Scott D. McLean, MD

Hot hot hot hot hot hot hot.

Hey, something is going on. And I don’t mean in Idaho or Alaska. Or DC. Well, maybe DC.

Who, me? We’ve not met? Excuse me. I’m Milton, the campervan. Class B. More precisely, a 2023 Ford Transit Trail now upfitted and … well, is it upfit or upfitted? Tricky, especially for … where was I? Oh yeah, distracted. Yes, I was the shell of a commercial work van but now have solar panels, a shower, a kitchen, king-size bed, recessed lighting, Scheelmann seats, and I’ve become sentient, self-aware. Some would wish self-deprecating, but that’s not in the owner’s manual.

I’m named after a cat once owned by Erwin Schrödinger, but I’m not certain.

You know how some people talk and after a few weeks you have them figured out – if you consider everything they say and keep your eyes open, it turns out that everything they say, the exact opposite is true. You know this guy? Me too. No no no no it’s not me! C’mon! You can count on me.

Something’s going on. I can smell it.

It’s been a slow summer here in San Antonio. Mostly I’ve been in my Milton lair reading, you know, Kelly Blue Book, Mechanic Shop Femme’s Guide to Car Ownership, War and Peace. Thank God for AI – no new vocabulary word goes unentymologized. Even entymology – from the Latin from the Greek  ἐτυμολογία – the study of the true sense of a word. “Enty” – married to uncle Joe, plus “mology” – which is excuse me, darling.

Smell it? Eucalyptus! Petrichor! The noisome tang of capitol city swamp gas …

Yup, slow summer. Just as I was beginning to get too hot and antsy and think about sneaking down to Southtown for some beers and conjunto, the palace doors swing open and, lo, the overlords appear.

Scott and Paula, der Oberherren! Sir! Ma’am! Right away!

Oh, I shouldn’t. I know it. Stop scolding me! They’re nice. Yes. Nice (as if that’s a compliment!). Well, they did take me to the carwash, once. Though I’m not a car. And not an RV. Not a wave, not a particle, until you look at me. Then I’m whatever you wish.

Truth be told, they repaired my dinged diver’s side mirror, cleaned out all the beer bottles and scraped the old gum off the bottoms of the seats. New indoor/outdoor thermometry, folding chairs, tarps, and a Rockymounts bike rack. The indoor and outdoor showers are finally fixed. We’ve been in to the Ford dealer three times for service and recall work, and Home Depot like twelve times last week. Scott keeps asking if there’s a factory recall on my bad attitude, but I say, “Hey! Fugeddaboudit. That’s OEM, baby!!”

We’re supposed to be going back to Philly soon for a mini-makeover, my Upfit 2.0. I’ll get a new water heater (busted by a few days of -20 degrees (F) in Wyoming last February), a proper ladder, a mount for the Star Link Mini, under-chassis lights that – ooooh – change color, how fancy, and a porch light, and a sliding tray for the garage. We have binoculars! A fire blankey!

All the summer stuff has been changed out for a big autumn trip.

I’m guessing it’s gonna be a long drive. Scott just stashed 20 books into his library niche. He just installed some sweet rear door organizers, loaded ‘em up with tools and rope, flares, BF knives (oh, yeah), and this awesome German steel hatchet. I want to, like, throw it at something. Except I don’t have hands.

We are heading out. Soon. Through Philadelphia to see Roman and Laura, my godparents, at Vanture Customs. Which means East Coast. Then where? Hurricane alley? The crimsons and saffron yellows of maple leaves, cider mills, the earthy cheer of the crowd when the tailback hauls in a sharp pass on a slant route.

We will see.

I smell campfires and steaks already.