Service Bay 40: Atwood Levelegs

Camp Tiffin — Red Bay, Alabama

A lot was accomplished on our first service day, including replacement of the fogged-up driver’s window — one of the two things for which we had made our February 4 appointment.

After a full day in Bay 10, we left not knowing what was next. We weren’t in the the dark for long. Around 5:00p, we got a call to report to Bay 40 the next day for the installation of the new levelers — our second appointment item.

Bay 40 is a welding shop; it is one of the bays equipped with jacks to raise the coach.

Camp Tiffin map marked up to show the bays we have visited to-date.
(Hints at some of the other things already taken care of that I will be posting about.)

I’ll intersperse pictures from today with the history of why we needed to replace the system.

When we bought our gently-used Phaeton in May , the Atwood levelers were functioning. But there seemed to always be a hesitancy with the way they worked, and we never felt we were quite level. In the fall of , we started having problems with the jacks not retracting as they should. Distrustful of the finicky system, we had the levelers disabled until we could get a qualified mechanic to look at them.

In November we went camping at Pohick Bay Regional Park in Virginia. Sometime during the night there was an electrical failure. I won’t go into the entire story; you can read about our “roughing-it-not-so-smoothly” experience here. This hastened our visit to a local service company to have the levelers looked at.

It turns out that whatever caused the power failure also fried the control board for the levelers … at least that was the technician’s diagnosis. We had the board replaced, but the system never really functioned well after that. Each time we brought the legs down, we held our breath. And, in fact, we often opted not to use the levelers unless we were in a particularly “unlevel” site.

The fried control board of was replaced with an exact duplicate.	The new levelers come with a much more robust control box.

Fast forward to April . We went camping at Bull Run Regional Park in Virginia to prepare the coach for our spring trip to the Smokies. Mui went to extend the levelers, and they extended, and extended, and extended. We tried to shut down the system to no avail. Soon we were listing to starboard with our rear driver’s side tires way off the ground. (Sorry, no photos … I was too concerned about what was happening since the coach looked dangerously close to tipping over.)

We called CoachNet for help; they consulted with Atwood. They had us try a whole bunch of things, and we managed to get all but one of the legs up. The rear driver’s side jack was stuck. A mobile service tech was called in, and he tried and tried to get the leg to retract. Nothing. Nada. The stubborn “so-and-so” was not budging. In the end, we had to get that leg ‘amputated’ just so the coach would be drive-able. (The full story is here.)

The jacks are in place. Hard to believe four of these can lift our 30K+ pound coach …

… but they do, and the Phaeton reaches new heights here in Red Bay.

Mui had been researching our leveler problem since the incident in November . Once we were back from our spring trip, he went into overdrive to find a solution. We even considered replacing our electric levelers with an HWH hydraulic system since we had no trust left in the Atwoods.

Then came a ray of light to brighten our day. Apparently, Atwood had been beta testing a re-design that had seemingly resolved all of the systematic problems. After communicating with several people on TRVN (Tiffin RV Network), and privately corresponding with other Tiffinites, we decided in late to stick with the Atwoods and have the new and improved levelers installed.

This is one bay where there are safety restrictions in place;
this is the closest we can be to watch the new levelers being installed.

Mui worked with Sue Noyes at Atwood to come to an equitable arrangement. At the end of November , we ordered the replacement system — which consisted of four jacks (legs), a wire harness kit, and a control kit. Atwood built and shipped the new system to the Allegro Tiffin Service Center in mid-January so that it would be ready and waiting when we arrived.

Before they close the bay doors, I sneak a peek under the Phaeton’s skirt.
You can see one of the old legs just behind the rear passenger side tires; the
amputated leg would have been located just about where the technician is standing.

The installation today (February 5th) went smoothly and took about 3½ hours. At the end of that time, we had a fully functioning leveling system that we were anxious to test out. Sure, it worked great while we were in a level bay, but how would it work at our less-than-level site. Since we were given instructions to report to another bay after we were done in Bay 40, we had to wait until the end of the day to run our test.

A team of three do surgery on the leveling system and program the new control box.

The old (rear leg) and the new (front leg).

We have since extended and retracted the legs multiple times as we continue with the “Tiffin shuffle” from one bay to another, and I am happy to report that everything is working as intended. An improvement to the system is that the air bags deflate before the legs come down (this reduces the distance the jacks have to extend), and re-inflate before the legs are retracted.

The new control panel in the cockpit has a few more verification lights
as compared to the one previously installed.

It feels good to know that the sites we choose to stay in the future are no longer leveler-dependent.

P.S. We’ve been told that we should not spray the legs with anything as this could cause dirt build-up, which could lead to problems with the way the leveling system functions. This is contrary to common practices we’ve read about, so I thought I’d add it as a postscript for the benefit of others.

Thoughts and Quotes on Art

As I see it, the world is made up entirely of photographic subject matter...with pictures you can say what you can't with words. Peter Sekaer

It seems that the artistic personality has a certain contrariness
to it. If you are conventional, than perhaps there's no impulse to create. Author unknown
Art comes from a desire to make sense of the world and one's experience in it. It's intended to make up for the separation that we feel between us as humans and beauty. The artist tried to recreate beauty...to make the world whole again. Author unknown

Back at School

This week I'm at the John  C. Campbell Folk School in Brasstown, North Carolina to take a watercolor class with my good friend Katy.  We only have one more day.  I don't want to return to real life!  I'll write more after I get home about our experience.
This is a photo of the red barn at the school that I took on another trip.  I took a weekend course on Medicinal Herbs.  Great stuff!  
More later!

Game Cam

Some recent game cam photos:

A sleek bobcat (Lynx rufus).

Murphy's law of game cameras:
You get mostly southern views of northbound animals. (Coyote, Canis latrans.)

Looks like she barely escaped that bicycle pump. (Virginia opossum, Didelphis virginiana.)

Finally, our first shot of a beaver in action. (Castor canadensis.) Click to embiggen!
We nearly ruined the game cam, trying to get a photo of a beaver. Positioned it too near the creek last spring. The heavy rains came, and... well, it's not meant to be an underwater camera. It still works, but not as well as it once did. The batteries used to last forever; now they need replacing every two weeks or so.
And this was the only beaver pic we got out of that sorry situation:

Smile!
If that's the miscreant who gnawed down the only white-blooming redbud in our woods, I wouldn't be too sad if that flash gave him a mild heart attack. I really miss that tree.
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Sirens from emergency vehicles screaming down the highway roused us in the wee hours last night. Jasmine howled, which she almost never does. It sounded so funny, I couldn't help but laugh, even as I was trying not to wake up too much. But then every coyote in the woods howled too. There are a lot more of them than I'd thought. I had imagined the population somewhat reduced, since our chicken flock has stayed intact for the past year. Now I'm worried.

The arch

I have to be honest and say that being sick totally sucks. I have basically done NOTHING for the last five days because of a nasty case of bronchitis according to my doctor. I think I would have been better off with swine flu -- at least then I could have seen the doctor for an OINKment. Still it does give me a chance to catch up on some of the posts I haven't made lately (or in other words, crap on about rides I did last week or the week before). When I'm back on the bike, hopefully tomorrow, I'll then have something more interesting to talk about.

The previous weekend I headed for Numinbah Valley again, as I didn't really have the time or inclination for a 200k epic, and I had to back up and ride to Brisbane the next day. This area is always pleasant for a quick 115km, especially when it's combined with a crossing of the Wunburra Range at Springbrook, then a climb out of the Tweed Valley at Tomewin (more on that later). This day was going to be slightly different, however, because I decided to visit the Natural Arch (pictured at the top of the page), hidden away in the rainforest.

Last year there had been speculation in the local tabloid that the Natural Arch was actually closed to the public, due to the fact that the cave roof was about to collapse. Everyone else seemed to think so, because there was nobody there on the morning I visited. Yet there were also no signs indicating any closure of the area. There was nothing to stop me from walking right into the cave itself. It is, of course, entirely possible that the whole story was a media beat-up (it wouldn't be the first time). I doubt the National Parks mob would have allowed anyone to do any work on the cave itself, but either way, it was just as beautiful as I remember it, even if the walking track was/is a little over-developed.

All that was left now was to finish the climb over Numinbah Gap, drop down into the Tweed Valley, and then climb home over Tomewin. Throughout the morning I had been hammered by a southerly wind that forced me to ride through Numinbah Valley at a touring pace, now it was payback time. I responded by setting a fastest ever time for the climb over Tomewin -- 23.15, 45 seconds off my previous best. Once again, I thought I'd blown it on the steep mid-section, and once again I realised in the last kilometre that I had it beaten. I can only assume that the "mid-section" is closer to the summit than the bottom. A great way to spend a morning if ever there was one.

Northern Lights Moonrise over Wauswaugoning Bay

Well, the aurora made a pretty good showing last night! It sounds like most everyone had cloudy skies but lucky for me the clouds didn't move in up here until after the aurora faded. The lights put on a pretty good show from about 11:00 p.m. to 12:00 a.m. Here are my favorite images from last night!

Lupines at Sunrise

Lupines at Sunrise, originally uploaded by ParsecTraveller.

The wildflowers are in peak bloom across much of California. These lupines were no exception - fields of the flowers coated hillsides in Las Trampas.
Sorry for the recent hiatus - been very busy!

The headwind 200

It's becoming a familiar pattern of late, a southern ride into NSW commencing with a headwind, then finishing with a headwind after a southerly wind swings around to the north. I can't recall a day with a consistent wind for well over a month. It was the same story last Saturday. While the wind was never strong, it seemed to be just enough to be noticeable for the entire day. This ride opened with a climbs over Bilambil and Hogans rainforest, before settling into a relatively flat run west toward Chillingham. The only thing of note was a slightly more convoluted run taking in Tweed Heads, the place where the the dead are buried above the ground.

Hogans rainforest was a nice way to commence the ride. After Chillingham things got a little hillier on the way to Tyalgum. On one of the descents here, another of the riders finished in Murwillumbah hospital after apparently misjudging a decent and landing hard. Evidently the swelling after the impact was preventing the medical staff from coming up with a conclusive X-ray. This is a shame, because Alan was having a good season, and was lining up a crack at the Great Southern Randonee in October. It probably won't happen now.
I continued from Tyalgum back toward Murwillumbah, taking probably the only tailwind of the day for the 20km stretch here through the gorge. Somewhere is the turn off for Wollumbin forest road, which promises more spectacular riding. For the life of me, however, I can never seem to find it. After this it was a southern detour, taking in Uki, Stokers Siding, Burringbar and finally the checkpoint at Mooball. At this point I was aware of what had been a headwind, but the hills to date had kept me relatively sheltered. Nonetheless, I was looking forward to a tailwind after swinging around the southern end of the Tweed Coast.

The tailwind never eventuated. It was clear after I turned at Wooyung that it would be headwind to finish, and now with a long, flat stretch right up to Tomewin. I basically just decided to grind it out for however long it took. This route takes another strange route to Murwillumbah, taking in the "new" highway, then the old Pacific Highway. It reminded me that freeway cycling is probably about the safest, but most boring form of cycling there is. It's also interesting to note just how efficiently people manage to use freeways as rubbish dumps. It seems odd given the amount of time people apparently spend driving on these things, that they would also see fit to use it in this fashion. Rather like a magpie shitting in it's own nest.

The route detoured around Murwillumbah on Cane road, notorious for it's perpetual headwind, but decided on an irrational tailwind for some reason. I took advantage of it for the 4km or so it was there, then went back to griding out the headwind before starting the climb of Tomewin. I always seem to dread this climb at the end of a long day, but there really is not reason to. I have the gearing to cope with the 2km 11% stretch in the middle, and it's consistency makes it easier than taking the "two small climbs" option of Urliup then Bilambil. It also offers great views. I decended the ride, then hammered the final stretch through Currumbin valley to salvage what I considered a respectable time.
I was astonished just how much this ride tired me out. Maybe I'm just not as fit as I should be right now, or maybe I just overdid things on Thursday night's "training" ride into Tallebudgera Valley. Whatever it was, the final ride back home from the Currumbin finish took a lot longer than usual. On the whole, however, I was happy with the day. Another day of glorious scenery in near-perfect weather. Now if the wind could just make it's mind up...

So do I laugh or cry?

It's isn't as if I've done a lot of organised rides this year, and given the abandon in the 600k, it's not as if I have much of a track record. Saturday's 100k should have been a more straightforward affair, and in truth it probably was. It was the moment of the taking of the above picture that complicated things. Ordinarily when I take a picture, it's done in about 30 seconds (assuming I don't also take the moment to apply sunscreen or eat).
What complicated this incident was that three other riders* also decided to take the same picture. Immediately south at Murwillumbah, the four of us (and I'm as responsible as anyone, although nobody bothered to check the route slip). Consequently, we took a wrong turn, and while we ended up riding the same distance and the same route, we did the Murwillumbah/Uki/Stokers Siding loop in reverse, which meant a disqualification for the four of us. Ironically, I managed to grab a much better shot of the morning mist at Mt Warning further south...

... Not to mention the earlier views from Tomewin...

... Or the wildflowers there...

... Or even the sunrise on the way to the start...

On the other hand, it gave us all a chance to visit the Uki Cafe (which is still the best in Northern New South Wales), and more importantly I dished out some serious ownage to the climb of Bilambil with which I seem to be engaged in a permanent battle. I hit it with three attacks before the third one finally stuck. I actually suffered a bit on the final coastal strip at the finish, but that's less important, I'd really stuck it to Bilambil this time.
* Note: I am not going to attempt to recount everybody's name, because I'm not very good at remembering names, and omitting anyone may cause offence. Suffice to say that I managed to play a part in the National Treasurer or Audax Australia suffering a disqualification on a ride. I don't know whether or not I should be proud of that.

I have my mountain back!

One of my cycling goals this year is to ride a vertical century, or accumulate 100 miles of total climbing before December 31. Oddly, I was actually a little behind schedule until last month, when I managed 17km of climbing in 31 days. Yet I had to do all that without being able to climb the highest mountain in the area, as it has been closed by the landslide that came within 15 minutes of killing me for the last two months. Well, the road to Springbrook was re-opened last week, but as I was touring around Crows Nest, I didn't get a crack at it until Saturday morning. It's amazing how I didn't think what happened last time, and simply headed straight for it.

The landslide from before took out quite a chunk of the mountain, and the view from the inside of one particular narrow switchback will be scarred for some time. Oddly, given the length of time that the road was closed, there was surprisingly little work done in the area - only the erection of a rather flimsy 'fence' that won't even slow another landslide should it happen next wet season. Nevertheless, it was a good feeling to be back. Each mountain climb has a unique feeling about it, and Springbrook's was in evidence on a cool morning. I realised how much I've missed it since that crazy April day.

Yet something else about that place that's not often noticed is just how many different things there are to see, be it flower or exotic plants. I think that's why I keep coming back, even when the mountain threatens to throw rocks at me. Still, I don't mind, the variety gives me a great escape from suburbia, and a great way to spend a morning. Now that I have my mountain back, nothing is going to stop me!

A Privy, An Outhouse, A Necessary Room...

...Call it what you will, we all need them. Preferably the modern, indoor, flush version.



Regular readers will know that one of my favourite walks takes me through a barley field and past this dinky cottage - follow the path, then look to the left, you can see the roof.

Set away to the side of the cottage is a small, brick, outbuilding. A privy! The very necessary, outhouse.

Of course these days the cottage has modern plumbing, but it is an old cottage and this outhouse is what passed for the conveniences. Imagine trekking down there on a cold, dark, wet night... either that or use a chamber pot.

Those of a sensitive disposition should read no further!




It would have been dark inside there, even on a bright sunny day. Note the sloping roof which lets the rain run down and off the building. This one may have been a double seater - there are two holes at the back where the waste could either drain, or buckets could be removed.

with thanks towww.1900s.org.uk

There were a couple of methods of dealing with the waste products. In the diagram above, it was left to rot down in some sort of stinking 'compost heap'. If the heap was too large, or the privy became blocked ''The Night Soil Men' could be hired to come and dig it out - during the night - hence the name. What a job.

An alternative method was to use buckets, which could be either emptied onto the compost heap periodically, or, The Night Soil Man would come around to do the emptying and carting, for a fee.

When we moved to the Byre there was a very large shrub and ivy covered clump at the back of the farmhouse. When we finally broke through the ivy, it turned out to be the old privy, still complete with two buckets. This is one of them. Note the oval shape and the two sturdy handles. You really wouldn't want any accidental slips when emptying one of these...

Unfortunately, when the ivy was cut back the building was found to be unsafe and had to be dismantled; we didn't want to lose all of the history, so we retained the footprint and turned it into a herb garden. We also kept the old privy buckets! They were both perfectly clean and fresh, or I wouldn't have kept them!





Jonathan added some huge hunks of wood, left over from the renovations, to create a bench seat.

He mischievously positioned these so that anyone who sits on the bench would be sitting 'back to back' with those who used the privy in times gone by. Boys!