It’s a warm and windy night here in the Southern California desert and I type to process my feelings in my snug tiny house on wheels. The dog is curled up on the bed beside me, and I hear a mariachi band playing across the acres of tumbleweeds and wildflowers.
What a strange and unsettling time we are living through, mainly due to the global COVID pandemic and all the upheaval that has caused. Then there are radical weather events causing freezing or flooding or fire or drought. And then there’s the political stuff.
My Own Issues
In my little world, further complications include the fact that my next camping reservation got cancelled after that county decided to extend its pandemic restrictions. And that means that if I want to get up to the Pacific Northwest for summer, which is my fervent desire, I don’t get to meander up there and take a week or two to visit cousins on the way, staying at various campgrounds. Rather, I’ll need do an 800-mile drive next week, which involves three layovers in four days, to get safely sheltered in my next campground.
And I need to do that long journey towing my new-to-me-trailer after having sheltered in place for two months. But now I don’t have the confidence I had built up over the past three years that I’ve been on the road. In my smaller trailer, camping in dozens of campgrounds, I lost all fear of towing and discovering new campgrounds and backing into sites. It was just not an issue anymore. But with this larger trailer? It seems to me it was swaying a little the last time I towed it. Is that normal? Or is that what happens just before catastrophe? All of the above is working through my mind.
Time to Retreat?
Part of me wants to retreat back up into the mountains, heading south rather than north, and stay there until all this passes. On the downside, I’d get stuck in a hot climate for fire season. Not good.
As you can see, I got myself twisted all up. So I did what I often do in these cases, I called my biggest fan: my husband Bill.
“I need some counsel,” I said, and explained my dilemmas.
A lesser man would have said: “Well it is a scary time, so you better hunker down.”
That is so not Bill. Just a few weeks ago, I mentioned to him that some friends at the campground where I stayed for two months had leased sites for the coming year in order to hunker down. Bill said that was so not me. He joked that my “fans” would be mad, and that he himself would have unsubscribe. That’s funny because . . . unsubscribe to what? After more than 20 years of marriage, he still makes me laugh.
So I didn’t lease a site and a few days ago, with the lockdown in that area lifted, I hitched up The Shiny Tiny and drove two hours to my brother’s house for a needed visit. Plus, while I’m here, I’m hiring him and his worker to paint the trim on my trailer, which needs some help. Oh happy day!
I told Bill that mainly I was dreading the 800-mile journey. That’s a freaking long distance!
3 Things to Remember
Bill listened carefully and then reminded me of three things:
- My History—Think of how many other challenges during my travels scared the heck of me, and I attempted them, and was victorious. There was the first time I towed The Tiny, my original trailer. The first time I camped by myself in The Tiny. The time I changed the filter in the Cool Cat air conditioner. The time I replaced the thermostat on The Tiny. The time I drove The Tiny from Louisiana to California. The time I drove The Tiny up to the Pacific Northwest. And so on and so forth. So many challenges. So many victories. This will be the same. And come to think of it, that’s partly why I’m doing what I’m doing, to challenge myself.
- Some Swaying Is Normal—I did not know this before. With The Tiny, all 13 feet of it, I don’t think I ever noticed any swaying. With The Shiny Tiny, at a beefy 16 feet, I noticed a moment or two of swaying during the two-hour drive to my brother’s house. Uh oh! That got me nervous. I realized I should have filled up the water tank to put more weight up front. And I also thought while I was driving that I really should check the tire pressure before each time I move camp. Bill said: “Make sure you check the tire pressure.” Got it! And, he reminded me, he picked up the trailer in Alabama and towed it to California for me, and it did just fine. So the trailer is sound. That certainly calmed me down.
- This Too Shall Pass—In my fretful ruminations, I focused only on the days of the drive north. It will be tiring. It will be long. There will be big trucks. And yada yada yada. What Bill reminded me is that after four days, I’ll be there. The challenging time will be over. And I will get to enjoy all the benefits of being in Oregon and Washington: Lush trees, temperate weather, amazing coastline, lighthouses, Fred Meyer grocery stores, many friends in my spiritual community, so many great walks, state parks, and like that. I’ve noticed from past summers in this nomadic lifestyle that when I cross the Oregon border, I feel so good. Life seems so easy. There are so many campgrounds to choose from. Even driving through Seattle is hardly an issue because of a fairly new underground bypass tunnel. (Good that I’m writing all this. I just felt a twinge of excitement!)
I am beginning to recognize my pattern. I feel trepidation before I try a new challenge. But once I get the trailer hitched up and I’m rolling down the highway, all my fear dissipates. I’m in the moment. I’ve got all my wits. So right now, I’m feeling like I’ve so got this.
Mostly I’m happy that when my confidence wavers, I know who to call. Not the fearful person. Not the quitter. Not the depressive. You call the bold person. The person who takes risks. The person who is, in fact, driving his Harley-Davidson from New Orleans to San Antonio tomorrow to visit his daughter and her family for a few days. That’s who you call. You call the guy having his own adventures. You call the guy with the Harley.
