Living Minnie: Part 1
We thought today we’d provide a much needed distraction and hopefully a bit of levity on this all important election day. After living in the Minnie for just shy of four months, we thought it time to let you in, slowly, on how we make it work in twenty-three feet. While it’s not always easy, we love the challenge, and it has been an excellent exercise for us, to push our minds and bodies to live differently. You certainly don’t get into any ruts living Minnie. There are a plethora of topics to cover in this blog series, but we thought we would get down and dirty up front so as to get it out of the way.
We talk about color a great deal in relationship to Alanna’s stunning photos, but when it comes to the Minnie, we talk about black and grey. These are the designations for the two tanks that hold waste water—black for the toilet and grey for the sinks. When they get to be about two-thirds full, we have to dump them. This, of course, requires a designated dump station, which we sometimes find in campgrounds and other times have to search high and low for.
Our first few months out, we used to worry about the tanks, when to dump, where to dump, a heck of a lot more than we do now. It’s just become part of the rhythm of living Minnie at this point, though we did get a hard lesson recently on what happens when our tanks actually get full (fortunately with the grey tank) and after cleaning a shower and sink full of nasty dish water we vowed to go back to being a bit more attentive.
Luckily for us, I have plenty of experience handling dumping the tanks. When I was a kid, we had a motorhome that carted the six of us all around the country. I was like my dad’s little assistant, and I loved being so responsible, hooking up hoses and the electricity, donning the rubber gloves that were as long as my scrawny little arms, climbing to the roof to throw down bags. Alanna did not grow up this way, so needless to say, she is thrilled that I am reliving a part of my childhood each time we need to flush out the tanks.
To several friends our tanks have seemed barbaric; for us though, the Minnie has better “plumbing” than our SF apartments. Our last place had a busted sewer line for the last three months of our tenancy, so all of our waste drained into the backyard as though we were living in a developing country rather than a major US city. Compared to that, hooking up a hose to dump our grey and black tanks seems positively civilized. And when we look at the lines for and smell the vault toilets in various trailhead parking lots and campgrounds, we are forever grateful to always have our own toilet. This summer the number of visitors to Yellowstone was so high that even daily pumping of the toilets couldn’t keep up and they would overflow. Nasty!
Our “plumbing” has also taught us an interesting thing—there is a very important reason toilets are made of porcelain. RV toilets are plastic and plastic is absorbent, thus, much cleaning is required.
Last thoughts on driving our toilet around…the west has a dearth of rest areas so we often drive hundreds of miles and never see services. Thankfully, we have been relieved of the desperate, often futile, search for restrooms. We simply get off at the next exit, pull over safely, and pee! Major time saver! In the middle of the night, it still feels luxurious to crawl out of bed, walk one step and take care of business on the toilet that travels. Gone are the internal debates from my tenting days about how long can I hold it, or will there be a grizzly or scorpion waiting outside the tent door for me, I just go. One ply toilet paper and the digesting chemicals the tank requires can be difficult to locate, but ultimately the pros of the traveling toilet far outweigh the cons. Lastly, and lovingly, it’s the first toilet we’ve actually owned together!
