I swear, there’s a law of nature that no one warned me about. Something like: “If it’s about to rain, your trailer will betray you.” Sounds dramatic? Yeah, well—tell that to my window seal, which decided to give up on life exactly five minutes before the sky opened up last Tuesday.
I was parked in what was supposed to be a quiet little site near some national forest (not naming names, but let’s just say it was supposed to have “partial shade” and Wi-Fi… lies). It was one of those peaceful evenings, light breeze, overcast sky, birds chirping like everything was fine. Then I heard it—a drip. Inside. Followed by another. Then I felt it. Cold, soggy, definitely-not-welcome water running down the inside of the window frame. Awesome.
I know, I know. I should’ve resealed it months ago. It had that crusty look, like when caulk starts peeling at the corners. I noticed it, made a mental note, and then… promptly forgot. Because something else broke. Probably the drawer slide or that one cabinet latch that opens itself while I drive (and dumps all my canned food onto the floor every single time).
This is the reality they don’t show you in glossy travel blogs. They don’t post about trying to replace a rubber window seal in the rain, barefoot, with a flashlight duct-taped to your head because your porch light shorted out last week. Or maybe they do and I just haven’t found the right people yet.
Anyway, I did what any self-respecting trailer dweller does: panic for two minutes, complain loudly to no one, and then dig through the random bin of “maybe I’ll need this someday” stuff I keep under the dinette. Found some butyl tape (still sticky, thank god), a dull razor, and my stubborn streak. Boom. Temporary seal. It leaked a little, sure. But at least the bed didn’t get soaked this time.
The funny part? Later that night, with the rain still drizzling and a bucket under the drip (yes, there was a second one I missed), I actually laughed. Like really laughed. Because it’s ridiculous. I live in a box on wheels and I expect it to behave like a house. That’s on me.
I’ve started making a list. Not of things I need to fix (though, yeah, that list is long too), but of weird, oddly specific trailer truths. Like:
- One of your cabinet doors will always rattle no matter what you do.
- Gravity triples when you forget to latch the fridge before driving.
- Your trailer door will lock you out at least once. Minimum.
- You will curse. Often. But also—you’ll smile while doing it.
I guess what I’m saying is: this life is nuts. It’s held together with zip ties, expired caulk, and stubborn optimism. And it’s still… kinda amazing? Like, where else do you get a front-row seat to a thunderstorm, wrapped in a sleeping bag, listening to the rain tap on your (hopefully resealed) window?
So yeah. Things break. Usually at the worst time. But I’m still out here. Still chasing roads, fixing stuff as I go, and laughing at the absurdity of it all.
If you’re reading this and nodding along—you’re my kind of people. And if you haven’t had your first leak yet… just wait. It’s coming. But so is the next sunrise.
Keep a roll of tape handy. And maybe an umbrella.
