Frankentrailer's Final Trip

A late-season excursion to Jasper turned out to be one trip too many for our 1974 Sportcraft tent trailer. Salvaged from a Lethbridge backyard, structurally reinforced and rewired by Audrey's brother Garrett, then cleaned, patched and waterproofed by our household, Frankentrailer's voyage came to an end in the Wapiti campground, although we still managed to get him home.

Almost a year after Glory and I had enjoyed a successful and frigid expedition to Jasper, we decided to try it again, booking a campsite in mid-August, with Audrey joining us this time. As temperatures plummeted leading up to Friday's departure, we became apprehensive and fearful. But our resolve remained, and so we struck out westward right after work on the last day of summer.

So of course, it would snow.

It had snowed in Edmonton that morning too, to be fair, but it had stopped around noon, and the forecast for Jasper had actually been warmer (5 degrees instead of 2!). Rain in Edson turned to sleet in Hinton and to snow shortly after that.

We arrived at the campsite a little after ten, muscling the trailer into position (because I still have no skill for backing it up), then reversing the Flex so we could see by its headlights. As I cranked the jack, snow falling all around us, the posts slowly emerged from their housing in the trailer, crawling inexorably skyward with each turn of the handle. It's never been easy going (I'm actually the only one in the household capable of elevating the roof), but this time it felt even more arduous. The resistance increased as we neared the top, and I mentioned it just before there was a sharp TWANG followed by a thud as the portside supports gave out completely and the roof on the left side of the trailer collapsed.

There were many exclamatory shouts, some cursing, and then some frantic brainstorming as to how to proceed. When pushing the roof up on the lowered corners had no effect, and reversing the jack handle and cranking anti-clockwise did nothing to lower the other side, we decided, screw it, nothing to lose, and tried cranking it back up again. This actually put a handful of inches back into play, before stopping and then collapsing again.

So there we were: staring at an uninhabitable tent trailer that we were also unable to repack and drive away in, as summer snowflakes continued to dampen everything.

My exhaustion at this point was such that I thought our best strategy would be to improvise a shelter inside the dilapidated trailer, plug in the space heater and my CPAP machine for a night's sleep and then sort things out in the morning. I suggested as much but it was clear that no one else thought very highly of that plan.

So instead we lifted up the corners enough to pull back the extension ends, which allowed us to crawl into the trailer and lift it with our backs so that there was enough clearance to flip the sink/stove over and use that to prop up the roof. "We'll laugh about this one day," Glory assured us.

Pulling the benches open to see the cables themselves, there didn't appear to be anything we could do with the post that refused to lower. Looking at the jack assembly however, was a revelation. Dangling from one of the cables was some sort of housing with protruding bolts that had obviously broken loose from somewhere out of sight. Another bolt, completely sheared in mid-shank, was found in the vicinity as well. It was quite clear that the gearing and cables were no longer going to be a factor in either raising the trailer. But what about lowering it so we could at least leave?

Returning to the right rear post housing, I was able to move the cable sleeve a little bit with an ungloved finger, the incremental movements accompanied by a slightly satisfying clicking noise. Once outside, this enabled us to lower the stubborn posts in a combination of frantic reverse-cranking and straight-up beat-down on the corners of the trailer.

The roof stopped cooperating about 4 inches from the body of the trailer, so we took a break to warm up. It was already after midnight, and he prospect of navigating home with this derelict behind me in a snowstorm as part of a four-hour drive did nothing for my sense of well-being. So I got on my phone and managed to find and book a hotel room that night for a reasonable price, in Jasper.

Jasper, Alabama.

After calling the desk and speaking to Chrissie and getting her assurance that we wouldn't be charged as a no-show, I got us into the EconoLodge in Hinton, equidistant to Jasper in relation to the Miette Hot Springs. I was determined to salvage something positive from this shattered junket!

It took us almost another hour to secure the roof so it was safe to travel, then hook up Frankentrailer and make our way to Hinton. The roads, only slightly slick three hours before, had become slushy and treacherous as Jasper was inundated with heavy snowfall (I saw the Environment Canada advisory once we got to the hotel). Visibility was terrible, and from time to time the wheels took on a mind of their own as the Slurpee-like roads played hobb with my piloting.

It was just before 2:00 am when we pulled up to the EconoLodge. Glory took a shower to warm up while I pushed the trailer in to an out of the way parking lot. Soon enough we were all secure in bed, though my sleep was fitful as the stress of the drive (and manually maneuvering Frankentrailer) refused to drain from my shoulders and back.

The next day, we enjoyed the complimentary breakfast, then headed off to Miette to experience a well-deserved and relaxing soak in one of our favourite spots in the mountains. At last, I could feel movement return to my shoulders and my toes slowly unclenching.

Even though the snow had knocked out some of the power lines to the pool, leaving it a little cooler than usual, there was no denying how much it beautified the landscape we drove through on our way out.

Once home, Fenya and Austin helped us push Frankentrailer's remains back onto the patio and to unload the Flex. As we recounted the story of his final trip, I could feel Glory's prediction coming true. Now that we had successfully returned home, the stress and uncertainty had been replaced by laughter at the absurdity of it all.

Frankentrailer's reputation as the unlikely salvage project that became the hub of a number of great weekends a a couple of stellar vacations in Radium and Drumheller has clearly resonated with many people, a couple of whom commented "RIP Frankentrailer" as the story unfolded on my Instagram account. As frustrating as he may have been to deal with at times, I too will miss Frankentrailer (especially all the stickers we'd affixed to him over the years!). He took our camping trips up off the ground, sheltered us from the wind and rain, and even had a working fridge which insured cold beers on the hottest of days. But after 40 years, it is fair to say that the old Sportcraft has had its day.

You will be missed, faithful old steed!