Coffeehouse Chronicles: Western Region Rally Edition (Expanded & Slightly More Honest Than Necessary)

Hello, Chroniclers! Got yer cup?

We’re still here—yes, still—at the Western Region Rally. Spirits are high, beverages are cold (when they’re plugged in), and as expected, no trip like this is ever completely incident-free.

So far, we’ve only had two minor… let’s call them “character-building experiences.”

Incident #1: The Case of the Phantom Air Conditioning

This actually happened on night one, but I couldn’t remember it at the time—which, frankly, already sets the tone.

We pull into what we lovingly refer to as “the valley.” Now, when I say valley, what I mean is: the surface of the sun, but with hookups.

It was hotter than blazes. Naturally, after setup, I go to turn on the A/C.

Now, according to the HB, we have one of those fancy new digital thermostats—Bluetooth, Wi-Fi, probably capable of filing your taxes and judging your life choices. Supposedly, I can control it from Tokyo if I need to.

So I tap the app.

It lights up.  It says it’s working. It says everything is fantastic.

Reader, it was lying.

No air.

Try A/C #2. Lights on, nobody home. A/C #3, Same thing. Look, I already know. Having three ACs in a moving house is a bit decadent, but wait until I tell you how many TVs we have. (I'm just going to ask you: have you seen Roberta & Phil Abner's Rolling Palace? Asking for a friend.) 

At this point, we’ve got the illusion of climate control.

For 45 minutes, we do what all intelligent adults do in moments like this:

• Poke things

• Reset things

• Stare at the ceiling

• Blame technology

• Blame each other

• Blame the valley

Finally—finally—Yoko, who is famously independent and not one to go borrowing other people’s stuff (or sharing hers), says:

“Let’s go sit in our RV. Our air conditioner works.”

And that, my friends, is how you know things have gone too far.

So we pack ourselves up and migrate like overheated wildlife into the Professor and Yoko’s RV, where we proceed to eat dinner, laugh, and pretend we’d planned it that way.

Later that night, around 10 PM, the HB and I retreat back to our RV.

All the windows were open… which is adorable, because it was still hotter than a sauna designed by revenge.

At one point, we seriously considered going into the bathroom, throwing water on something—anything—and pretending we were at a spa.

We eventually collapse into bed.

At 4 AM, one of the alarms goes off.

Now, Readers, when an RV makes a noise at 4 AM, it is never good news. It’s either:

• A mechanical issue

• An electrical issue

• Or the RV deciding it no longer respects you

I went to investigate.

Everything was dark. Completely black. Silence… except for the alarm.

And then it hits me.

Your Hero—Mr. Step-By-Step Overthinker—forgot one very important thing:

There was a plug… That was not plugged… Into the autoformer.

We had been running the entire operation off battery power for the past 16 hours.

Which explains:

• No A/C

• No relief

• And our descent into pioneer conditions

So yes. Mystery solved. Crisis resolved. Dignity… pending.

Now we move on to Incident #2.

Somehow—still under investigation—Yoko broke their RV stairs.

We, the HB & I, didn’t know this yet.

The HB walked over, opened the RV door…

And is immediately greeted by a noise that can only be described as:

“Mechanical agony having an existential crisis.”

She SLAMMED the door and ran away as if it had growled at her.

Meanwhile, Aaron (who was inside) was waving his arms wildly, trying to signal me.

Now, I had no idea what he was saying.

So naturally, I walked over… …and opened the door.

SCREEEEEECH–CLANG–GROAN.

I slammed the door.

Pause.

Opened it again (because clearly the first time wasn’t enough).

SCREEEEEECH–CLANG–GROAN (Encore Performance).

I slammed it again.

Opened it a third time because now I was committed to understanding this situation.

Finally, Aaron held up his hand as if he were a crossing guard herding children through a busy intersection toward me, and said calmly:

“I was trying to tell you NOT to open the door!”

“But when you HAD the door open, I was trying to tell you NOT to close it!”

“Then when you CLOSED it, I was trying to tell you to OPEN it again!”

At this point, if what you’re picturing is a 1940s Laurel and Hardy routine…You are exactly right.

🎤 Evenings at the Rally: The Newlywed Game (Senior Edition)

We finally made it to Oregon, and every evening we gather with folks from about five or six states.

They bring out “special guests” to warm up the crowd… which on night one, turns out to be:

Aaron, our pal, “the Hose Jockey,” Keith, and—apparently—me.

We played a version of the Newlywed Game… except our contestant couples have been married almost 50 years, 40 years, and the young’ns?  Thirty years.

The game? Testing their memory:

• First dates

• Anniversaries

• Who said what and when and why

It was hilarious.

TBH: I’m pretty sure Keith invented the game because his anniversary is coming up, and he clearly needed notes on what to buy Wendy. Rumor has it that he’s stumped.

🎟️ The Great Raffle Confusion of Kimberly vs. Kimberly

Night two: raffle time.

Important rule:

You must be present to win.

Kimberly Wonders heard her number—or believed she did—and launched herself forward like she’d just won the lottery:

“THAT’S ME!!!”

She sprinted up, full celebration mode.

Behind her, her husband Tony was trying desperately to rein her in, like:

“No! That’s not—STOP—WAIT—”

Because her number was 155.

The winning number? 158.

The actual winner: The other Kimberly—Kimberly Price, NOT Kimberly Wonders.

At this point, we’ve decided future raffles are just going to say:

“Kimberly… come on down.”

More stories are coming—trust me.

Because if this trip has proven anything, it’s that we are only one unplugged cord or suspicious staircase away from our next adventure.

Until then…

You know what to do…Drink ’em if you got ’em!

#coffeehousechronicles