On A Rig-Picking Expedition — There's More To Maintenance Than Meets The Bulbus Oculi

As you’re perusing the vehicular classifieds or braving those RV-show crowds or wandering a dealer’s lot, do you ever think, “Gee — I wonder how much it’ll cost to fix this water-heater (or power inverter or diesel engine) when it breaks?

No. Prolly not.

Next-to-nobody approaches rig-buying with an eye toward all those new-to-you systems crapping out.

But it’s guaranteed to happen at some point. You’ll be traveling along, reveling in the many freedoms that accompany this wanderlusty-type lifestyle, enjoying yourself immensely — when the fridge stops working. Or the air conditioner cuts off for good. Or your trailer brakes start smoking. (Hopefully not on a hill!)

Plumbing. Electric. Liquid propane. Sewage. Appliances. HVAC. Leveling. Towing. Suspension. Hydraulics.

What can I say — when you combine a house with a car, there are twice as many parts to wear out.

Do you know that the average recreationally-vehicular repair bill runs about $300 per hour, including parts and labor? That’s why educating yourself about the potential size of a holy-crap-I-had-no-idea-it-would-be-this-freaking-much bottom line in advance is an important part of your initial buying decision.

And that final dollar amount depends on a number of different variables:

• warranty (generally included with new — possibly available in the form of a third-party extended service policy on used — understand exactly what’s covered versus what’s not, where you can take your rig if it’s not “any shop you like,” whether the deductible is “per item” or “per visit,” pre-approval requirements, and how la mécanique gets paid — and see if you can’t aim for an “exclusionary contract,” the kind that covers every thing except whatever’s specifically listed as an exception)
• age (when a vintage model’s core components are in scarce supply or no-longer-manufactured, pretty much everything will be inherently spendier to mend — do a little research, find out how hard it’ll be to locate parts — and considering the fact that you’re only EVER going to break down hundreds of miles away from civilization, think about how long you’ll be stuck in a state of thumb-twiddling as you wait on them to be shipped from god-knows-where to the-junction-of-East-Jesus-and-Bumblefuck)
• complication (the more moving bits, the more opportunities you create for one of them to malfunction, as well as the-more-involved-and-dear any potential overhaul — things like electric steps, automatically-retracting awnings, and motor-driven slides, these can all cause a significant spike in the tally for that patch-job — I’m not saying to don’t have ’em, just try to balance out the everyday-convenience factor with those occasional-additional-setting-it-back-to-rights expenses)
• propulsion (truck motors are far less of a technological bother than those teetering-on-the-edge-of-what-you-might-find-in-a-semi monsters in bigger rigs, which is why that built-in-motorhome-engine bears a higher price-tag than the kind attached to a tow vehicle — and finding a winnebago fixer-upper in the middle of nowhere versus someone who works on a Dodge or Ford? ain’t so easy)
• incidentals (I have an Airstream, partly because they support every model made since 1930, and will continue to do so with every style built until the company’s doors close — but it’s also important that if my tow vehicle dies, I can unhitch and hand it over for repair with no disruption to my living environment — when a class A-B-C engine needs attention, your whole house goes in the shop — unless you want to live in the garage, count on a chunk of dough for hotel and convenience meals)

If you have faith in your handy-capabilities, you might not worry quite so much about future maintenance — but as someone who has zero talent with a wrench, I count every penny I spend on greasemonkeys.

No matter whether you buy used or new, self-propelling or tow-behind — there’s no getting around repair expense. But what you can control, to some degree, is the magnitude and inconvenience of those costs.

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.