Tag: camping

Why camping?

At home, my husband and I fall into routines. Every day, we get up at the same time, drink our coffee, make breakfast, clean our home. We run errands, meet friends for coffee, go to church. Since we are both retired, we mostly stay at home, working on projects, or playing with our dogs. I spend time at my laptop, creating and refining stories.  

But something magical happens when we go camping.

Our normal routines are placed on pause. We trade inside for outside. The air is fresher, the view is camera worthy. Errands are replaced by walking the dogs and reading in a lounge chair. Meals become simpler. There are few interruptions.

Getting out into nature refreshes my imagination. Many of my writing ideas percolated while sitting by a campfire, gazing up at a million stars or perched on a sandstone cliff, squinting at a sparkling blue ocean.

People are different when they’re camping. At home, we wave at our neighbors when we drive down the street, but we don’t often speak to them. When we’re camping, we spend most of our time outside. Strangers passing on their way to the beach often stop and talk. The neighbor at the next campsite might wander over to our campfire. They share their stories with us, giving me more writing ideas. Sometimes they need to borrow things they forgot at home. Sometimes we’re the ones whose lighter runs out.

Camping requires us to make sacrifices. The RV bed is not as comfortable as our king size bed at home. Going up and down the stairs, in and out of our RV, gets old after a while. Our tiny kitchen has no counter space. We can’t fit many groceries in our fridge. If the weather turns bad, we are crammed inside our RV with our dogs.

Although my husband and I both love camping, we are not ready to sell our home and live on the road. Our church, family, and friends keep us grounded in our regular home.

But camping is a pause. Watching the churning ocean or trees rustle in the wind resets our souls. Camping allows us to distance ourselves from our normal life to think and plan. When we stand with other campers watching the sun melt into the horizon, we have time to ponder our place in the majesty of creation. The problems and concerns we will return to in a few days become smaller, too.

Why not go camping, when its magic recharges our lives?

1

The Unreached Mountain

After our first Jeep trip to the Salton Sea, I thought our Wrangler was invincible. My husband, Frank, and I rode through sand, rocks, ditches, and narrow squeezes as easy as driving the freeways of Southern California. Sometimes even at the same slow speed.

The next trip we camped near Anza-Borrego State Park. The other four-wheelers with us had brand new Broncos and a 2003 tricked-out Rubicon. We were a little outclassed. Our 2004 Wrangler had 32” tires but otherwise was stock. However, we weren’t too concerned. The trails we planned were considered “easy” and “moderate.”

A few hours into the ride, Frank and I sat eating sandwiches inside our Jeep looking up with regret at our crew perched on the mountain.

Our day started out easy enough. Our group of four vehicles entered the windswept sandstone canyon and followed a creek bed. At first, we saw regular motorhomes and four-wheel drive trucks camped under the shade of the canyon walls. Other Jeep groups and single off-roaders passed by on this main part of the trail. I wouldn’t have camped there with all that billowing dust.

As the canyon walls closed in on us, we still saw a few Jeeps and trucks with popup tents on top of them. Full camping kitchens were balanced on rocks. People sat under EZ up canopies to block out the unrelenting sun. The trail became narrow with sharp rocks that poked out of the sand, waiting to pierce our tires.

We kept up with the rest of our group despite our lower stance. Jeff, our experienced leader, turned off the main trail and headed up a side wash. The rocks were a hand’s touch from the sides of our vehicles, especially the wider Broncos. We crawled over the boulders and inched past the protruding edges of the canyon walls.

The trail turned sharply to the left. A sandy trail led straight up the face of a cliff. There were many tire tracks showing the success of others before us. We all stopped and allowed each vehicle to climb the mountain alone in case they had to back down and try again.

Jeff in his Rubicon made it up there easily. Then one of the Broncos scaled it. It was our turn. Frank adjusted his gears and gave it some gas. I hung on and closed my eyes. We bounced up to the top. I turned toward our dogs in the back, and our border collie, Davey, had a wild look in his eyes. Our beagle, Harley, was buried in the seat.

Our group joined several Jeeps that were parked on a flat mesa overlooking the mountains and desert. We got out and took a break, talking about our next move. Should we go down and try another branch of the canyon? Above us was another trail that went up onto a sandstone ridge. I could see a few Jeeps parked up there. We decided that would be our lunch stop.

Jeff found the trail leading up and we followed slowly. The side of the cliff was deep soft sand with patches of rock. Frank and I got stuck a couple of times and had to drop back and try it again. One last section remained before the top.

Jeff parked and stood out on a rock with his radio so he could spot us. Our first Bronco went up and got stuck. Jeff gave him directions on the radio, and with a few adjustments he was up the hill. From our viewpoint, his wheels were all twisted different directions as he clung to the uneven surface.

It was our turn.

Starting on soft sand made it hard to get up the speed we would need. Frank threw it in low gear and we shot up. Near the lip there were several deep ditches close together. We hit the first one.

Clunk! Spin! We were stuck. Frank threw it in reverse and tried it again. Clunk! Spin! Jeff offered suggestions which we tried unsuccessfully.

We were too low to navigate the ditches.

Frank backed down and found a place out of the way of the other Jeeps coming behind us. The last Bronco in our group made it up the hill. I stepped outside to give the dogs a break, but heat radiated off the deep sand and the dogs were not interested. We decided to stay inside and eat our lunch.

After a while, Jeff radioed us that the group was coming back down. We joined them and completed the rest of the trip.

Were we disappointed? Yes. Were we embarrassed? Not really. Our friends are people we’ve ridden Harleys with for years. There was no condemnation. You ride your own ride.

Back at camp, we talked about our favorite parts of the day. Red rock sculptures and vast desert vistas unseen by regular roads. Old rusted minecart trestle covered in bright colored graffiti. Groups of people gathered to shoot their guns at a desolate mountain. A tiny bar filled with thirsty off-roaders.

Tomorrow we would go back to our regular lives, but for this weekend we were explorers and adventurers.

And I would have to complete a few more days of substitute teaching to pay for upgrades to our Jeep.

4

Driving the motorhome and the meaning of life

The strangest part of driving a 30-foot Class C motorhome is you can’t see anything in the rear-view mirror. In fact, the rear-view mirror is a backup camera that only comes on when you’re in reverse gear.

As I took my turn driving down Highway 395 toward Mammoth Lakes, I readjusted the huge side mirrors and the driver’s seat. This was only my fourth time driving the rig. Including the mirrors, our rig was over eight feet wide which can make you feel squished into your lane. But the road we currently traveled was wide with a shoulder, so I smiled at my husband as he headed to the bedroom for a nap.

It was just me and the highway.

Just like he taught me, I shifted my eyes from side mirror to ahead to other side mirror to check my lane position. My hands were a little damp on the steering wheel. This thing was so big! Not as big as a bus-sized motorhome that cost as much as our house, but much larger than my Tundra pickup.

As I rolled down the highway, two challenges emerged. First was keeping my big butt in the lane, even as the wind bumped me from time to time. Second were the hills.

When you’re in a car, you don’t notice the hills as much. Our Corolla zipped up and down the mountains on the way to San Diego like it was motocross. But for a thirty-foot monstrosity, hills take a little planning.

As I spotted an incline in the distance, I reluctantly pushed the speedometer up to 70 mph. At this speed, our rig started to feel like a small boat in choppy waters, so I gripped the steering wheel. When I reached the hill, my speed would start to drop, and the tachometer would start flipping numbers quickly. I divided my attention between the tach and the road, trying to keep the rig within reasonable stress on the motor. Finally, I reached the peak of the hill and could shake out my shoulders.

Until the next hill. Which came soon, as we were steadily climbing into the Sierra mountains.

Hours flew by. As I settled into the routine, I realized that driving the rig could be a metaphor for life. Instead of being able to look at my past directly while I was looking ahead, I had to give side glances at it instead. I had to pay more attention to where I was in my own lane, or life, than looking at others. Looking at the road in front of me and ahead was more important than what was behind. Focus on what I could do now and not past failures.

Lessons learned while driving a motorhome.

0

Rush Around and Relax

As I glance at clothes draped over the chair, bags on the kitchen table, and my long list on the counter, I consider that it takes a great deal of energy to relax.

Camping is my reset button.

My husband and I get out every month in our C-class motorhome to spend some time at the beach or in the mountains. Sometimes we set up at campgrounds that have full hookups (electricity, water, sewer) and sometimes we use state or federal campgrounds that only provide a picnic table and a campfire ring. Either works for us, as we don’t watch TV or use electronics very much when we are away.

We love to walk our dogs, Harley and Davidson, around the camp or into the woods. Other times, we kick back on our zero gravity chairs at our campsite and talk. I have outlined a novel and a few plays during those conversations. We’ve also brainstormed two names for motorcycles. No chores, no errands.

As relaxing as camping can be, it takes a lot to get there. Cleaning and prepping the motorhome. Packing it with groceries, water, clothes, dog supplies, and medications.

Every camping trip we usually forget something, so it’s my job to make sure the forgotten item is not essential. We have forgotten pillows, toothbrushes, shirts, flip flops, and bread. My all-inclusive packing list, which seems to grow longer with each excursion, attempts to prevent these mistakes.

Packing the motorhome can take up to a week, sometimes longer than the camping trip itself. Fortunately, our rig is parking in our backyard which allows us access at any time. Several times a day, I carry armfuls of essential items into the rig and find places to stash them. Surprising how much stuff we can fit into it.

The day finally arrives. The dogs are crated on the motorhome couch, we have drinks and snacks in the cab, and we pull out into the alley behind our home. We’re on the road.

When we arrive at our destination and back the motorhome into our campsite, it is all worth it. We escaped the responsibilities at home and can relax and enjoy being out in nature.

And usually at that point, I’m ready for a nap.

1

Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑