Well, after months of planning we are finally on the road! We started from LA on Friday, on our way to St. Louis to begin following the inaugural run of the Butterfield Overland Mail Co. stagecoach route.

Day 1: Things haven't gone exactly stellar so far. First, when we arrived at the RV rental site the RV was nowhere to be found. The reason? Turns out it wouldn't start this morning, or yesterday for that matter. Normally this would not be a big deal — we could have just asked for another RV. However, our RV was wrapped in a vinyl graphic.

That's it. It was this one or nothing.

So, we waited. A little over an hour later, there it was! In all its red and yellow glory! It was a beauty from the outside, and the inside appeared clean, although a little smaller than I had expected.

We loaded everything up and were off. "We" is Juan, Curator of the Los Angeles museum and my cohort for this leg of the journey; Eddie, my youngest Boston Terrier in his lap; and Charlie, the oldest dog, doing what he does best — sleep. Then there's me, wobbling around as I struggle to put everything in its place.

As I worked, I stepped on wet carpet outside the bathroom. Ugh, not good! The RV rental company assured me that someone must have spilled something while it was being prepared — nothing to worry about. I soon learned that there was much to worry about. But I soaked it all up as best I could.

We traveled seven hours and stopped at the Riverside RV Park  in Laughlin, Nevada. The hustle and bustle and bright lights of the casinos just below us was actually a beautiful sight to see. But after a long day, the lumpy bed in the back of the RV was not so bad looking itself.

Day 2: It was a great morning in Laughlin! After a walk with Eddie and Charlie ("the boys"), we were on the road again. We rendezvoused with Connie, Curator of the Phoenix museum and my traveling partner next week, in Flagstaff, Arizona, so she could loan us some camping supplies. Connie and her husband Bill own their own RV and have all the essentials.

Lucky for us, Bill is also quite handy around an RV and helped us fix some problems we encountered: a non-cooling fridge (bad!) and a generator that wouldn't turn on. He also showed us how to dump waste water, a task I'm not exactly looking forward to.

After some lunch, we were off with Juan at the helm. (He's a power driver!) The landscape on the way to Albuquerque, New Mexico is beautiful. We passed through the Painted Desert   and through magnificent red rock cliffs. A storm to the south created the oddest rainbow, which swelled and then grew thin and appeared to shoot straight down from the clouds. No arch — just a wall of color from desert to cloud. Part of our journey also took us through the Navajo reservation.

Albuquerque  — what a sight! — a sprawling metropolis with yellow lights twinkling ahead as we descended into the valley that is the city. It was much bigger than I ever imagined. Soon we came upon the KOA/Central Albuquerque , our home for the night.

We knew it was the right spot when we turned onto "Juan Road." And what was on the corner? A Wells Fargo store!

Day 3: After our first cooked meal in the RV (bacon and eggs), we were on the road again. The next drive was a short ride (yes, I said short!) through Texas. (We were only going through a slice of Amarillo .) Once again, we were greeted in Oklahoma by a magnificent rainbow — we had made great progress to that point, so the rainbow seemed a sign of good things to come.

Then it began to rain. I put on the windshield wipers, but they were so worn they barely worked. We had to stop for new blades! Next, I tried putting the defrost on and guess what? No heat. No heat whatsoever in the cab. None. Nada. Zip. And the rain was starting to pour. But now, we were on one of those stretches of interstate without a truck stop or gas station. None. Nada. Zip.

We drove mile after mile carefully toward Missouri, and the nearest truck stop, for new wiper blades. And still the rain came down, and still no truck stop. We seemed to be in the middle of nowhere. Pulling over would have not been a safe option because there was barely a shoulder to pull onto.

So we drove on, and the rain poured down.

Juan made his way to the back of the RV and slush! Water rushed over his toes with every step. We had a leak—a very bad leak. He worked feverishly to sop up all he could with all the towels we had, until we finally reached a truck stop. We purchased wiper blades and 4 rolls of extra heavy duty shop towels. We drained the last of the fresh water from our tank, thinking this was the source of the leak. In pouring, ice-cold rain, Juan changed the blades while I continued to dry the carpet. After twenty minutes, thinking we had fixed the water issue, we were off again. We had had enough, and were cold and wet.

As Juan drove, I continued to sop the leaky mess, but to no avail. It was getting wetter and wetter. I was frustrated and realized the fresh water tank was not the problem: I opened the storage bin under the fridge and saw, to my horror, what looked like "Old Faithful."  The RV body was cracked in two places over the wheel. The cabin was completely exposed to the passing freeway below, and the tires were shooting water — lots of it! — straight in! From there it flooded the carpet, smack dab in the middle of the living area and kitchen!

"Juan, we gotta stop! We have a major problem!" I yelled.

But again, we were between here and nowhere. We had hoped to make it to Joplin, Missouri, with our new wiper blades and drained water tank, but Joplin was too far away and we had to stop fast. I worked feverishly to control the leak, using my long-ago training in damage control   from Navy boot camp. Juan searched for signs of life ahead.

After a while, there were lights in the distance — a good sign. None too soon, we pulled into an RV spot, hooked up, and began again to sop up water. It was nearly midnight and the rain and wind were picking up again. A quick check of weather.com on my iPhone showed we had met up with a weakened, but no less angry, Hurricane Ike .

As I lay in that lumpy bed with the rain pounding and the wind rocking the RV, I reflected on everything that had happened that night. Despite the fact our rented RV was clearly a lemon, I decided to try and make the proverbial lemonade. After all, I am recreating a route that was the essence of "roughing it." Newspaper reporter Waterman Ormsby  was the only passenger to go the distance on that first Butterfield trip 150 years ago: He is my guide from the past on this trip.

Ormsby wrote after that tough journey that he came to know what hell was like. I don't know if this night is hell, but if so, I'm not interested!