On A Rig-Picking Expedition — Knowing How Hard The Hitch-Up Will Be

Want to stir up some controversy around the ol’ campfire? Ask a group of RVers their least-favorite-part-of-full-timing.

Some loathe-to-the-very-core-of-their-being dumping black tanks, a few take umbrage at having the neighbors all-up-in-da-grill, others miss their beloved jacuzzi tub or washer/dryer.

Me? I hate that fucking hitch. And it hates me.

Seriously — every time I get near it, the damned thing jumps out to either maliciously bruise my shin or get grease on my tights. (Fortunately, most of my legware involves some measure of black, so it largely blends in — but still!)

You might think that you can escape the hitch-bitch with a smarter-than-le-average-bear-rig-choice. But no matter what home-on-wheels you buy, best accept this as a necessary evil.

That’s because travel trailers and fifth-wheels inherently require attachment-to-motorized-conveyance — and while the class-A-B-C crowd do actually propel themselves forward, that extra-around-town transportation has to be drug behind (if you don’t have a spare human to drive it on travel days).

So let’s discuss difficulty-level — starting with the hardest-to-hitch.

Oh and I apologize about the RV-lingo. Unfortunately, I have neither the time nor the inclination to compile a glossary — but there’s this really cool invention out there (named for a misspelling of the mathematical concept “googol”) that lets you research tech-term-definitions and become fluent in the full-timer patois

From the comfort of your own home. While not wearing pants. Check it out.

So anyway, attaching to a trailer is a multi-multi-step-process — release the pin, lift the latch, raise the jack, lube the ball, position it under the coupler, lower the jack, snap the latch, replace the pin, position the stabilizing/sway bars, hook on the safety chains, plug into the socket, connect the breakaway switch.

That’s a lot of freaking work!

Jt’s even more laborious if your jack has to be cranked-by-hand-to-lift-a-multiple-hundred-pound-tongue-weight-on-and-off the hitch ball. (I don’t think I could be a nomad without that handy little electric switch to toil on my behalf.) Of course, even a no-muscles-required system is useless without power — mine’s gotta be plugged into a shore line or an engine-running-tow-vehicle to function.

(Marine batteries ain’t cutting it for this job.)

And don’t forget the act of getting stabilized, otherwise known as “weight distribution.” You’ve got these two metal bars hooked into your hitch, extended back along either side of the trailer tongue. (Picture a donkey-strapped-to-a-cart, with those wooden poles sticking into his harness.) Then a short chain hanging off each bar loops over these hinged-stickie-outie-post-brackets bolted to your tongue. (I don’t wanna hear it — I’m not a freaking grease monkey. Go look a picture of the damned thing up on the interwebz!)

We’ll discuss how these work later on (in, I promise, just as mechanically-precise-scientifically-accurate-detailed-and-unambiguous terms). What I care about you understanding right now is that said hinged brackets start in a “down” position — you then slide a hollow metal pipe over the post and pull the lift-lock into the “up” position (fighting-against-bar-tension-and-chain-tautness-the-whole-way) by hand.

One person is SUPPOSED to be able to maneuver this thing.

I ain’t no 98-pound-weakling. But even with all my piss-and-vinegar-and-irish-determination — I just don’t have the torque (or force or whatever-you-want-to-call-that-kind-of-arm-strength) to heft it on my own.

(Definitely something to consider when you’re a delicate-fucking-flower. Like me.)

If that whole process sounds a-tad-more-challenging-than-you-care-for, you’ll be pleased to know that fifth-wheels are a crapton easier — tailgate down, adjust jack height, lube, back up until king-pin-meets-pin-box, make sure the clampy-jaws have done their clampy-jaw-thing, and insert the locking pin.

Bam!

Motorhomes can either be easy or hard. Go with a dolly system, and it’s exactly like hitching a trailer. If you get dinghy about things, we’re talking tow-bar-latch, some safety cables, plug in your wiring, then hook up the auxiliary brakes. (Yes I’m oversimplifying — again with the goole-age for more details.)

There are pros and cons to each. Dollies add weight and run a sizable sway-risk — flat-towing puts wear-and-tear on your toad’s drive system and wheels. (Plus, if it ain’t a rear-wheel-manual-transmission or four-wheel-manual-transfer-case-that-can-be-put-in-neutral, you will destroy your vehicle.)

Imma also tell you right now, backing ANYTHING up accurately enough to align the two ends of your connector is a hell of a lot easier with two people — driver and spotter. It can be done by one, but only if you’re NOT having a bad-aim sort of day. Going-solo-with-an-aversion-to-spending-four-hours-hitching-up means you might do better with a class-C or van (that you can also drive as your everyday vehicle).

Like the “which RV to buy” decision wasn’t complicated enough already — right?

Author Bio

Ramona Creel is a woman of mystery and power, whose power is exceeded only by her mystery. A 20-year veteran Professional Organizer, Accountability Guru, and Golden Circle Member of NAPO, Ramona runs a one-babe cottage industry composed of 27% eyeliner, 13% tattoo ink, 18% dark chocolate, and 44% raw determination. (Believe me, she needs that extra 2%!) As a former Social Worker, Ramona describes her role as ‘resource-finder-and-problem-solver-extraordinaire.’ She plans eventually to take over the world using nothing more than unicorn glitter, cat fur, and movie quotes -- and her proudest credentials are ‘decreaser of world suckage’ and ‘queen of friggin’ everything.’ Ramona has worked with hundreds of clients, and has delivered scores of presentations on getting organized, being a better business person, achieving financial freedom, tin-can traveling, and embracing voluntary simplicity. She leads by example (having radically downsized herself) — traveling the country as a full-time RVer, living and working in less than 200 square feet. Ramona spreads the gospel of simplicity with everyone she meets — teaching others how to have more time and space for the truly important things in life (and be happy letting go of the rest). A modern-day Renaissance woman, Ramona has found a way to bring her many passions together into one satisfying career — as an organizer, coach, writer, artist, and speaker. Feel free to check out her latest triumphs and stupidities (kudos if you can figure out which are which) at www.RamonaCreel.com.