Wingin’ It

In last year’s travel issue, we brought you Road Tripping for Success full of tips from a seasoned traveler with more than 50,000 miles of experience under her belt.

This is the opposite of that.

The week before Thanksgiving, my husband and I set out from our home in Pennsylvania with just over a week to drive the 3,300+ miles diagonally across the country to San Diego, towing a brand-new-to-us travel trailer, with no reservations on the books.

And we’re off!

Had we ever driven or spent a single night in an RV? No. Are we crazy? Yes. Did it work out? Read on …

Some Context

My husband, Justin, is in the Navy, so we go where they send us (hence my working for a North Carolina publisher from Pennsylvania). He will be attending a course in San Diego for the next year. Because it’s an intense school where he will basically eat, sleep, and study, and we want to ultimately stay on the East Coast, we decide it best for him to geo-bach while I hold down the fort at our home. After carefully weighing all the factors (mostly: California is expensive), Justin opts to purchase a travel trailer as his mobile bachelor pad.

Four Weeks Before Departure

After a few months of reading the internet’s opinion on why all RVs suck, Justin selects a Winnebago Micro Minnie, figures out what he needs to haul it with his truck, and brings it home. Our first “oh dear” moment occurs learning to turn the trailer 180 degrees at the top of our steep football field–length driveway. Total anxiety incidents thus far: 1.

The plan is to take it for a few test drives and spend a night or two at a nearby campground to learn what we are doing. I print out a map of US highways and get ready to mark The Official Route. We know we will basically take two roads: I-81 south to Tennessee and I-40 straight over to the West Coast. We will create a spreadsheet of the RV parks we expect to stay in each night, along with several on either side to accommodate for the unknown.

But then life happens — job things, personal things, option paralysis things — and all we really manage is learning to plug the trailer into the house for power and turn on the propane heater so nothing freezes.

Two Days* Before Departure

A blizzard materializes out of nowhere and we are faced with an incoming 16 inches of snow. We can’t risk the delay, so we realize our only option is to leave a day earlier than planned, aka tomorrow.

Day 1

As we pull out of our driveway, we are filled with an electric sense of impending adventure — excitement at the things we will see and do mixed with tinges of wondering how much marriage therapy we will need when this is over. As we hit the highway, reality sinks in. We’re doing it!

Elapsed drive time: 27 minutes. Justin has to pee. Visions of stopping at 100 separate rest stops on the journey run through my mind.

We take care of business and get back on the road. I soon learn the amount of time the truck spends in overdrive pulling this thing raises my blood pressure.

We stop at a large shopping center (necessary for easy trailer parking) for lunch. Justin voices his desire to cover as much ground as possible on day one — exactly the opposite of the one plan we had actually set: Stop before sunset so we aren’t setting up for the first time in the dark.

After popping into an auto parts store for detachable tow mirrors, we get back on the road, agreeing to stick to the park-by-dark plan. I google RV sites, pick one, and we call to book.

The woman asks if we’re okay with hills. We both pause, not wanting to be the one to voice doubt. We ask her what, exactly, she means by hills. She tells us it’s “mostly only an issue for people who are only used to flat driving and try to stop on the ascent.”

Day 1 down! Time for some rest and a PB&J.

We live on a mountain. We got this. Sign us up.

About 20 minutes before sunset, we arrive at the office, check in, and purchase a sewer hose and obligatory “Virginia is for Lovers” sticker. Snow rolls into the campground with us and picks up as we approach the “hit the gas and don’t lose your momentum” hill. I confidently instruct Justin to go right at the fork at the top … which puts us nicely on the road back to the office instead of our site.

Take two: We make it up the hill again, pass a row of cabins, and arrive at the correct location: a single pull-through RV spot with a clear view of the resort’s pond and scenery.

Setup includes chocking the wheels, lowering the trailer jack and landing gear, folding out the steps, connecting power and water lines, pushing out the slider, rearranging interior items that need to be in their upright and locked positions during travel, and turning on the water heater and propane heater. Our site is flat, so we don’t need to level the RV. We manage without much incident and are settled in for the night about 35 minutes after parking.

After our inaugural dinner of PB&J and a celebratory Moscow mule, I use RV toilet paper for the first time. Ever seen a video of a raccoon trying to wash cotton candy? It’s like that.

Our lodging: cozy, if slightly cobbled together.

Stop: Staunton, Virginia (on schedule)

Day 2

First night down! The bed (a single-ply Murphy bed with a memory foam camping mattress held on top by a fitted sheet) sleeps surprisingly well.

We take our first quick showers, learn how to connect the sewer line, drain our greywater, undo the setup steps from last night, and hit the road. We’re both a little surprised by how smoothly our first go at RV camping went. ”Are we RVers now?” we ponder aloud.

Our positivity is interrupted by more life things. I’ll spare details, but we end up burning a few hours on a fruitless attempt to get some Very Important Paperwork signed while receiving texts like “where is the chainsaw?” from our house sitter (anxiety incidents: 2).

A quick pre-departure hike past a scenic overlook in the Tennessee mountains

We resign ourselves to being substantially behind schedule on day two and select a campsite, but we need a few supplies before we park for the night. We stop at Buc-ee’s, which could easily be the subject of its own article, and pick up an amusingly diverse cart full of items ranging from trash bags and bottled water to Beaver Nuggets and hot chopped brisket sandwiches.

Not wanting to run out of propane on a chilly night, we stop at Tractor Supply for a refill. It’s in a gated area with room for us to pull in but not through, meaning we have to back out of the narrow passage into a parking lot while holding up the flow of traffic (anxiety incidents: 3).

Stop: Monterey, Tennessee (95 miles behind goal of Nashville)

Day 3

A very dry Bridal Falls.

After a late arrival and restful-but-not-long-enough night’s sleep, we pack up and decide to take a short hike to Bridal Falls before sitting all day. We admire the falls (actually a dry rock face) and mountain view, then get on the road.

We drive through Tennessee for what feels like an eternity before hitting Arkansas. My notes from the day include little more than a rest stop with a poorly marked walking trail, funny billboards, and “population: 619,” a new-to-me level of sparsity. GPS alerts us to a traffic delay of well over an hour, and we find ourselves wishing we could teleport our way forward to Oklahoma.

We’d planned to spend a night or two in a hotel along the way, and with fatigue and delays, today’s the day. We check in at nearly 10 p.m. and, because nothing is close enough to walk to, order Uber Eats from the lobby so we can pass out as soon as possible.

Stop: Lonoke, Arkansas (100-ish miles behind goal of “somewhere around Clarksville”)

Day 4

Verbatim notes from the day’s drive:

• For a flat and empty state, Arkansas on-ramps are like someone threw a handful of wet spaghetti on the floor and said, “yeah, good enough.”
• Even the buildings look bored.
• Oklahoma is just wind and flat.
• Coyote ran across highway. No roadrunner.

I book an RV park in Texas purely because it has a donkey named Clara. We arrive after dark and set up, and I meander around the park saying hello to Clara as well as goats, sleeping chickens, and other farm friends.

Stop: Shamrock, Texas (95 miles behind goal of Amarillo)

Day 5

We get up before sunrise. I do a lap to say goodbye to the farm animals. We disconnect and get rolling smoothly, and we feel like we’ve finally hit our stride. We have a solid plan to make up ground, and I particularly look forward to being in a city tonight and getting to do a little exploring.

Roadside assistance: not the sight anyone wants on a road trip.

Neither of us has ever driven through the Southwest. From looking at the map, we have a sense of which cities with names we recognize will be on our route. What we don’t realize is just how little is in between those cities. We’re also accustomed to gas stations being a max of a few miles of highway travel apart. And thanks to head-on winds, we’re averaging about 8 miles per gallon.

We realize we need gas at a quarter tank and plan to stop at the next station — only there isn’t one. We spend the last 20 miles of Texas in anxiety event #4 praying the truck’s estimated mileage to empty is off.

It’s not. We cross the New Mexico state line and, 3 miles shy of the gas station, pull into the state welcome center on fumes. The staff offer a loaner gas can and suggest we start walking because “who knows how long insurance will be.” We call to check, and we decide to skip the impromptu cardio after receiving an estimate of 35 minutes for a gas drop.

Shockingly, the estimate is accurate. After a solid cry over feeling like our first chance to do something has been ruined by an embarrassing rookie mistake I will have to admit to in writing, help arrives and we’re back on our way. We make it to the station and purchase two gas cans — just in case.

We still manage to make up the mileage we’re behind and select an RV park with excellent reviews located in the middle of Albuquerque. We arrive at the gated complex, get set up, and walk to a bar next door. From there, we grab an Uber to a burger joint because Justin has heard he must get a green chile burger in New Mexico.

The doors are locked. Odd. So we walk to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant in the adjoining shopping center and have the best meal of the trip: birria tacos and ramen.

The Uber driver who shows up to return us to the RV park tells us it’s a shame we broke down here. When we clarify we’re staying here on purpose, she tells us with a note of panic in her voice that we really shouldn’t leave our vehicle unattended because she has personally had three cars stolen. I make a note to research city crime statistics before future bookings.

Stop: Albuquerque, New Mexico (on schedule)

Day 6

Belongings intact, we leave the site and decide we finally have time for a bit of sightseeing. We stop at a frozen-in-time diner with a placard commemorating a scene from Breaking Bad filmed in one of the booths before embarking on a hike through Petroglyph National Monument to marvel at stone carvings hundreds of years old.

We make stops at the Petrified Forest National Park and Meteor Crater National Landmark, both of which take our breath away.

I manage to snag a reservation at an RV lot inside Grand Canyon National Park — a divergence from the most direct route to California, but one we were more than willing to take.

Somehow, it didn’t occur to us that the only route into the canyon would be on a winding two-lane road with signs like “Elk crossing next 35 miles.” After a fair bit of white-knuckling, we check in, have dinner, and head to sleep, bursting with excitement to experience the grandeur of the canyon in the morning.

Stop: Grand Canyon, Arizona (on schedule)

Day 7

We wake up to rain. We walk to the rim of the canyon and know that majestic sights sit before us … and they’re completely obscured by dense clouds.

The crushing sight — or lack thereof — of the Grand Canyon obscured by thick clouds.

We can’t stay because in a few hours, the rain will turn to snow and the temps will drop sharply, and we can’t risk dangerous conditions. I accept that I won’t get to experience the Grand Canyon despite being smack in the middle of it. I shed a few tears, stop by a cafeteria for a cup of coffee, and we head south.

We visit friends in Tucson, boondocking in an empty lot beside their apartment complex. They assure us people park there often, but we still find ourselves paranoid we’re breaking some kind of rule since not many spaces allow you to exist without a fee these days.

Boondocking in an empty lot in Tucson.

Stop: Tucson, Arizona (on schedule)

Day 8

Thanksgiving. For the first time in a week, we don’t drive at all.

Spending two consecutive nights in the same place allows us to relax in a way we haven’t had time to thus far. We extend the awning, turn on the outside lights, open all the windows, and chill.

Day 9

We’ve made it to the final leg of our journey. After a leisurely morning, we set out for the final time.

One does not simply drive past a place called Rooster Cogburn Ostrich Ranch, so we take an unexpected stop to feed all manner of critters: donkeys, goats, tortoises, stingrays, lorikeets, bunnies, and of course ostriches.

After one final anxiety incident (at night, California agricultural inspection stations look a lot like you’re about to accidentally cross into Mexico) we arrive. As we pull into our final destination, Justin exclaims, “Baby, we did it! And three things haven’t happened: I haven’t killed you, you haven’t killed me, and we haven’t gotten divorced!”

In fact, I can’t wait to do it all again.

Final Stop: San Diego, California

Takeaways

Roll with the Punches

Plans will fall through or be quashed by Mother Nature. Sometimes it’ll be a restaurant you hoped to go to, and sometimes it’ll be a once-in-a-lifetime experience. Try to keep things in perspective: You’ll forget the small disappointments in a few days, and the big ones will make for a good story.

Embrace the Learning Curve

We were generally surprised at our lack of major headaches in terms of learning how to set up and manage the RV. That’s not to say it was all smooth. Early on, we found ourselves asking, “Does that sound mean the thing we want is happening or is not happening?”

Three-meat sandwich from Buc-ee’s

Get Ridiculous

Kitschy roadside attractions with dinosaur statues that have seen better days, World’s Largest [anything], places with names like Rooster Cogburn Ostrich Ranch and Toby Keith’s I Love This Bar & Grill, and other silly stops will make you laugh — and a sense of humor is critical in maintaining sanity in the face of inevitable travel stress.

Choose the Offseason

Our “make reservations 2 hours before stopping each day” tactic probably wouldn’t have worked out as well during the height of summer travel.

Go to Buc-ee’s

It’s like equal parts Sheetz, Cracker Barrel, and Santa’s Workshop. Everyone should experience it at least once.

Gas and Snacks

Even if you don’t think you need either, get both.

More From Our Mar-Apr 2025 Issue

• Garden Adventurer: A Moonvine Diary
• Erica Chats: Travel Bougie on a Budget!
• Celebrated Spirits: Best Behavior
• Celebrated Spirits: Den of Dragons
• Out & About in Wake County: March/April 2025
• On Trend: Activity-Based Family Travel
• Small Business Spotlight: Apex Racing Lab
• Pay it Forward: Active Adventure
• Flying Colors
• The Art of Restoration
• Worth the Drive: Fratelli’s Delicatessen
• Wingin’ It