DIY Disaster No. 86, Part 1: Futility Trailer

Seemed like a good idea at the time.

There must have been something in the Cranston, RI water that made me think lofty things, or at least that I suddenly knew how to use a tape measure. I thought it might be a nifty thing to buy an old utility trailer, build a little camper on its frame, and travel the country.

That was a good idea.

But, like best laid plans, they changed.

I got as far as buying the trailer though. That was a big step for me. I had never owned a trailer and have only towed race cars (all of four times). It was a craigslist find. I had bartered with a great guy on something else, an antique furniture piece for a tile saw (to work on this craziness), and while I was at his place, I noticed a single axle utility trailer sort of stuffed into the trees.

Perfect, I thought. This is exactly what I need! It was 4x8, but big enough for a retro teardrop trailer that, when properly built, is light enough to tow behind just about any car.

So I inquired about the trailer and sure enough it was for sale for cheap money. So I went home, made the case to m’Lovely Wife, and a week later, after selling some vintage BMW parts, the trailer was mine (I fund most of my hair-brained projects through bartering or selling stuff I no longer need, which helps keep the financial peace... and with this thing, I needed all the peace I could get!).

Anywho, so I make arrangements with my guy and go back to pick it up. There’s air in the tires and he even tossed in a set of free hubcaps. As luck would have it, there’s also a Harbor Freight (HF) around the corner from his house, so I could even pick up a set of temporary trailer lights.

So I hooked up, said my goodbyes and headed for the future. Little did I know this would lead me through two completely sketchy areas, 25 years of history, and acute knowledge that yes, I suddenly could get car sick.

But let’s back up a little. On my way to pick up the trailer, I noticed on the side of the road a bunch of well-stacked wooden pallets in good condition. Stop there on the way back, I noted. I can use that reclaimed, recycled wood for my camper project! If only it were that easy.

My trip home quickly became one of survival.

A quarter mile or so before the getting back to the pallets, I stopped because the trailer was bouncing and swaying oddly. So I had a look at the tires and one was low. So I had me a can of Fix-A-Flat in my rig, so in it went. This pumped up the tire only a little, but enough to get me to a gas station. The seller was actually driving by at this point and offered me some air from his on-board compressor, but I politely declined, since I knew the gas station was right next to the HF. So I scrapped my pallet plan and went straight to find that gas station with a super powerful air compressor.

Little did I know, the super powerful air compressor was getting some super powerful sealant put down on its driveway, so it was, umm, super unavailable. So off to another gas station I go. Again, little did I know, that gas station was roughly 18,562 miles away.

On the way there, gently I crept by some Officers of the Law. You see, the seller was gracious enough to let me borrow his trailer plate to get it home, but the trailer had a broken tail light, and the wood was so rotted it was starting to come apart. These issues I was well aware of, but I knew the frame and suspension were rock solid. The wood and lights were going to get recycled anyway.

So I aired up, stopped at the HF and got that temp tail light kit, so at least if I did get yanked, I could at least show I was trying to be legal. And off I went to the highway.

Let’s just say that I’ve been in all kinds of cars, with all kinds of drivers, I don’t get seasick on boats, I race rally cars through the woods and generally I have a stomach of iron.

When I hit my first bump on the highway though, the trailer immediately started swaying back and forth, wagging like a giant St. Bernard after a few nips of whatever he carries in that little neck keg.

I had heard of this problem before, but I thought that was wind, or when a tractor trailer blows by in the desert, but sweet molasses, this thing started swaying and rocking my Xterra back and forth and I felt like I was drunk on a water bed. I’ve never gotten carsick, especially as a driver. This experience changed all that in an instant!

So I got off the highway immediately, squarely landing in the worst part of town. Falling down houses, gang tags, burned out cars up on blocks, crack whores. You name it, I saw it!

Then... the gas light went on.

Was it more risky to get gas where I was, or die trying to get out on fumes?

I chose fumes.

They got me to the other side of the highway at least, straight through, eventually, the ‘knowledge district’. Ahh, college. I remember when. I could feel the smarts spilling into the streets and bouncing off my trailer, because I was an idiot for buying this thing!

Gas light still on (and was it glowing brighter?), I coursed my way through College Hill. A gas station on the left! But it’s tiny and I’ll crash into BMWs and the Lexi of the Ivy Leaguers because I have no trailer experience! Go for it G-Dammit, go for it! So I egg-shelled the throttle through the rest of Book Town, skipping the gas station. Then the time came to go through yet another part of town that had seen better days. But then I remembered that there was nothing in the trailer, so maybe some weight would help.

I just happened to have a complete set of E30 BMW BBS 'basketweave' wheels in my truck that I would be selling to help offset the costs of my camper dream. So I took a few of those expensive, vintage wheels out and tossed them into a now super-rickety trailer of unknown structural condition. I think it was held together with moss.

Then, teeth gritted and bunghole puckered, I got back on the highway.

Success!

Failure!

I got up to operating speed slowly and it seemed to be doing fine, then wham! I hit a bump and the trailer started wagging again and again and again. Wagging trailer, rolling truck, flipping stomach. I’m gonna hurl! Leaves and chunks of lichen from the 80s flew off the thing onto the highway.

I once saw an episode of Top Gear where they had to race with camping trailers on their cars and sure enough, Jeremy Clarkson shows up to the campground dragging only the trailer tongue and bits of frame. I imagined this is what that must have felt like. Only this time, not only would I lose my investment, I would lose the investment to the investment. My vintage BBS wheels!

The near fatal blow came near home, where there’s a chronically potholed overpass that crosses the Acela tracks.

I hit that thing slowly, yet I still saw the tailgate of my Freedom Wagon fly off in the rearview and land squarely just over the rise of the overpass, so all subsequent cars had to swerve madly to avoid pieces of my broken dreams.

Luckily, though dangling precariously out of the algae-slippy back, my BMW wheels remained in the trailer unscathed. Whew!

No one was seriously killed during this incident. Just my pride suffered ever-increasing blows.

I finally dragged this rotten menace to a stop in front of my house, suddenly feeling like a Clampett, Joad — or a Gove — (not that there’s anything wrong with hicks or hillbillies) and faintly, I swear, I did hear banjo music.

Head dragging on the ground, I slumped onto an overturned paint bucket in the garage to lick my wounds and try to come up with a way to make this seems like it wasn’t some huge, terrible mistake.

That’s it for now. Wasn't that enough? See Part 2 for the 'big' reveal!

Rough is rough.

Just burn it!

Here are some matches. Light it up!

Starting to look a little better. Now where's that gasoline?

-30-