Traveling has changed me. Not only have I learned to tow a trailer and navigate campgrounds and RV parks and keep my sanity, I’ve also lost much of my codependence. I no longer worry about the wellbeing of others more than I do my own wellbeing. Here’s how it happened:
Keep Your Eyes on the Tow
My anti-codependent life lessons started when I bought The Tiny in December 2016 and kept it in my driveway or back yard until I set off for good on June 30, 2017. During those months, I had to move the trailer for various reasons: to get repairs done (ceiling fan replaced, front window replaced, new stabilizer jacks, etc.), to go camping with friends, to practice camping by myself, and to practice backing up. Coming home each time, I was unable to back the trailer into my narrow driveway. My house was on a fairly busy street and the idea of blocking the street while I went back and forth and back and forth, trying to figure out what the heck that trailer was doing was unbearable. To make another driver wait a minute for me was beyond my comprehension. My husband Bill kept saying: “Don’t worry about them. Focus on what you’re doing.” I was unable to make my needs greater than the strangers passing by my house while I attempted to back up the trailer. Each time I tried, Bill was there (at my request) to take over when I got flustered. And I always got flustered.
Even after I got on the road and Bill was not there, I was embarrassed to have people see me try and back up the trailer. I was mortified that they knew that I didn’t know what I was doing.
Fast forward to today. Now, I don’ t give a flipping darn about who is waiting or not waiting while I back up my trailer, who is watching or not watching. What they are thinking is none of my business. My business is to back up my trailer. I focus only on that. I’ve watched plenty of men backing up their trailers and sometimes with great difficulty. I didn’t think less of them. It is what it is. But gosh, it sure is good entertainment!
I recall not too long ago watching two lawn maintenance guys with their lawn mower trailer backing up on a side street in Flagstaff, Arizona. They had blocked the street and were hitching up or something that was taking a long time. I finally turned around and went a different way. They didn’t seem too fazed about blocking me. They were probably relieved I did a U-turn and went on my way. They became my role models.
A few months ago, in Florence, Oregon, I had to back The Tiny up a small incline to get to the flat part of the campsite I had chosen. Next door were some young male workers building a yurt. I had a very hard time backing up because I couldn’t see up the hill. I backed up, got out and checked, got back in, pulled forward, backed up, got out and checked, and so on and so on. I’m not kidding you when I say it took me about 20 tries to get the trailer where I wanted it. I realized later on, when I was talking to the workers about dogs and trailers and such, that I didn’t give one iota of thought about what they might have been thinking about my struggles. What freedom!
At another campground in Pacific City, Oregon, I was so focused on backing my trailer into a site that I didn’t even realize I was blocking campground traffic both ways. Nobody honked. Nobody was upset. We’ve all been there. As I backed into the slot with one slow but graceful execution, the cars began to move. The woman sitting shotgun in a passing truck called out: “Nice job.” I flashed her a brilliant smile.
On the other hand, I’ll accept and even ask for help when I need it. This happened at a campground along the dunes in California. I had been traveling all day and was exhausted. At this RV park, unlike most I camp at, your site is assigned. I was having a heck of a time backing into the site because of the strange angle I needed to turn on account of a power pole directly across in another site. Back and forth, back and forth, I struggled. Then I saw a man walking over from another campsite. I rolled down my window and he said: “My wife sent me.” I said: “It was too painful for her to watch?” And he said: “Pretty much.” He gave me advice on how I could back in. He said he’d been a truck driver for 30 years. He said he didn’t want to insult me, but he could easily back it in for me. I said: “Yes!” Even he struggled a bit as I guided him. When he was done, he complimented me on my nice Dodge Durango. What a gentleman! A few days later, I walked by as he was having a beer with some other male campers. I called out his name and said: “Thanks again! You really saved me.” He seemed proud.
On the Road: Pass Me or Wait!
I’ve also learned not to worry about those behind me on a 2-lane road. I drive quite slowly and cautiously. That’s how I roll. Those behind me, of course, are not so enthralled with how I roll. They want to roll over me, especially on twisty mountain roads where my tailgaters likely live and drive everyday. For me, I’m usually on such roads for the first time. Slow and steady is my game. But what to do about these hapless folks I was delaying from their destinations?
Toward the beginning of my journey, I was talking on the phone one day with Bill (hands free of course) and I kept mentioning that I was pulling over to let a car pass. He could hear that I was pulling out into gravel. He said I don’t have to do that. If there is a designated paved pullout or passing lane, fine, pull over. But to pull off the road onto the shoulder was not only not necessary but also dangerous for me and bad for my rig. I honestly had never thought that way. Because I was self conscious about my lack of experience towing a trailer, I figured I was a menace to all around me. But what Bill said sunk in. Though it was uncomfortable at first, I stopped pulling onto the shoulder to let cars pass. If there was a passing lane coming up, I was relieved.
Now, I’m radically NOT going to pull over if someone comes up on me unless there is a safe and abundant paved area for me to do so. I figure if the city or county or state has not put in a pullout or passing lane, that’s not my fault. Whoever is behind me can wait. And if the center line turns into a dashed line, let them pass me. That’s how it works. My job is to take care of me and my dog and my rig. Let others take care of themselves.
I will make an exception when a crazed person is behind me. I was dangerously tailgated a couple of months ago inside a long tunnel on the Oregon-Washington border by some lunatic in a big truck. Through the bridge, as soon as I found a driveway on my right, I pulled into the opening to let him pass. No road rage incidents for me. If you’re in a testosterone/steroid/meth rage, roll on by. I’ll gladly cede you the road.
Thank You Gentle Man, But No Thanks
A solo woman camper likely elicits curiosity from fellow campers. Who is she? What is she doing? Is she looking for a man? Or a woman? Radiating my reality of not really wanting any companionship (except for occasional fun people I click with; Lynne and Gwen and Johnny you know who you are) takes tact and compassion.
About six months ago, a man I’ll call Mike walked by my camp with his dog and remarked on my setup. I stood in my awning’s doorway and enjoyed a delightful repartee with him. He said he was off to play pool with his buddy, but would see me later. Uh-oh, I thought. I was practicing my social scientist role of finding out about other campers and now he thought I wanted to hang out. Not! The next day he walked by with his friend, and they tried to strike up a conversation. I somehow cut it short. Later that day, he drove right up on my site and got out of his car. He had been to the food bank and brought me back some supplies he thought I’d like. From a bag, he pulled out powdered milk, and canned vegetables, and canned fruit. None of what he had is on my food plan. But it was more than that. It was a laden moment. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. He was so thoughtful. But I didn’t want what he had to offer. It occurred to me that in the past I would have taken what he offered just to avoid that moment of him experiencing rejection. And all women know that can be dangerous. But it would escalate the idea that I wanted to be buddies. I did not. So as gently as possible, I said thank you but I’ll have to pass. He took it well. He is a gentle man. I have seen his posts on my Facebook group for my campground membership. He is nothing but kind. But I knew I had to nip this thing in the bud and not raise expectations.
I’ve had to do the same thing on several occasions, when men offered me morning coffee, or to come over for a beer, or to go out to breakfast. One time, though, I did take my buddy Duane up on his offer for me to come over and watch part of a football game with him. I had met him more than a year ago in the first campground I stayed at in California, and I know his girlfriend. So I enjoyed some of the Super Bowl with him. For the most part, though, I am not seeking companionship on the road. And I make it known, gently.
I’ll add more instances of non-codependence as they occur. I’m just not the same person I was when I started out. And that’s a good thing.