, to no avail. Under the cover, I’m greeted with red flashing lights in a specific sequence and a whole bunch of hard to get at cables under a pipe. I consult manuals and Google. Hmmmm. There are a lot of cables – the picture below is about half of them. I pull them in ordered sequence and then in combinations. Nothing. I can’t crack the code of the flashing lights (the cheat sheet comes though hours later), but the lack of success and the permanent red light on the control draws me to a conclusion. I render an opinion. It’s fucked, says I. Look up a Truma service centre. Meanwhile the impossible to get off cover has to be put back on. It’s under the large fixed pipe. Much cursing and scratches.
Luckily the motorhome is a Rapido – it’s French and we’re in France. Himself locates a service centre which means driving all the way back to Strasbourg. He had plans to tour a nearby WWII fort today so neither of us is particularly happy at this point.
We arrive just as they’re reopening after lunch. Off you go says I, feeling I’ve done my part. No such luck. Himself likes to send me in to deal with the boys in workshops, which I’ll admit has worked pretty well thus far. We’ve managed to park in the wrong carpark just under the service centre’s window. Two lovely French men look out as I explain our problem. The workshop’s full. Of course it is. I give it my best Puss in Boots look and try again. Lo and behold, we’re in. Bring it around, they say, we’ll have a look.
And they do. The impossible to get off cover is off in a flash (the professional removes the blocking pipe), he pokes about then disappears, returning with a small box. The circuit board has blown and has to be replaced. It’s whipped it out and fixed in 30 minutes. I could weep with gratitude. I tell our man he’s a knight in shining armour and get a lovely smile. I’m yet to meet a man who doesn’t love to hear it, and this time, it’s certainly true. Money changes hands. Cheap it’s not.
Having lost all the distance we gained yesterday, Himself replots our journey northwest. We spend most of the rest of the day driving. Thankfully the countryside is gorgeous. Farmland with corn, wheat and sunflower fields which help to calm frayed nerves. There’s even a field of garlic.
Days end sees us in Vic-sur-Seille. It’s hot and I missed my afternoon coffee. Energy is low and I’m in a rare mood where I don’t want to explore. The heat just zaps me.
It’s silly of course – even seemingly in the middle of nowhere, there’s beauty to be found. The French really understand the importance of first impressions. Look at those fabulous entrance gates
And there’s a patisserie. I’ve earnt a treat today, surely.
We spend a peaceful and thankfully cooler night. On the road to Verdun tomorrow. It’ll be another long day’s drive.
Today couldn’t have been more different to yesterday’s gorgeous Hunspach. C’est la vie,as they say.
Miss Baci Travels 