When we bought our GMC in 1995, Steve and Kathy Galovic published “GMC Motorhome Marketplace” magazine and printed the bulk of this piece. I re-read it once a year and am delighted with how relevant the message remains and how much it bears repeating . (January 2026)
8/11/95, The GMC Adventure Begins
I should start by saying I'm new to this. Motorhomes I mean. A summer spent in a friend's backyard in a school bus conversion does not prepare one for the joys, or the trials, of high-mileage and high-fun motorhome living. But, armed with a small legacy from my father's passing and a large basketful of ignorance, I went shopping and came up with a '73 GMC 26 footer. You know the one, it's a lot like yours. Cosmetically pretty nice but checkered maintenance history, drives pretty good, but you wonder about the bearings, etc. etc. I knew nothing about the GMC, it's history, lore, "family" or anything else, except a vague feeling that this old dog held kind of a special place in the motorhome world.
With equal parts of ignorance and optimism, Virginia and I decided to launch our motorhome ownership with a one month, 3200 mile journey in honor of my parents and hit all the old family waypoints, from the Twin Cities through North and South Dakota, back through northern Minnesota, the EAA airshow in Oshkosh, and home to Chicago. We weren't completely ignorant, we managed to find Alex Birch and buy a screen door; and we bought some stuff for the holding tank so it wouldn't smell. Just about the same preparation you do for your GMC, right?...
Well, this isn't a horror story; it's a story about family, and how a piece of machinery with a bit of magic can connect people in strange and wonderful ways. I won't bore you with the ordinary stuff. Everyone has their tales of the perfect campsite, a fabulous meal or the lucky chance that leads down the most beautiful of all possible roads, and we have more than our share. We were, for example, pleasantly surprised to see camping in almost every small town city park and to learn that one does not have to stand on their head and hold their breath to take a shower in an RV.
On a Sunday, late afternoon, after a gas stop and phone call, we pulled out eager to begin the next chapter and found, with no preamble whatsoever, that we had no third gear. And no speedometer either... but then, who cares when the machine strains noisily just to go down the road! Like any good pilot would, I turned 180 degrees, noted the Oldsmobile dealer on the left and went back into town in search of the city park.
The human mind is an amazing thing; and my ability to invent, list, sort and agonize over horrible outcomes amazes me to this day. Not to mention punishing myself on what an ass I was to buy a 23 year old vehicle in the first place. We found the park (lovely), bought a bottle of wine (lovely) and while at the liquor store called every one of the fourteen employees of the Olds dealer (none available). Later in the park, we sat in the relative comfort of our new "towable" RV thinking that Langdon, ND may well be the most expensive town we'd ever seen and surely the end of the good times we'd been having.
Now comes the magic. Among the sundry spare parts legacy from the previous owner was a great wad of printed material, including, but not limited to: Onan book, GMCMM mags, Xeroxed manual (wrong year), Fridge instructions, GMC International newsletters, parts receipts (omygod!), tune-up specs, etc. If I were a better writer I might be able to convey the horrible despair of being stranded in a strange town, in a strange vehicle, crushed by the thought of another thousand dollars on an already straining credit card, suffering with my family in an awful, sticky heat and reduced to rummaging through old magazines for any scrap of information.
The wine and my wife were my only comfort until the idea slowly began to emerge from all the stuff that there was a large, vigorous group of people who, united by an affection for the GMC design, freely shared ideas, information, sources, destinations and a remarkable group of merchants dedicated to a 23 year old design. Hopeful again, I walked over to the phone booth and called Darrel Winterfelt in Longmont, CO. I did not get voicemail; he did not ask "why are you calling at 7:30 on a Sunday evening"; he did not regard me as another profit opportunity to be squeezed, he solved my problem. "Pop the spring clip, pull the transmission governor and replace the little plastic gear at the bottom. And don't forget to replace the rolled pin retainer". I love phone booths. They keep you standing when the feather tries to push you over.
The rest is history. The Olds dealer was very helpful even though the Service Manager was still in diapers in '73. They didn't have the part but found it for me and lent me a car. The cost was $6.50 (I bought two). The lesson, however, was priceless; that GMC owners and vendors have created a tradition of helpfulness and shared knowledge that's available whenever the need arises and that it comes, magically, with the GMC when you buy it. I see it now as a sort of hidden "accessory package" and wonder whenever a shiny new diesel pusher passes how that fellow will fare when the unexpected hits. I am also keenly aware that as my relationship with our GMC grows deeper, my affection for the machine is inseparable with my affection for the community of people so eager to help and share in the joys of our journey. So, if you see us rolling along in "Wanibizo", that’s Anisinabe Indian for "...he gets lost while driving", say hello, ...it seems like we know you already.
Coda: Times change, things move forward. Darrel has passed, some of the GMC Motorhome vendors from 1995 have retired or passed the business on to younger family. Some are unchanged beyond more years of experience. But the essential message of this story is unchanged. Find yourself by the side of the road in a GMC and there is a huge body of friends, some likely quite close by, to help solve whatever problem pulled you over. Many of the major systems in my coach have now been updated and problems from my now 46 (53) year old vehicle are few. The spare gear I bought in 1995 remains in the center console of my coach waiting for its moment, for example.
Today I drive down the road with a 24 year history of joy and good times in our coach, bolstered by the knowledge that lots of friends I haven’t met yet ride along, ready to help. They completely understand all of this.
8/11/95, The GMC Adventure Begins
I should start by saying I'm new to this. Motorhomes I mean. A summer spent in a friend's backyard in a school bus conversion does not prepare one for the joys, or the trials, of high-mileage and high-fun motorhome living. But, armed with a small legacy from my father's passing and a large basketful of ignorance, I went shopping and came up with a '73 GMC 26 footer. You know the one, it's a lot like yours. Cosmetically pretty nice but checkered maintenance history, drives pretty good, but you wonder about the bearings, etc. etc. I knew nothing about the GMC, it's history, lore, "family" or anything else, except a vague feeling that this old dog held kind of a special place in the motorhome world.
With equal parts of ignorance and optimism, Virginia and I decided to launch our motorhome ownership with a one month, 3200 mile journey in honor of my parents and hit all the old family waypoints, from the Twin Cities through North and South Dakota, back through northern Minnesota, the EAA airshow in Oshkosh, and home to Chicago. We weren't completely ignorant, we managed to find Alex Birch and buy a screen door; and we bought some stuff for the holding tank so it wouldn't smell. Just about the same preparation you do for your GMC, right?...
Well, this isn't a horror story; it's a story about family, and how a piece of machinery with a bit of magic can connect people in strange and wonderful ways. I won't bore you with the ordinary stuff. Everyone has their tales of the perfect campsite, a fabulous meal or the lucky chance that leads down the most beautiful of all possible roads, and we have more than our share. We were, for example, pleasantly surprised to see camping in almost every small town city park and to learn that one does not have to stand on their head and hold their breath to take a shower in an RV.
On a Sunday, late afternoon, after a gas stop and phone call, we pulled out eager to begin the next chapter and found, with no preamble whatsoever, that we had no third gear. And no speedometer either... but then, who cares when the machine strains noisily just to go down the road! Like any good pilot would, I turned 180 degrees, noted the Oldsmobile dealer on the left and went back into town in search of the city park.
The human mind is an amazing thing; and my ability to invent, list, sort and agonize over horrible outcomes amazes me to this day. Not to mention punishing myself on what an ass I was to buy a 23 year old vehicle in the first place. We found the park (lovely), bought a bottle of wine (lovely) and while at the liquor store called every one of the fourteen employees of the Olds dealer (none available). Later in the park, we sat in the relative comfort of our new "towable" RV thinking that Langdon, ND may well be the most expensive town we'd ever seen and surely the end of the good times we'd been having.
Now comes the magic. Among the sundry spare parts legacy from the previous owner was a great wad of printed material, including, but not limited to: Onan book, GMCMM mags, Xeroxed manual (wrong year), Fridge instructions, GMC International newsletters, parts receipts (omygod!), tune-up specs, etc. If I were a better writer I might be able to convey the horrible despair of being stranded in a strange town, in a strange vehicle, crushed by the thought of another thousand dollars on an already straining credit card, suffering with my family in an awful, sticky heat and reduced to rummaging through old magazines for any scrap of information.
The wine and my wife were my only comfort until the idea slowly began to emerge from all the stuff that there was a large, vigorous group of people who, united by an affection for the GMC design, freely shared ideas, information, sources, destinations and a remarkable group of merchants dedicated to a 23 year old design. Hopeful again, I walked over to the phone booth and called Darrel Winterfelt in Longmont, CO. I did not get voicemail; he did not ask "why are you calling at 7:30 on a Sunday evening"; he did not regard me as another profit opportunity to be squeezed, he solved my problem. "Pop the spring clip, pull the transmission governor and replace the little plastic gear at the bottom. And don't forget to replace the rolled pin retainer". I love phone booths. They keep you standing when the feather tries to push you over.
The rest is history. The Olds dealer was very helpful even though the Service Manager was still in diapers in '73. They didn't have the part but found it for me and lent me a car. The cost was $6.50 (I bought two). The lesson, however, was priceless; that GMC owners and vendors have created a tradition of helpfulness and shared knowledge that's available whenever the need arises and that it comes, magically, with the GMC when you buy it. I see it now as a sort of hidden "accessory package" and wonder whenever a shiny new diesel pusher passes how that fellow will fare when the unexpected hits. I am also keenly aware that as my relationship with our GMC grows deeper, my affection for the machine is inseparable with my affection for the community of people so eager to help and share in the joys of our journey. So, if you see us rolling along in "Wanibizo", that’s Anisinabe Indian for "...he gets lost while driving", say hello, ...it seems like we know you already.
Coda: Times change, things move forward. Darrel has passed, some of the GMC Motorhome vendors from 1995 have retired or passed the business on to younger family. Some are unchanged beyond more years of experience. But the essential message of this story is unchanged. Find yourself by the side of the road in a GMC and there is a huge body of friends, some likely quite close by, to help solve whatever problem pulled you over. Many of the major systems in my coach have now been updated and problems from my now 46 (53) year old vehicle are few. The spare gear I bought in 1995 remains in the center console of my coach waiting for its moment, for example.
Today I drive down the road with a 24 year history of joy and good times in our coach, bolstered by the knowledge that lots of friends I haven’t met yet ride along, ready to help. They completely understand all of this.
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