I’m sitting here in my air conditioned trailer, working on the 27-inch iMac across from me, trying to process my feelings about leaving this campground where I’ve sheltered in place for 2 months. My time is up and I’m pulling out tomorrow.
Through my windows I see a steady stream of trucks and SUVS and vans with their tents strapped on top, and old and new trailers, and fifth wheels and Class A motorhomes with their towed vehicles leaving after the Memorial Day weekend. And I see another stream coming in. The weather was perfect this weekend for these folks up on this high-mountain campground, in the 70s each day. and down to the 40s at night. Many come from desert communities with temperatures in the 90s. This was the first weekend these families and couples and solo adventurers could camp after the 2-month lockdown due to the coronavirus pandemic.
What an extreme pleasure it has been for me to be at this campground during the lockdown. I was already planning on coming up here for a few weeks when I sensed a lockdown was imminent and I wanted to get out of the desert where I was “mooch-docking” at my brother’s house. Back then, no one had no idea how long this lockdown would last. Would this order by the governor to shelter at home last a few weeks, a few months, or the rest of the year? Global pandemics are not something any of us have lived through.
The summer temperatures at my brother’s house get well over 100 degrees for days or weeks on end. That’s way too hot for me and my long-haired dog. And I don’t jive with the area, blocks of budget tract homes out in the desert at least 14 miles from a major grocery store, and with very few nearby places to walk. However, I absolutely love spending time with my brother. He said a few times: “You can stay here, you know.” Unless you’re on the road in your own tiny home and have felt such peace and happiness in your wooded campsite, it’s hard to imagine how much you want to get back there.
For me, the idea of getting stuck in the summer desert and locked out of my regular wooded campgrounds was too horrible to contemplate. The desert might be OK in a big home with central air conditioning and a big kitchen and no real need to go outside. But in a tiny trailer where the orientation is outside in the wilderness beyond the walls of the trailer, a hot desert backyard is not such a pleasant scenario. I could survive there of course, and am grateful for the option, but all things considered I’d rather pull my tiny home on wheels 7,000 feet up a mountain and into an oak, pine, and manzanita forest with miles of trails.
I got up here on March 24, in between snow events. It was only the fourth time I had pulled my 2008 16-foot T@DA trailer. I had bought what I’ve dubbed “The Shiny Tiny” used in February to replace the original Tiny, my 2007 13-foot T@B. I sold that little jewel through Facebook Marketplace to a lovely couple.
And this was the longest I had pulled my new rig, which weighs about 2,500 pounds, way more than the 1,800 pounds of the T@B. (This is all guesswork. I’ve never had either trailer weighed at a truck stop, but I hope to figure out what’s going on with this one. Bucket list stuff.)
The road up the mountain to the campground is steep and winding. There’s really no other way to get up to 7,000 feet without twists and turns. I had driven the road multiple times with The Tiny, but how would it go with the extra weight? The Dodge Durango did fine and the electric brakes on the trailer worked like magic.
On the way up, I wished and prayed that my favorite campsite would be vacant. The south-facing site is on a level pad cut into a slope with a hill behind and the road into the campground below. Watching people come and go from the campground is one of my pleasures. Others might want a secluded spot where you can’t even see another camper. I feel too lonely and isolated in those spots. But if I was camping with my husband or others, I’m sure an isolated spot would feel good.
After the 3-hour drive on multiple freeways and then making climb on the two-lane road, I made it to the campground. The attendant was about to hand me the typical map and paperwork about the campground, but then she paused: “Wait. You’ve been here a million times, right?” Yes, that’s right. I don’t need a map. I know this place.
I was so relieved to see that “my” site was vacant. Getting The Shiny Tiny up the slope was tricky and involved much spinning of tires in the snowmelt-softened soil. Once up on the slope, I backed easily into the site. After three years full-time travel and camping, backing into dozens and dozens of sites, backing up is no longer a drama. As long as there is sufficient space to pull the vehicle and trailer straight forward before backing in, there is absolutely no issue. Slow and steady does the trick.
I plugged in the EMS (electrical management system) into the power pole to make sure there were no electrical issues. I failed to do that last time I was here and I didn’t realize until too late—after I had set up the trailer and took the dog on a hike, and night was coming on and the temperature dropped below freezing—that the breaker was bad. I had to move my camp in the most unpleasant circumstances. Never again.
The power on the pole was good, and I later learned the breaker had been replaced. I leveled the trailer side to side on leveling blocks, unhitched, leveled front to back with the tongue jack, cranked down the stabilizer jacks, set out my rugs, gave the dog a cookie, and breathed a big sigh of relief. I made it.
A few days later the announcement came: all the campgrounds in my membership would be closed to new arrivals. The management came around with letters stating that those of us who were in the campground could stay until the shelter in place order was lifted.
And this is where I’ve been for two months, in a nearly empty campground, in a forest, just 4 miles from two grocery stores that stayed pretty stocked up and that thank goodness required masks of all staff and customers. The slowed down life, my continued ability to make my living via phone and computer, the Zoom meetings that sprang up in my spiritual community, all suited me so well! These have been among the most satisfying months of my life.
That sweet, slow lifestyle is coming to an end. The campground opened up to new arrivals 10 days ago and on that day 186 rigs pulled in. The happiness in the air was palpable. How happy the trees make us! Whoever invented camping is a genius.
And so tomorrow is my time to continue my traveling lifestyle. I’m sad to leave but excited also. I have campground reservations confirmed until the end of the year, moving up California and into Oregon and Washington and then down and across to New Orleans for the winter holidays. I will be visiting many of my people and my places.
The larger trailer, which I’ve gotten to know and appreciate in the quiet interlude, has changed my life. I now have running water, a water heater, a shower, a bathroom, a microwave, a closet, basement storage, and separate living and sleeping areas.
It’s the end of an exquisite time for me, and just maybe the beginning of another one.