There comes a point in long-term RV travel when pride has to sit quietly in the corner while common sense takes the wheel.

For us, that moment happened in Sturgis, South Dakota, with a breakdown serious enough to require more than duct tape, optimism, and fifty years of “we’ve always handled it ourselves.” We had never called a mobile RV service. Dealers, yes. Tire shops, absolutely. But a service technician coming to us? That was new territory.

We hesitated. We talked it through. Then we took a chance.

That’s how we met Nate and Ginger—and that’s why it made perfect sense that Santa Claus would eventually do the same.

Because even Santa runs into trouble when he’s far from home.

The sleigh wasn’t hard to find.

It hovered awkwardly near the roadside, tilted like a fifth-wheel with one tire low. One runner sagged under the combined weight of history, magic, and what appeared to be an aggressively overpacked sack of toys. Eight reindeer stood nearby, stamping impatient hooves into the snow. A ninth—noticeably red-nosed—stood a little apart, pretending not to judge.

Santa Claus paced slowly in front of the sleigh, reading something off a scroll he’d folded into a pamphlet. He wore the unmistakable expression of someone who already knew the instructions weren’t going to help, but felt obligated to check anyway.

“Oh good,” Santa said when Nate pulled up. “A professional.”

Nate stepped out of the truck with the calm confidence of a man who has seen breakdowns at the worst possible times and fixed them anyway. Ginger climbed out right behind him, holding a thermos the way some people hold emergency flares—steady, confident, and clearly important.

“I brought hot chocolate,” she said cheerfully, as if this explained everything.

Santa stopped pacing mid-step.

“With marshmallows?” he asked, suddenly very serious.

“Extra,” Ginger replied.

Santa visibly relaxed. The reindeer leaned in.

Nate crouched beside the sleigh and took a long look. The problem wasn’t magic. It rarely is. It was stress fatigue, tired hardware, and a runner mount that had finally reached its limit after one too many rooftop landings.

Santa admitted he’d been pushing it this year.

“Supply chain issues,” he explained. “Also inflation.”

Nate nodded sympathetically. He’d heard that before.

As Nate worked, tightening bolts and reinforcing mounts with parts that were never designed for flight but had saved more than one RV vacation, Ginger poured hot chocolate. That’s when the reindeer made his move.

The shorter one. The sneaky one. The one Santa later identified as Pickles.

Pickles lowered his head directly into the thermos and came back up chewing marshmallows like he’d earned them. Several clung proudly to his nose.

“Hey,” Nate said.

Pickles did not apologize.

Santa sighed deeply. “He’s been a problem since 2008.”

Ginger lifted the thermos out of reach. Pickles stared at her like Christmas itself had betrayed him.

When Nate finished, he stood, wiped his hands, and gave the sleigh the same test he’d given our RV—a firm, confident shake that answers all the important questions.

Solid.

Santa exhaled. The reindeer lined up. Pickles made one last attempt at the marshmallows and was gently escorted back into place.

Before lifting off, Santa thanked Nate and Ginger the way people do when they realize they were right to take a chance. Because sometimes help doesn’t come wrapped in magic. Sometimes it shows up in a service truck, with a toolbox, steady hands, and a thermos full of hot chocolate.

We recognized that feeling immediately.

After all, Santa called the same RV service we did—because the elves were too far away, the schedule mattered, and when something breaks down at the worst possible moment, you reach out to people who know what they’re doing.

The sleigh lifted smoothly into the snowy night. Christmas stayed on schedule.

And somewhere in Sturgis, South Dakota, a very good RV service proved that sometimes believing in something new is exactly what gets you back on the road.

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