June 30, marked my one-year anniversary of full-time travel. On that day in 2017, I pulled The Tiny—a 15-ft. 2007 fiberglass egg-shaped T@B trailer—out of the driveway of my beloved leased home in New Orleans one last time and drove across Lake Pontchartrain to a state campground. I stayed there for 2 weeks while I finished up some dental work in town. It was at the state campground where a family sent their smallest child over with a big tray of breakfast food they had left over and I realized: Wow! They think I am a homeless lady. And I guess they are right. I’ve had to shake that off and totally disregard what this looks like. I know what I’m doing. That has become my focus.
On July 15 of last year, I hitched up and headed north to visit my friend Erica and her family in Mississippi for a few days, camping along a reservoir, and then I headed further north to Dallas, and finally picked up the 40 heading west. I stayed mostly at KOA campgrounds on my way to California, where I was going to help my sister pick out a motorhome. We had taken The Tiny together down to Key West at the end of April for a test run, and we anticipated some good years of camping together in the future.
Toward the end of July I was dog tired, and ended up staying under the pine trees at the Flagstaff KOA for a week. I was waiting for my Thousand Trails membership to kick in before I arrived at my first Thousand Trails campground in the desert of California, which I did on Aug. 1. Since then, I’ve moved up and down the state of California, camping for 2 or 3 weeks at a time at each place. I’ve camped near a cousin in the redwoods, camped along the Pacific Coast dunes and visited step family members for Christmas, camped along a whitewater river near another cousin, and got blissed out up in the Southern California mountains at 7,000 ft. elevation. I’ve gotten snowed in, rained on, sun baked, and wind blown. The dog needed surgery, I got gout in my foot, and a tire on The Tiny blew out. I have to say it’s been the best year of my life.
Reflecting on my year, here are some thoughts that come to mind:
The Beauty of Traveling But Being at Home
For someone of my personality type, who loves and needs to be home, traveling with a trailer is magic. I can go wherever I want and visit with whomever I want and yet I still get to go home and sleep in my own bed. I get to have my own fabrics and clothes and food and incense and music and pillows and everything else that I associate with home. I can do video calls and do my meditation and take time for journaling and reflecting in my own personal bubble of grace. I can hardly believe I found a way for someone like me to travel and still be home.
Thousand Trails . . . OMG!
In December 2016 when I bought The Tiny used from a friend for $7,500 (thank you Nancy!!!), I was planning to use it for camping trips with friends. I joined a few FB groups for T@B trailer owners, and then branched out to more FB groups. It slowly occurred to me that a few people actually live full-time in T@B trailers, and many thousands live as well in larger trailers, Class A motorhomes, and so on. That had not been my plan at all. Then I became aware of the Thousand Trails (TT) network of campgrounds, which I had never heard of. TT has been around for decades, and they charge a one-time membership fee plus $500 a year dues and then you can camp for no extra charge in 80 different campgrounds. For another $200 a year, I could add 80 RV parks to the mix. I rolled the idea of full-time travel around in my head. I could work on the road with phone and Internet access. I could visit folks all over the country. I could move out of the house that was too big for me and would be too expensive going forward. My main concern: I had to be home to get my freelance paychecks. When my main client called to say they wanted to switch me to direct deposit, I realized it was “go time.”
I discovered there was a Thousand Trails campground about 15 miles from my sister’s house in the desert of California. While I was still in New Orleans, I asked her to go over there and check it out for me. She loved it, and she thought I would love it too. So I sprung for the $2,450 lifetime membership, purchased used from a broker. New memberships cost around $6,000, with some less and some more expensive. Each has its own set of benefits. With mine, I get to stay up to 3 weeks at each campground, and then move to another Thousand Trails campground for another 3 weeks, and so on. And I can book my reservations up to 90 days in advance.
I did not expect to love TT campgrounds so much. It is such a perfect lifestyle for me. I love being near raw nature, and I mostly choose campgrounds that allow that. But city RV parks are awesome too when the circumstances warrant. My future plans are for east of the Bay Area, north of Sacramento, and then onto the Oregon coast for the rest of the summer. For winter I’ll probably head back to the high desert. In the full-time RV living world, it’s called “chasing 70,” as in chasing 70 degree weather. We have the ability to avoid parts of the country when weather threats—fires, floods, tornadoes, hurricanes—are most likely to happen. I thought I’d go back to New Orleans to visit last winter, and then onto Florida. But there are two things stopping me. First, it’s a hell of a long drive. And second, I finally realized that these little travel trailers were not meant for full-time living and massive amounts of cross country driving. I’m leery of asking too much of it. And there are no TT campgrounds in or near Louisiana. After this year of “free” camping, I’ve lost my willingness to pay for camping. With camping fees in California averaging $40 a night, I figure I broke even with my $2,450 membership fee after 2 or 3 months in TT campgrounds. What a joy it is to book a 3-week stay and note that the balance is $0.00. I like that very much.
I originally thought I’d like to set up camp on private property, at the homes of generous friends and family who have invited me. But after 3 tries, I found out I really prefer to have my own campsite, with all the electricity I need without running up someone’s bill, and all the water I want without using their allotment in a drought, and most of all having that feeling of complete autonomy, complete freedom to exist in the little spot of the planet that has been designated as my purview for the next 3 weeks. I get the “quiet enjoyment” of the site that is mentioned in the rights that renters have. This is my spot, no questions asked. It limits my movements, as there are not TT campgrounds everywhere you want them to be. This is an unsolved quandary.
Making Friends on the Road
When I took off from New Orleans, I really regretted leaving behind my friends, especially Kelly and her two dogs, and Erica and her family in Mississippi. I’ve tried to keep in touch, but there’s nothing like walking your dogs with a friend nearly every day in the local park. What gave me comfort is that I know many people in the various recovery programs I have been a member of for several decades, and so I could count on the video meetings I love, and live meetings as I could catch them. Still, I feared being lonely. I had been in the warm embrace of New Orleans for 9 years, and was headed to a place (California) where I’ve found eye contact from strangers and passersby is not guaranteed and may even be rare.
But the strangest phenomenon started happening. I started making friends in the campgrounds. It began with a couple who came over when I arrived for my first night in a Thousand Trails campground. They handed over a bottle of wine and said: Can we look inside your trailer? They live full-time in a large trailer with their young son, working local jobs in health care, and dreamed of getting a smaller trailer for traveling. Then I met a young man in the campground laundromat who sells bitcoin and lives with his girlfriend, switching up between her trailer and his Class C. We became friends and I watched part of the Super Bowl in his Clam Pavilion tent shelter. I met a woman and her dog near the whitewater river when she came up and introduced herself, noting that she had a T@B identical looking to mine. We met up again in the desert and had dinner at my camp. I met a couple whom I saw running their two dogs in the dry riverbed and I asked if I and my dog could join them. We hiked together and have kept in touch. Another woman is a writer and we hike and talk about our books. At another campground, I hiked with another T@B owner, then ran into her while I was checking out a TT in Northern California. I befriended a “ranger” at one of my campgrounds who is in my spiritual support group program, and we talk program stuff every time I’m there. At another campground, the young, bearded maintenance guy and I can talk forever about anything and everything. Sometimes you just connect that way.
As my circle of travel has been limited so far to California, I’ve started to run into some of the same folks. One couple said they recognized me from Palm Springs because I have a “distinctive looking rig.” That friendliness I hated to leave behind in New Orleans I have found in Thousand Trails campgrounds. Who could have guessed?
And here’s some big news. Just the other day I started a new FB group called Thousand Trails Women’s Writing Group. I love being around writers so much. And I realized there are a lot of women writers who are also Thousand Trails members. We’re not sure what we’re going to do together, but writers keep asking to join the group. We’ll figure it out.
My Dog Has Thrived
Many folks considering this lifestyle wonder if their dog will be happy. I worried about that too. My dog had a back yard in New Orleans, and her daily friends Trixie and Sebastian, and her occasional friend Pepper, and the dog park, and the neighborhood cats she kept track of, and her longtime vet, and the place where she got boarded on occasion. How could I tear her away from all that?
As it turns out, she is doing just fine. I cannot replace her daily friends. There is no substitute for that. But I try to find hiking friends for her whenever I can. Hikes are just better with friends. Some of those considering full-time RV travel cringe at the thought of their dog being tied up outside. I hate that too. I don’t want my dog tied up like some animal. Eventually I bought 45 feet of folding pet fencing, and now I routinely set up a small yard for her around The Tiny. That has been life changing. I let her out into the yard while I do my morning writing and meditation. And if I’m close enough to a restroom, I feel comfortable leaving her in the yard while I use it. However, I put her in the trailer while I go off for a shower. I’m extremely careful with my dog’s security. She is an absolutely gorgeous girl, and I don’t let her out of my sight lest someone kidnap her. She is chipped, of course, but I should get her a GPS tracking device as well.
She loves all our walks, but as a husky mix she probably loves the snow the most. Us getting snowed in for a few days in the mountains was the best thing that could have happened to her.
On the downside, she had a medical emergency when a bone fragment got stuck in her intestines and she required major surgery. That time was by far the most difficult part of this journey. But we navigated it with grace, and now instead of a raw bone to work on each night she gets a big Kong dog toy filled with kibble and turkey and peanut butter and honey. She has to work for her dinner. We found out there are amazing veterinarians wherever you go.
Less Is Better
When I first took off, I was carrying as much stuff as I possibly could. I have just The Tiny and the back of my Durango for stuff. I was determined not to leave behind a storage unit to hold those items I couldn’t part with. Over time, though, I’ve unloaded many of the things I started out with, and picked up new stuff I need. I was obsessed with filling all the cabinets in The Tiny. If they were not full, I felt that I had failed somehow. Then it occurred to me that loading a trailer down with stuff is not good for the trailer. If half the cabinets are empty, that’s a good thing. Better for me, better for the trailer.
In the Durango, I had collected so much stuff that I was no longer able to set up a bed in the back for the dog to climb up onto and stretch out during long drives. Can you imagine the misery of sitting low on a seat for 5 or 6 or 8 hours? By offloading lots of stuff that I never used, I now have that space for her elevated bed.
I sold my treasured ARB fridge/freezer when it became clear to me that it was too heavy (at 50 lbs. empty) for me to be schlepping from the vehicle to the campsite when I set up a new camp, and would become even more of a burden as I age. The ARB had been the centerpiece of my ability to follow the food plan that protects me from the obesity and food obsession that ruined my past and at one time seemed my destiny. But I realized that each time I was getting ready to break camp, the dread of moving the ARB was foremost on my mind. Feeling dread is no way to live. I decided a few months ago that I could use a smaller and lighter cooler until I could afford to replace my small trailer fridge with a larger one, somewhere down the line. I advertised the ARB on Craigslist and a young man met me in the campground visitor center and handed over $700 cash and then we stood and talked about traveling. That was a sweet transaction.
Lately I’m trying to sell my Clam Pavilion tent shelter, which I know will shock those who know me. It just takes up too much space, and now that I’ve settled into a preferred and constant way of setting up camp—The Tiny, attached awning, hippie panels across the opening, rugs, dog fencing, outdoor kitchen—I just can’t justify carrying the Clam around. I’ll probably have to sell my Coleman stove. I never, ever camp where there is not an electrical hookup, so I don’t need a propane stove. Right? I still make room for my 42″ Vizio sound bar with a woofer and 2 satellite speakers. That might seem like a bulky and heavy luxury to some, but there are times when I absolutely need some loud, rich music infusing my soul.
Hitching Up, Backing Up, and Setting Up Are so Darned Easy
Having never towed anything prior to The Tiny entering my life, I was scared witless to try this trailer life, and remained scared of the whole thing for a long time, especially when it came to backing up. But it’s amazing what experience will do for a person. I have a checklist that I use for hitching up, and I now that I have navigated dozens of back-in campsites, back up like a pro. Bring it on! Last time I was hitching up to go to my next destination, I thought: “This is the easiest part of this whole deal.” It’s so straightforward and familiar that the process actually calms me down and brings me peace.
Obviously I could write a book about all this. And why don’t I? My life is so rich and my creative drive is so strong since all this began that I have way too many projects going. This is in addition to making my living as a freelance writer. After a year on the road, the learning curve has been completed. I’ve got everything figured out: where to camp, how to camp, how to buy and store and prepare food, how to find hiking trails, how to connect with friends and family. Now, it’s time to get organized with my 8 websites and the 4 books I’m working on. And what about video?
I originally figured I might do this lifestyle for a few months, until Thanksgiving of last year. But in October a friend talked me out of quitting, and I’m so happy he did. The way it’s going now, barring anything drastic happening, I’ll be out here for a long, long time.
So, see you on the road!