SPOTTING AN RV

There seem to be as many ways of directing an RV to turn or to back up as there are drivers. We observed two women spotters recently who demonstrated the extremes. One, a dignified European, held her arms rigidly, almost like a toy soldier.

 

The other, an American, danced gaily from side to side.  Both techniques were entertaining, and effective with those drivers, but I couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if spotter A had tried to direct driver B, or vice versa. Would driver A have gone over a cliff? Would driver B have screeched to a stop unnecessarily?

All is well when the driver and spotter are in sync. It’s a pleasure to watch couples who work together with carefully preplanned gestures. When the spotter points to the left and holds their hands six inches apart, the driver moves the rig six inches to the left. When the spotter holds their hands up, palms forward, the driver immediately stops. And so on. The rig is moved or parked quickly and efficiently, with no shouting or swearing.

 

 For some reason, we find that harmony difficult. When spotting,  if I am behind the rig and point to my left, my driver is likely to yell, “Do you mean the driver’s side??” (Well, of course I do! ) When I hold my hands up to tell him to stop, he may decide I mean something else, and blithely continue moving. Then there are the times he insists he can back up perfectly well without my getting out of the rig. Those are the times that it turns out there is a rock behind the tail pipe, or there is some other unforeseen problem. (Why are men so stubborn about this issue? Women may be irritated by getting too much direction, but we don’t usually ignore it.)

 

It’s even worse when I drive and he directs me. When he runs a finger across his throat, what on earth does he mean? Stop? Reverse? Give up? When he points to the left, am I supposed to turn the steering wheel to the right, or steer the rig toward the left? Too often, no matter who is driving, we end up screaming at each other rather than parking intelligently.

 

Fortunately, we usually cooperate in other ways. Though the galley can get crowded, we have gradually learned to slide past each other or take turns with the space. Before starting out he checks the exterior while I do the interior checking. He does the tasks that are physically too demanding for me, and I work at the computer that baffles him. Perhaps in a few more years we will even learn to spot in accord, too.

Text copyright © 2017 by Carol Stone

Photos copyright © 2017 by Thane Puissegur