Home sweet home-away-from home

There comes a time in every outdoors person’s career when it becomes necessary to step it up a notch. Or in my case, two or three.

Ok, so some may consider what I did a step down in the extreme recreation department. But after years of suffering from acute pop-up envy, the spousal unit and I decided to take the plunge into self-contained mobile recreation.

We bought a camper. Also known as a hotel on wheels, guest quarters and neighborhood shake shack (a story for another day, but learn from my mistake and always lock the camper when not in use.)

That mini van packed going 50 mph down the highway with a fishtailing Coleman behind it? That’s us. Soon to be high and dry in the lap of car-camping luxury

Don’t judge me – lord knows I’ve paid my dues in the tent department. I’m still the same girl whose first foray into clammy canvas shelters entailed a flowery comforter from her bed, and who once spent the night before the Imogene Pass Run with a small river flowing through her Sierra Designs Clip Flashlight (a relic now on display at the Smithsonian.) 

It’s just that, when you’re lying in the dirt and one of those fancy hardsides pulls up with lights, frig, storage and (swoon) a king-sized bed complete with clean sheets and pillows, well it’s hard not to feel jealousy stabbing like a knife in your lower back. Or maybe that’s just the rock you happen to be sleeping on.

Either way, I guess you could say I’ve gone as soft as 3 inches of memory foam mattress bliss. Which is why, when we saw a used camper for sale in our neighborhood, we jumped at the chance.

Never mind that I knew nothing of tail light hookups, battery charging, trailer backing-upping, water hooking-upping or even the foggiest about how one of those things goes from portable pancake to palatial palace. How hard could it be?

We got our first inkling when, after cutitng the check, we were handed a stack of instructions, manuals, diagrams and other assorted paperwork thicker than the New York City City phone book.

Armed with our dossier and trying not to show the panic in our eyes, we got a quick tutorial, signed over the title, hooked up the rolling Mo-tel Hotel and waved goodbye to the previous owners. But the farewell proved short-lived when they chased us down a few blocks later with the keys (apparently, you need those).

Fortunately, the first pop-up dry run went well, as did Nos. 2 and 3. Finally, we decided we were ready to take the family goat show on the road. We pointed her north, to a lakeside spot I had secured days earlier, for a little R&R. But it was to come at a price – namely our sanity as we were about to learn several hard rules in the pop-up camper’s handbook (why we didn’t get one of those in our massive deluge of paperwork I’ll never know). No sooner had we pulled in than the schooling began:

- Rule No. 1: Always have an extra set of keys on hand. This is in case the first set gets misplaced in the back of the vehicle under a pile of junk, thus setting off severe panic, causing parent No. 1 to drive back to town to look for missing keys, which are actually in the back of the car, while parent No. 2 entertains hangry children in the dark. This, naturally, leads to …

- Rule No. 2: Before attempting to set up camper, or even thinking about it, crack open a cold beer and drink vigorously. This will help calm nerves and quell any would-be domestic squabbles from drawing the attention of other campers and/or the campground host, who happens to be watching from the comfort of his air-conditioned Fifth Wheel. 

Once these necessary rules are out of the way at a developed campground close to civilization, pop-up camperers are ready to move onto the next chapter: “What to Do When the Sh** Hits the Fan in the Middle of the God Forsaken Desert with No Cell Phone Reception, Neighbors (Except the Creepy Guy Down the Road Taking Target Practice) or Hopes of Getting out Alive.” Which brings us to the next set of rules:

- Rule No. 3: Know your surroundings and always carry a spare tire. This is in case you happen to incur a flat on the washboard road in and suddenly find yourself hightailing it out to the main highway to get new tire on a Saturday afternoon before the stores in Mormon country close until Monday. Also, for the record, the guy at the service station in  Monticello will send you to Moab, in which case you can just skip the trip to Monticello all together.

Once the tire debacle lesson is learned, feel free to kick back and enjoy the starry desert skies, peaceful solitude and maybe even a game of extreme bocce. For this will all come to a crashing halt in the morning when you try to break camp and learn the harsh realities of …

- Rule No. 4: Never use a tool for anything other than its intended purpose, such as, say, a large rock as a sledge hammer to bludgeon a stubborn bed rail that refuses to yield, no matter how much hulk-like strength you throw at it. Which brings us to …

- Rule No. 5: Don’t force it. If you push until you are blue in the face, at the point of utter exasperation and driving the camper home fully popped up and/or ripping off the plates and abandoning it, then it’s usually a dead giveaway you are doing something terribly wrong. Continuing down this destructive course could lead to irreparable damage to the camper and possibly the marriage. (*No amount of silicone spray will help.) Stop, wipe the sweat off your brow from the searing August heat, and take a deep breath, which ultimately will lead to the realization of…

- Rule No. 6: Always make sure to put the camper door completely up before attempting to take down the camper. This is a very important step. Do not pass go, do not collect pay, do not even bother to show your face at the next campground, if you do not do this first. In fact, if you commit this rookie move more than once, you may as well just hand over the keys to the camper and get the tent back out.

And thus concludes season one in the pop-up chronicle. As this journey has only begun, you can anticipate several more chapters, and maybe even a book. Hey, no one ever said such extreme relaxation was going to be easy. Ok, so they did, but they’re liars. And deep down, I bet they all suffer from a serious case of tent envy.

– Missy Votel