Winter Wisdom (and False Confidence)
The cold snap was coming, but for once, I had actual advice from true seasoned campers: heated hose, crack the cupboards, and leave a trickle in the taps. āJust donāt forget to leave your grey valve open,ā they said.
Checklist complete: heated hose, check. Black valve closed, check. Grey valve open, check. Tap trickling, check.
Three days in, I was smug. Warm trailer, working water, no banshees. I thought: Iāve cracked the code.
Day Four: The Beast Emerges
The day began like any other, until my toilet burped. The shower drained slow. A pit formed in my stomach.
Outside, as I reached for the black valve, I froze. (Literally.) There, slithering from my split sewer hose, was a frozen brown python, bulging and cracking its plastic skin. My very first poopsicle.
Not the sweet summer kind. A sewer-born ice sculpture, 20 feet long and very much alive in spirit.
And that, dear readers, is where the name Poopsicles to Paradise was born.
The Battle Plan
You canāt just āleave it.ā In spring thaw, Iād have an archaeological wonder oozing across the park. Options?
- Smash it with a shovel (hello, neighborhood art project).
- Boil water by the gallon and hope.
- Or invent āRV sewer surgeryā with duct tape, gutters, and grit.
I choseā¦ all of the above.
Rubber gloves on, I splinted the split hose with a plastic gutter. I boiled every drop of water my tiny tank could offer, then kettle after kettle on the stove. Pour, melt, curse, repeat.
Hours later, the poopsicle softened enough to flow. Only then did I dare open the black valve. Victory (mostly). The smaller āpoopsicle babiesā clung on, left to thaw another day.
Lesson Learned
- A ātiny trickleā plus low spots in your sewer hose = poopsicle factory.
- Keep the black valve closed until youāre dumping for real.
- Always carry a spare sewer hose.
And never underestimate what RV life will freeze solid just to mess with you.
