Out Of Practice And Slightly Unhinged: Hooking Up The Fifth Wheel Again

There are some things in life that sound simple until you are standing in the driveway, staring at the back of a truck, questioning every life choice that led you to that exact moment.

Hooking up the fifth wheel should have been one of those things we knew how to do.

After all, we have done it before.

We have pulled it. Parked it. Leveled it. Lived in it. Talked about it. Planned around it. Dreamed with it. We are not brand new to this whole fifth wheel adventure.

But the other day, after months of not hooking up the fifth wheel to the back of the truck, we quickly discovered something very important.

Apparently, fifth wheel hookup skills do not stay sharp by magic.

They fade.

They hide.

They wander off somewhere between good intentions and muscle memory.

And when you need them again, they do not always show back up on time.

In my mind, this was going to be easy.

We were going to back up the truck, line everything up, hook up the fifth wheel, and feel very accomplished. Maybe even proud. Maybe even a little impressed with ourselves.

That is not exactly what happened.

Instead, what should have been a fairly simple process turned into a 30 to 45 minute comedy of errors, frustration, guessing, adjusting, and second guessing.

The truck was there.

The fifth wheel was there.

The hitch was there.

Jim was there.

I was there.

All the necessary characters had arrived for the scene.

And yet somehow, the scene did not want to move forward.

There is a special kind of frustration that happens when you know something should work, but it refuses to work. It is not dramatic enough to be a crisis, but it is just irritating enough to make your eyebrows start speaking before your mouth does.

At first, I was calm.

Helpful, even.

The kind of person who says, “We will get it,” and actually believes it.

Then a few minutes passed.

Then a few more.

Then we adjusted.

Then we backed up.

Then we pulled forward.

Then we looked.

Then we discussed.

Then we adjusted again.

By that point, my sweet and patient travel personality was beginning to pack a small overnight bag and leave the premises.

Even though I was frustrated in the moment, I am still thankful we had the fifth wheel sitting there waiting on us. It meant we were getting ready for another adventure. It meant we were one step closer to the road, the sunrise, the open spaces, and the simple joy of going somewhere together.

Sometimes gratitude does not show up as a peaceful smile and a perfect attitude.

Sometimes gratitude looks like taking a deep breath, laughing at yourself, and admitting that even the annoying parts are still part of the blessing.

I could feel my temper creeping up like a thermometer in July.

Not a full meltdown.

Not yet.

But definitely simmering.

It was one of those moments where you are still using your regular voice, but your tone has started adding extra punctuation.

RV life has a funny way of keeping you humble.

People see the pretty side of travel. They see sunsets, campfires, scenic roads, morning coffee, hot tea in a travel mug, beautiful campsites, and smiling pictures with perfect lighting.

What they do not always see is two people trying to hook up a fifth wheel after months of not doing it and realizing they are no longer as smooth as they thought they were.

They do not see the awkward hand signals.

They do not hear the conversations that sound polite, but have just a little too much energy behind them.

They do not see the moment when you think, “Surely we are close now,” only to realize that close is apparently not close enough.

They do not see you standing there wondering how something so big can be so picky about being lined up just right.

That is real RV life too.

And honestly, it may be one of the most honest parts of it.

It is easy to enjoy the pretty pictures after the work is done. It is a little harder to enjoy the messy middle while you are standing there trying not to let a hitch ruin your whole attitude.

But those are the moments that teach us the most.

Slow down.

Pay attention.

Try again.

Laugh when you can.

Apologize when you need to.

And remember that the goal is not just getting hooked up. The goal is learning how to move forward together.

Travel is beautiful, but it is not always graceful.

Sometimes it is breathtaking scenery.

Sometimes it is a peaceful drive.

Sometimes it is a perfect campsite.

And sometimes it is standing beside a fifth wheel trying to figure out why something you have done before suddenly feels like an advanced engineering project.

The truth is, we were out of practice.

That was the real problem.

We had not hooked up the fifth wheel in months, and we expected ourselves to step right back into the process like we had done it yesterday.

But RV life does not always work like that.

Some things need practice.

Some things need patience.

Some things need a sense of humor.

And some things need all three at the same time.

Once we admitted that we were rusty, the whole situation became a little easier to accept. It was still frustrating, but it was also funny in that familiar road life kind of way.

The kind of funny that is not funny while it is happening.

The kind of funny that becomes funny later, after the hitch is locked, the truck is connected, and nobody is standing outside silently questioning their entire personality.

Looking back, I am thankful for the experience. Not because it was easy, because it was not. Not because I handled every moment with perfect grace, because I absolutely did not. I am thankful because it reminded us that this life is not about looking perfect. It is about showing up, figuring it out, and finding joy in the process.

Even the frustrating process.

Especially the frustrating process.

The best part of the whole ordeal was not how smoothly we handled it, because let us be honest, smooth was not the word of the day.

The best part was that we eventually got it done together.

In the middle of the frustration, it was easy to feel annoyed. It was easy to feel rushed. It was easy to think, “We should already know how to do this.”

But once everything finally connected, the frustration started to fade.

Is that not how it usually happens?

The thing that felt impossible five minutes earlier was suddenly finished.

The hitch locked into place.

The truck and fifth wheel were connected.

The task was done.

Not graceful.

Not fast.

Not magazine worthy.

But done.

And sometimes done is beautiful.

We looked at each other with that familiar look that says, “Well, that was something.”

And it was something.

It was a reminder that we are still learning. Still practicing. Still figuring things out as we go.

It was also a reminder that teamwork matters, especially when both people are tired, the process is not going smoothly, and one of you may or may not be one frustrating moment away from needing a snack and a quiet corner.

The road has a way of teaching lessons before you ever leave the driveway.

That day, the lesson was simple.

We do not have to be perfect to keep moving forward.

We just have to keep trying, keep laughing, and keep choosing to face the next step together.

Chasing The Sun sounds beautiful, and it is.

But it is not always smooth.

Sometimes chasing the sun means chasing the right angle.

The right backup position.

The right hitch height.

The right amount of patience.

Sometimes it means standing beside the truck, wondering why something you have done before suddenly feels brand new.

Sometimes it means laughing at yourself because the only other choice is being mad at a piece of equipment that truly does not care about your mood.

That day reminded us that travel is not just about where we are going. It is also about how we handle the little moments along the way.

We learned that being out of practice is okay.

We learned that frustration does not have to ruin the day.

We learned that teamwork matters.

We learned that laughter can turn a stressful moment into a story worth telling.

Most of all, we were reminded to be thankful for the experience itself. The truck, the fifth wheel, the time together, the chance to try again, and the hope of another road ahead are all blessings.

The next time we hook up the fifth wheel, I hope it takes less than 45 minutes.

But if it does not, I am sure it will give us another story to tell.

Because Chasing The Sun is not about perfect travel.

It is about real sunshine.

Real stories.

Real lessons.

And two people still learning how to enjoy the ride, one slightly unhinged hookup at a time.