There was a chance of cold feet on the Monday when I had planned to hitch up “The Tiny,” my newly purchased 2007 T@B trailer, by myself for the first time and drive it 45 miles to a trailer shop for some maintenance.
On that Monday, my fear spoke up: Why today? Why not tomorrow? Or later in the week? Before buying the T@B from a friend, after seeing a picture of it on her cell phone several years prior and salivating over it ever since, I had never towed anything, and I had no plans to ever tow anything. But here I was with a trailer, and a hitch, and the dream to travel.
Leading up to that Monday, I had compiled a checklist of what it would take to tow the T@B, like hooking up the electrical for the brake lights, hooking up the safety chains and the emergency brake cable, backing the car up, lowering the tongue to the ball, etc. I had been shown these things, and done these things under supervision of my husband, who is a macho guy who can tow just about anything. But I never done these things by myself. Near the top of the list was: “Take off cover.”
Still, I thought, what’s so special about Monday anyway? Tuesday’s good, right? I work from home as a freelancer, so it’s not like I had to schedule time from work to transport the trailer. I make my own hours, a fact that allows me to even consider full time travel.
Finally, I forced myself to go outside and at least touch the thing. That’s advice I’d gotten many years ago to deal with resistance and fear. Just touch it.
Outside, I was surprised to see that the previous night’s windstorm had blown the cover right off the trailer. Later I would learn to use bungie cords underneath to secure one side of the cover to the other. But my lack of knowledge about this, and indeed so many mysteries of the physical world, turned out for the best. One of my duties was already done.
I took that as a sign from universe, and proceeded through all my steps. I texted my husband a picture of the setup and asked: “Does this look right?” Yes, he said, and reminded me to not text during the drive. Check.
I pulled out of the driveway, turned right, and the trailer bounced along behind me. That’s how it’s supposed to work, of course. But until I actually do something, and have the experience, I’m never really sure that the laws of physics will apply. They always do, but I’m never sure.
I drove with my dog along the backroads and byways from New Orleans to Pearl River, Louisiana, hugging the Mississippi state line. I saw poverty, I saw wealth, I saw camps on stilts along the bayous and lakes. I could have even stopped for a swamp tour if I had the time and inclination. Driving along, I realized anew how hard it is to know what’s going on in the country from my front porch. and I want to know what’s happening. I want be out among it in case there is anything I can say or do or write to help relieve suffering among my fellow humans.
My two rules for this trip were to stay off the Interstate. Not ready for that! And no backing up. Totally not ready!
Almost to my destination, I got myself into a pickle when I turned too quickly according the GPS and found myself heading into a dead end road with no turnaround. I quickly realized I would have to back The Tiny back up onto the highway. As soon as I put the car in reverse, I saw in my rearview mirrors that a young man in a tall black pickup truck had stopped and was waving for me to continue. Oh no! This is my biggest nightmare. Doing what I cannot do with an audience. My brain frantically tried to find a way out. And it quickly realized I had choice but to back up the trailer.
I took a deep breath. I remembered what The Tiny’s previous owner Nancy told me: put your hand at the bottom of the wheel and turn it the way you want the rear of the trailer to go. It worked! I backed out of there like a boss.
From there I immediately proceeded to again miss the correct turn, and I accidentally turned onto the Interstate, which of course was no big deal. Within minutes, I had inadvertently faced down my two biggest fears.
I thought: I am so ready for this.