Like most Flying J's, this one has an RV dump station. And like most Flying J's, the dump station is of an infernal design that makes one wonder about the competence of Flying J engineers. Picture, if you will, a sidewalk between a fuel island and the traffic lanes leading in and out of the truck center. In the middle of this sidewalk sticking up several inches, is the RV dump port. There is no "cutout" in the concrete, no appropriate dump station apron--you simply pull up next to the side walk, sling your sewer hose across the sidewalk, insert it into the dump port (after obtaining a key to unlock said port), and hope you can overcome gravity enough to get your tanks empty.
Mind you, the slope of the traffic lanes next to the "sidewalk" run at a fairly steep angle, away from the dump port. As a result, if you park your rig next to this sidewalk affair, you can anticipate that most of your gray and black water--through the miracle of gravity--do an excellent job of working against your best efforts of evacuating them from your holding tanks. To overcome the power of gravity, it's necessary to somehow prop up your RV in order to "level the playing field" and induce your tankage to make the trip down the sewer hose and into the drain.
So fellow truck campers, what's the simplest way to change the pitch of the rig? Sure, lower the passenger side camper corner jack, raising the camper appropriately. And that's just what I did, jacked the camper up until the angle allowed for getting most of the juices flowing. Mind you, without an apron or cutout, it's a bit of a trial to "milk" the sewer hose out before you uncouple the hose from the RV. Despite best efforts, there was a bit of spillage, which of course, ran down the pavement toward the traffic lane.
Since the rinse water tap is also in the middle of this "sidwalk" affair, and wasn't equipped with a rinse hose, I figured the best way to deal with this problem was that following the rinse out of my dump hose, I'd flush the mess with water through my relatively clean hose. I crawled up from the curb, carefully clutching my partially loaded sewer hose (there was no way to get all the contents out of it without standing up first), got it emptied, and cracked the handle on the rinse tap. No dice. The water was evidently turned off. No rinsing of hose, no cleanup of spill, no washing off my sewer gloves.
I walked across the island to the posted "drinking water" tap, and found it too, was anything but vital. It had been a long, hard day, I was thoroughly cross, and was thinking of all the dark and critical things that I could post in an appropriate blog. I carefully re-stowed the sewer hose and dumping gloves. I crawled back in the cab, muttering to myself, when the navigator appeared from across the parking lot, looking thoroughly tired out. In a complete gesture of the misplaced gentleman, I fired up the rig, dropped it into "Drive" and hit the accelerator, just in time to see a horrified facial expression and a frantic wave-off from the navigator. Simultaneously a harsh, grating noise and sheering sound reached my ears. It didn't take but a moment for my imagination to supply a visual image of what my camper corner jack was looking like about now.My imagination was quite accurate. Standing off at about a 15 or 20 degree angle, the camper jack had manfully stood its ground, never flinching in its assignment in the face of war. With its "foot" dug into the pavement, still somewhat attached by its bracket, it defied the torn fiberglass siding, sheared plywood panel, and cracked timber framing of what remained of the outside corner of the camper. By the time the navigator reached the scene, I had about used up my store of expletives.
A building contractor friend and I trade labor. Perhaps it's a good thing that the ledger sheet indicates "he owes me big time." Together we will learn of the joys of repairing truck camper damage. I'll share our findings and photos here as we go along.
Meantime, the camper jack is still clinging to the camper, aided by a ratcheting tie down affixed to the roof ladder. The hideous, gaping hole in the corner of the camper reminds me of the awful wounds suffered in war. If I don't look, it doesn't hurt quite so bad.
