Worst Day of His Life

I Couldn’t Believe What I Was Seeing

I rounded the front end of the truck and stopped in shock. What was Roger doing in the middle of the road with his shirt off?!

It only took a moment for the penny to drop. Oh, no.

We Knew Better

We are pros. We spent fifteen months as full-time RVers, for heaven’s sake. No more “rookie mistakes” for us. Famous last words.

While living in Alabama, with a new rig and short work weeks we often camped at nearby spots in Alabama and Tennessee. David Crockett State Park, one of our favorites, is a beautifully wooded park with great hiking trails, a small waterfall, and a museum.

The only thing David Crocket State Park lacks is sewer hookups at individual campsites. So, as usual, we pulled up to the dump station at the campground entrance on our last day. I fed trash bags to the dumpster while Roger dumped the fifth wheel’s waste tanks. All routine stuff.

But this time, what we’d only heard about before came to dreadful life for us. With very nasty consequences. No photos that day, but the one above shows The Shirt on a better day.

Worst Day of His Life Could've Been Avoided

To dump RV waste tanks, the process is simple. Each tank is connected to the main tube. When you’re ready to dump, you unscrew the cap at the end of the main tube, attach your sewer hose, put the other end of the hose into the sewer drain, and pull the levers in sequence. All very straightforward.

Unless, of course, some “stuff” has been residing without permission in the main tube leading to the outside. Stuff that can generate an odiferous mix of gases. And there’s only one explosive way out: through the outside cap Roger unscrewed.

That’s why it’s my job to take care of the trash.

And why Roger was shirtless when I came back. Ew.

20/20 Hindsight

It's embarrassing to tell you, but experienced RVers like us know there’s a simple, foolproof way to avoid such explosive situations. Just install a low-cost gate with a pull handle on the outside tube. You keep the gate closed until you’ve unscrewed the cap and attached the sewer hose. Works every time. But only if it’s installed.

We’re experienced RVers, so why wasn’t our insurance valve in place? We had it; it just wasn’t installed. Maybe it didn’t seem necessary. Or maybe it seemed like too much trouble. And we both paid the price for this piece of uninstalled wisdom, although Roger might contend that his price was steeper and I won’t argue.

Making the Best of It

Pulling your house behind you provides a certain amount of convenience, like having access to trash bags and a fresh shirt for Roger. We probably made record time driving home, where Roger followed my careful instructions regarding the disposal of his clothing before jumping in the shower.

I know you’re wondering, so I’ll just tell you: it was Roger's choice to wait until we got home to shower. Smelly ride, but it was his call.

Uninstalled Wisdom

Every RV with a waste valve assembly has the potential to leak. Anticipation and preparation mean nothing if we don’t actually install what we know will help. By not implementing what we already know, we’re likely to have an easily avoidable explosion someday. And end up losing our shirt.

After such a gruesome lesson, we sheepishly installed the gateway valve and tried to put the episode behind us. But I can’t help wondering if and when we’ll experience another entirely avoidable explosive situation. No wonder I put a high value on anticipating and preparing for unpleasant circumstances.

As I write this, a winter storm is headed our way. Five to eight inches of snow are expected, along with a week of subfreezing nights. So I’m focused on wise preparations, like locating my purple ski jacket (see this post: Overlooking the Obvious (Again)). And I don’t plan to ignore the implementation of any safeguards we already have on hand.

Personal Gate Valves

As humans, like the RV sewer system, we generate a lot of thought waste. Things like faulty assumptions, knee-jerk reactions, unrealistic expectations, and unfair judgments. We also have God-given gate valves we could install—things like self-awareness, humility, compassion, restraint. The trouble isn’t that we have thought waste; it’s that we sometimes fail to manage it. And the resulting explosion can hurt me as well as everyone nearby.

The problem with our sewer hose wasn’t ignorance. It wasn’t lack of experience. It was the faulty assumption that knowing meant we were okay.

And that’s what challenges me most—not in our RV life, but in my inner life. Because I know what discretion looks like. I know what compassion requires. I know when I need to pause instead of react.

But knowing where the gate valve is supposed to be installed doesn’t stop the explosion. Only installing it does.

Transformation begins when what we know finally becomes what we practice. Works for both sewer hoses and our inner thought life.

Got a story to share about knowing but not doing? I’d love to hear it. Share in the comments below.

If you enjoyed this story of uninstalled wisdom, you might also like Sometimes I Fight the Wrong Battle.