October 23–28, 2025
Before arriving at Glade and Dana's house, we had a plan. We’d ordered a replacement window for the one that fell out and shattered way back on Day 3 of the trip, plus new brake pads for the car. The idea was simple: stay just long enough for the parts to arrive (supposedly on day 3), install them, and move on. Easy. Clean. Efficient.
Ha.
Day 1:
On our first day, we decided to get some exercise at Thunderbird Conservation Park, conveniently located practically in Glade and Dana's backyard.
Trail #1 started out promising… for about 100 feet. Then came the rocks. Everywhere. After bouncing over boulders like a couple of crash-test dummies, we ditched the bikes and hiked for a bit instead. We were starting to realize that Arizona doesn’t believe in “dirt trails”—only rock obstacle courses.
Feeling optimistic after our hike—or maybe just delusional—we tried another trail. Same story. It turned into an interval workout: bike a little, walk a little, repeat. Still, the desert views were gorgeous, and we got a great leg workout pushing our bikes uphill. (We'll call it “Arizona spin class.”)
Later that day, we went to check out a new trailer—same model as ours, but with all the important upgrades: tank heaters, higher-capacity lithium batteries, and all the other gadgets that will allow us to survive below freezing temperatures or weeks of rain in the Canadian Maritime Provinces.
Somehow, our little five-year-old trailer actually seemed nicer. Maybe they don’t make ’em like they used to—or maybe we’re just biased because ours already has all our blood, sweat, and plumbing repairs in it.
Bottom line, we decided we could add the upgrades ourselves for a fraction of the cost. The trick, of course, is finding the time (and willpower) to haul it all the way to the only service center in Ohio. Or… we could just do it ourselves. (Cue dramatic foreshadowing music.)
We squeezed in a little “office work,” then had dinner with Glade and Dana, who were still happy to see us.
Day 2:
Dana took us on a RZR ride up to Crown King, an old mining town in the mountains. I drove the first half—until I had to go over a set of very large rocks near the edge of a cliff while Dana pointed out the newest vehicle addition in the ravine below. I decided I liked living too much to continue, so Dana took over. She’s a great driver, but there were still moments I was convinced we’d plunge into oblivion. People pay good money for this kind of adrenaline rush.
By the time we reached town for lunch, the “Oh ****” handle I’d been gripping had half its rubber missing. Literally. George drove the entire way back, grinning when he later read that the road to Crown King is officially rated “Difficult.” He was so proud.
Now that I understand what RZR roads actually look like, I realize the road to our infamous Three Forks Hot Springs was also a RZR road—not, as we had mistakenly assumed, a BMW road. Lesson learned.
That night, we had dinner with my cousin Amy Jo and her family, and then even more cousins and my aunt came by. It was basically a mini-family reunion.
Day 3:
We joined Dana at the park to throw a ball for Aviendo, the grand-dog she was dog-sitting. Then we biked 31 miles all around Phoenix on a nice bike path that went under every major road (cue dramatic forshadowing music again). The only problem? Those underpasses were full of sleeping homeless people that we couldn’t see until our eyes adjusted to the dim light. We learned to go very slow. (“Good afternoon, sorry, excuse the tire near your sleeping bag.”)
When we got back, Glade made us his famous hydration drink using key limes from his own tree. He also grows bananas, pomegranates, and grapefruit. Basically, if it’s a tropical fruit, it’s thriving in his yard.
That night, we joined them for their ward trunk-or-treat. Dana even gave us costumes to wear. Because Glade’s dad has a potato farm in Idaho, they brought home literal boxes of potatoes from harvest. So while everyone else handed out boring candy, Glade and Dana handed out—yep—potatoes. One little girl actually said, “I don’t want a potato!” (Her loss. Those were nice potatoes.) Okay, fine—they also handed out candy and glow bracelets, but that part is way less funny.
We also got to enjoy Dana and Glade’s neighbor’s nationally recognized Nightmare Before Christmas light show. It was spectacular—music, lights, even the movie projected on their garage. The only catch? It was like trying to nap in the middle of Disneyland’s parking lot as cars came and went, doors slammed, and small children loudly narrated their every thought to their parents. That's what we get for being the wierdos camping in a neighborhood.
Our packages did not arrive as promised.
Day 4:
Sunday was calm. We went to church with Glade and Dana, called all our kids, and had dinner with Glade and Dana and their son’s family. We were now fully embedded in their household routine.
Day 5:
The long-awaited parts finally arrived. George was going to wait to tackle the brake pads until he could grab his special caliper compressing tool from home during our Thanksgiving visit, but when Glade generously offered his garage and tools, George decided to go for it. He had a workaround for the missing caliper compression tool—which, as it turned out, didn’t work around much of anything.
Soon, the caliper wouldn’t go back on, the suspension was off, and the car looked like a wounded animal propped up on one leg. I stood nearby as the emotional punching bag, which I’ve come to realize is an important part of any DIY repair.
By the end, George was covered in oil and brake fluid and convinced we'd need a tow. Miraculously, he managed to limp the car to a nearby shop that works on European cars. Glade and Dana, being saints, took us out to dinner that night—Mexican food and moral support. They even paid. I think they felt sorry for us.
Day 6:
We were supposed to be long gone by now. But as we waited for word on the car, George decided it was a good time to install the replacement trailer window. I strongly suggested we just shove the window into the trailer and wait until we were gone, in case it went as badly as the brakes. But I gave in and helped.
Shockingly, it went perfectly. If I were a betting woman, I’d have lost big.
Then came the bad news: the BMW shop called. There wasn’t a single brake caliper in the entire United States. Not one. It would take at least two weeks to get one shipped.
When we told Glade and Dana, they did what only the most generous (and desperate to get their lives back) in-laws would do—they handed us Glade’s truck keys. “Take it!” they insisted. “We’ve got plenty of extra vehicles!” Translation: Please leave before this turns into a sitcom.
We hesitated—it felt wrong to take Glade's daily driver—but staying felt worse. So, off we went in their truck, humbled and deeply aware of how absurd our situation had become.
After the usual RV chores—dumping, grocery shopping, propane refill—we only made it about 30 minutes north before calling it a night at Cave Creek Regional Park. We needed time to regroup and recover.
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