Bessie and the Pawn Stars

Before we left Charlotte, Dave bought two “For Sale” signs to put on Bessie.  As we were rolling through the cornfields and soybean fields of Indiana, she logged her 70,000^th mile.  That’s not much for 16, but she’s at the point where things are breaking fairly regularly (see posts about brakes and gear shifts in New England!).  I taped them into the windows as we were leaving Kentucky.  Before we even turned her off at the campground near Indianapolis, we were approached by a guy who wanted to know about her.  He had just bought a used RV, and wanted a 2^nd one so that his “big family” could travel together.  “I’m a serious buyer,” he said as he peaked inside.  “We’ll go to the bank, and it’ll be a cash deal.  I’ll be back with the wife in about a ½ hour after you set up.”

 If nothing else, it got Bessie clean.  I straightened and vacuumed while David checked the internet with his mi-fi to verify his price and made a list of what we would take, and what we would leave.  We figured we would be leaving $2000-$3000 worth of furnishings and equipment (not to mention at least $200 in groceries we wouldn’t be able to pack in the cooler or use in the truck).  “This is too good to be true,” we kept telling ourselves, “less than a 50-50 chance.”  But we had sold a house once on the afternoon we put the borrowed for sale sign up, why not?

His 2nd visit with his wife, who did not say a word, and son who was 17 and going to school on the internet (we had our mi-fi, but otherwise there was no internet in the campground and they were there for a week) definitely didn’t pan out!  They inspected our unit and then it became evident that their negotiating tactic was to show us their unit and impress us with the deal they had gotten.  “Guess what I paid” he said.  And Dave did guess twice what he reported as the price.  Or did he automatically half it?  He had already blown a couple of tires and had to replace them after buying it just a few days ago, and was worried about having it up on jacks to level it (the front tires were completely off the ground).  He probably had gotten a bargain, but we made it clear that while we might have some “wiggle room,” we weren’t giving Bessie away.  It seemed he became more vague the more he talked.  Something just didn’t ring true.  There was a “off the wall” factor and the “big family” was obviously absent.  He was a pawn broker with his dad, and while not Chumly, or Big Hoss (History Channel Pawn Star reference), we weren’t sure if he was playing with a full deck.  He wanted to research it a little once he got internet and would fly out and meet us with cash.  No offer was made.  While we exchanged email addresses, we would bet the farm that we won’t hear from him again.  And we’re not sure we want to sell Bessie to him regardless (though, if you “show us the money”…sorry Bessie) Right after he left, Dave went to raise the antennae, and the handle broke.  Is Bessie mad at us?  [Dave’s note:  just before Deb posted this I reminded her that we left them our card with the blog address,  so Chumly may be reading this.  Oops!  Chumly, we apologize but know that even I occasionally get roasted by Deb’s story telling.  She takes after her dad.]

We had planned to take the segways to a “South End/NoDa” sounding neighborhood in Indianapolis that had a bike trail along an abandoned railroad (why can’t Charlotte find one of these!!?), but after wasting an hour with Mr. Pawn Star, recovering from a 4 hr. drive that turned into 6, and being disappointed in the campground  (“Spa?  What internet site were you looking at?  We turned that thing off two years ago.”), we decided to eat “get it yourself or starve” and fall into bed early.  Let’s just say this wasn’t our favorite stop.  At least we got it out of the way near the first of the trip.  It’ll only go up from here.