The Maiden Voyage

Within a week of bringing our camper home we were off on our maiden voyage. (It’s not a boat – is voyage the right word?) Anyway, we set off for Colorado. A friend that I used to work with is staying at a campground there for several months and we thought we could probably learn a few things from her and her husband.

We usually set a target departure time for a road trip and we’re happy if we’re no more than an hour past our target. I was amazed. We actually left an hour ahead of schedule.

The route had been carefully plotted and we were in Amarillo (the half-way point) around 5 PM. It was too early to stop so we forged ahead. We should have stopped in Tucumcari, or Santa Rosa, New Mexico. But we decided to press on to Albuquerque since everything was going so smoothly.

I wasn’t particularly keen on the idea of camping out in a WalMart parking lot, so I phoned a KOA in Albuquerque to make a reservation.

“We only have hookups with electricity and water left.”

I passed that information on to Mark and asked him if that was okay. (He said it was.) I couldn’t help asking a stupid question. “What else is there?” Before the KOA lady could answer, Mark informed me that sewer was a separate hookup, but that we’d be okay without it for one night.”

She asked me what kind of camper we had. I was pretty sure she didn’t want the make and model number so I told her it was a “pull behind trailer”. That’s probably not the correct technical term, but she knew what I meant and only needed to know how long it was. That was easy – 19 feet.

She took my credit card details and told me the office closed at 7 PM. If we arrived after 7, we were to pick up the envelope with our name on it in front of the office and check in with them in the morning.

No problem. At least not until we arrived around 8 PM and there was no envelope with our name on it. Hewitt, Williams, five other envelopes but none for Elliott. A man with no reservation came in and took one of two blank envelopes which represented the unreserved spaces available that night. Panic was starting to take hold.

I phoned KOA. Not the local campground, but the national reservations number. I explained that I had made a reservation but that I couldn’t find an envelope. I was starting to fear that the woman who’d answered the phone was in the Philippines or China. She asked me to look at the map of the campsites to determine which ones were available.

“You can’t tell that by looking at the map.”

“Yes you can. Are you looking at the map to see which slots are available?”

“I’m looking at the map. But you can’t tell which slots are available by looking at the map.”

She finally asked me if I could see slot three on the map.

“Yes, I see it, but I can’t tell if it’s available,”

“That one is yours! You are in number three!”

There would have been a lot less panic if she would have said that in the beginning instead of going through that whole “available slots” exercise.

I thanked her and we proceeded to slot number three. As we went around the office building we were in the hundreds. Once around the park and we did not see slot number three. I told Mark that it should be just behind the office. On our second drive around the park, I spotted slot number two. Three had to be right next to it.

Our first attempt to park was from the wrong direction. All the hookups were on the wrong side. You can’t just back up and try again. You have to approach it from the right direction.

I just had the feeling that everyone there was watching us get it wrong. But on the third try we had it. Panic over. Have a sandwich, go to bed. Relax.

In the morning, I stopped by the office to pick up my receipt and let them know that I didn’t have an envelope. Apparently people take the wrong envelopes all the time. Not sure why the person who took the wrong envelope didn’t end up in the wrong slot, but that’s okay. I’m just glad I didn’t have to do a Goldilocks and the Three Bears routine with someone.  

The Pitch

We bought a camper!

You might be wondering how Mark sold me on the idea. I was wondering that same thing and I think I've figured it out.

First off, he was patient. He's been suggesting it for years and every time I reminded him that we are city people and would not like being in a remote area.

Secondly, he did some of his best marketing work - identify problems and offer a solution.

He pointed out those horrible places where we were afraid to get in the bed and only took a nap on top of it. (In nine years this has only happened two times - but it is dramatic.) Having a camper means you never have to wonder who or what slept in the bed before you.

And then there are the times when you arrive at the hotel a bit later than you thought you would and the restaurant is closed. Having a camper means you have a fridge full of food and a means of cooking it - any hour of the day or night.

And let's not forget all those times when the only restaurants for miles around were serving deep fried food. (Deep fried BBQ in the Carolinas comes to mind.) Having your own kitchen means you never have to worry about unhealthy food. This is especially important now that Mark has been diagnosed with diabetes.

Then there's money. You can rent a campsite for one fourth to one half of what you'd pay for a hotel room. The more you travel - the more you save. We're not even considering the money saved on food and we can still enjoy dinners out if we choose.

Then there is spontaneity. We can just pack up and go. For a weekend or a week or longer. I spoke with a friend who has been doing some serious RV traveling for several years now. She said that while they might not always get their first choice of campground they have always been able to get a space in a campground in the general area where they wanted to be.

And lastly there was the emotional appeal. We aren't getting any younger and we've both had some hospital time this year. Let's get out there and have some fun while we can.

Okay. Let's go!

Roughing It

When my mom and dad were alive and able to travel, they used to do a southern tour. They stopped to visit my sister in Atlanta, my dad's cousin in Mississippi, my mom's uncle in Louisiana, my brother in Houston and me. My mom just raved about Motel 6. They were clean and cheap. Reliable. They'll leave the light on for you.

So one time (probably sometime in the 80s) my then husband and I decided to go to the horse races in Shreveport. We thought we'd check out the Motel 6 since my mom spoke so highly of it. After a day at the races we decided to clean up and head out to the Louisiana Hayride Kitchen. (Can't imagine why that place closed!) The rooms only had a shower, no tub. This no longer bothers me, but at that time in my life it was a big deal. I liked to have a good soak in the tub. (Now I've come to the conclusion that life is too short to sit around in a tub of bubbles. Get in. Get clean. Get out. Get on!) Anyway, grudgingly, I took a shower and because the towels in the room were so small (just a bit bigger than a hand towel), I used all of them. There were no towels left for my husband.

No problem! I would just have to call housekeeping and have someone send over some towels. That's when I discovered that there were no phones in the room. Since this was prior to the days of cell phones, I had no choice but to get dressed and go to the office to round up some towels.

The office was on the far side of the property from where we were. This particular Motel 6 was a large property and we were on the opposite end from the office. It was not a short walk - keep in mind that I was only in my 30s and fairly fit - so it really was a good distance.) I hiked over there and explained to the young lady that we needed more towels. She flat out refused to give me any until I returned the others. (EXCUSE ME??? Did she truly think anybody wanted to steal those whimpy, little towels?) I had to traipse back to our room, gather up the wet towels and take them back and exchange them for clean ones. But I was annoyed. Seriously. Annoyed.

So the fact that the tiny little bed felt like I was sleeping on a block of concrete was just the icing on the cake. I couldn't imagine what mom might have been thinking when recommending this place. But after reflecting on it, they were spending one night and getting up and leaving the next morning. That makes a difference.

Anyway, that was my first and last stay at a Motel 6. As rough as I care to get, although I understand the rooms have phones now. Maybe the change in ownership (back when I was there, they were not owned by Accor.) I think they even have free wi-fi now. (But that doesn't mean I want to stay there.)

Not a Happy Camper

When I was about nine I went on my first camping trip with my Girl Scout Troop. We camped out in a house. I think it was raining. But it was fine. Because we were in a house.

Then when I was 12 or 13 my parents bought a camper. It was a pop-up with a bed for them and space on the cold, hard ground for my siblings and me. No privacy for anybody. No bathroom. No kitchen.

I remember taking one week-long trip in it where we went to a state park in West Virginia and took in some of the local attractions. But for the most part it was used on summer weekends to "get away". Why anyone wants to get away from indoor plumbing is outside my comprehension. My mom and dad didn't want to get so far away that we couldn't get back for church on Sunday so most times we went to a "campground" in Belden, Ohio. It was a field with a public bathroom. There was absolutely nothing to do. (Although because there was nothing to do, I was allowed to drive the car around the field so my parents wouldn't have to listen to me whine. At 13, this was enough.) By the time I was 15 I was exempt from those weekend trips and allowed to stay home or spend the night with a friend.

As more of us left home, my parents' campers became more luxurious. By the time all of us were out of the house, my parents had upgraded to a camper with a kitchen, bathroom and enough beds to accommodate six people if you converted the dining area into a bed. By this time, they'd also moved on to a different campground that featured a lake for swimming and some other amenities. I decided to take my son, who was probably four or five at the time, to visit for the weekend. I was afraid Jason would fall out of the top bunk (especially since he'd be in a sleeping bag) so I took that one. While I didn't fall out, I found it very difficult to turn over. I had to almost sit up to get turned. Just enough to bang my head on the ceiling every time I moved. Jason was welcome to spend as much time as he liked with his grandparents on weekends, but this was not going to become part of my weekend routine.

Years later after I'd moved to Texas, my then-husband decreed that we should have a camper. He had located a used Airstream that we could buy for $5K. (If memory serves, this was in the late 80s or early 90s.) I thought it might be fun. I went out and bought a TV, linens, dishes -- everything you need to be at home on the open road. And the shopping trip was the most fun I had with it because that thing never left the driveway. He sold it a year or so later for a few thousand less than what we paid for it and didn't even take the TV or anything else I bought out of it. "Not a Happy Camper" does not even come close.

So when Mark said he thought we should buy a camper, I reminded him that my idea of roughing it is a Motel 6 and that we are "city" people. I usually have to remind him of this at least once a year.