How Not To F--k Up Your Camper Van Trip

What's behind those Facebook photos? Life is like a Shakespeare title

If California is known for swimming pools, Washington could be called the RV state. One can find a recreational vehicle parked in every other driveway outside Seattle. When we first moved to the area I wondered if this might be something to explore having never stepped foot inside a small dwelling on wheels. With every city/state we lived in (5) we accepted each new culture as our own. NY—We became Broadway ticket scavengers. Boston—instant Red Sox fans. Connecticut—Checked for ticks after every outing. Los Angeles—sought out non-superficial people. Washington—rent a sleeper van and explore the Olympic National Forest.

We found Outdoorsy.com—an Airbnb for RV’s. A lovely, retrofitted truck was available for 4-night’s with a local pick up and best of all, owner-Celia allowed dogs. It took an hour for Celia to give us the tour, explaining the interior details and the outside hoses and nozzles then take it for a test drive, probably assuring her more than us that we could handle a 20’ long truck. I was nervous at first but once I hit the road-- piece of cake.

After two hours of pleasure cruising, we arrived at the first camp site. Tents only, or small camper vans like ours. (I guess 20’ is considered small.)

Me—Should we back in?

Jeffrey—I think we should face forward.

Me—But how will we back out? It’s narrow.

Jeffrey—Celia warned us about bushes scratching the sides.

Me—We’ll figure it out tomorrow?

We parked and breathed in the dewy air. It was lovely. We had a view of--- a water source. Already, I can’t remember which one. But it was pretty. I admired the scenery as Jeffrey searched the site.

There’s a river in the BG and Apollo, our toddler.

Jeffrey—There’s no hook ups.

20-somethings might know “hook ups” to mean sexually intimate acts, but for hubby, an official senior citizen, and me, a couple years shy from senior-hood, “hook ups” has a different definition. “Hook ups” are a necessity when one sets up house in an RV. We learned fast that having enough Electricity and Water were essential.

Me—How will we turn on a light, cook, wash dishes, shower… and where do we dump all the van excrement?

Jeffrey—More hook ups?

Me—Don’t ask me.

When Jeffrey and I dated he made it clear that he loved the woods, hiking and camping. He grew up in San Mateo, CA, a quick drive to the serenity of Sequoia National Park, Big Sur, Pinnacles National Park… He experienced many family camping trips. Jeffrey was also a boy scout for four years and still has his sash with 400 different merit patches. (I exaggerate but there must be at least 40.)

Before we got married, he took me on a camping trip as a test, like in the movie Diner. Steve Guttenberg’s character requires his fiancé to pass a Baltimore Colts football quiz, otherwise the wedding is off. Car camping at Heart Lake in the Adirondacks with a guy who knew how to chop wood, build a fire, cook over it, set up a tent, hide our food in a netted bag and raise it up a tree with a homemade pulley contraption so the bears wouldn’t disturb us, all while wearing his grandfather’s homemade knife attached to his belt and his Indiana Jones hat, was unbelievably sexy to me. Maybe it appealed to my most basic human instinct—that this guy could find us food and shelter if the world fell apart, or maybe it was the romantic heart shaped lake. Most likely, it was the fact that I was in love and lust and didn’t care where we slept as long as we were together. And after growing up in Los Angeles where lawns were perfectly manicured, I appreciated the overgrown natural beauty of a forest. And pooping in the woods? I was at one with nature. I passed the test.

This was the test trip; knife and hat as evidence.

Over thirty years later, we wondered about a dump site.

Me—How many gallons of gray and black water does the van hold?

(Grey water is the accumulation from all the drains and black water is the toilet collection. This was new to me too.)

Jeffrey—Uh—what did Celia say?

Me—I don’t remember. I thought you were listening to her explanation.

Jeffrey—I thought you were listening.

Me—You’re the camping expert. And where’s your hat, San Mateo Jones?

Jeffrey—There was a lot of information. We shouldn’t use the sink, shower, or toilet until we know for sure. And I’m wearing my grandfather’s knife. See?

Me—I’m sure it’s fine if we use everything once. I need my morning shower.

Luckily, the camp site had an area with a sink and toilet but we learned that traditional tent sites have NO DUMPING STATIONS—a concept we never researched. Celia did text us a youtube video about the van but it was an hour long. We were too busy trying to figure out how the front seats swiveled so they would face the dining table.

Ready for my shower the next morning, I didn’t know which knob was for hot water and because we couldn’t allow the water to run for more than a gallon’s worth, I took a very fast cold shower. Just so you know, lovely readers, I am not one to grit my teeth and bear it. I released a high-pitched squeal that made Apollo howl.

Backing out from the site was also a challenge. I had to wave my arms like an airplane marshaller as Jeffrey put the monster truck in reverse. The passage was narrow and driving along the salmon berry bush was unavoidable. Although the windows were rolled down, Jeffrey didn’t hear me when I yelled, “Stop.” Something under the bush was lifting the sidestep of the van. I bolted to the driver’s window, shouting, “Stooooppp!” Jeffrey hit the brakes, jumped out of the van and saw the sidestep now bowed upward, a boulder underneath.

Jeffrey—F---k!

We both put on our geometry hats as we considered the van’s position, the passage out, the length of the van and the turning radius.

Me—I think you need to just go forward. Bite the running board bullet.

Jeffrey—Dammit.

By the look of this picture—you would have no idea that we were stressing about toilets and driving over rocks. Remember that the next time you look at your friends’ Facebook postings. That romantic getaway in Rome? No need to be envious. They’re hotel room was just ransacked and they’re looking into early return flights home...

Once Jeffrey freed the van and pulled out, we scrutinized the damage. Being a guy, he jumped on top of the impaired arched section of the sidestep. Surprisingly, it flattened a bit.

NEXT STOP

After walking through the magical Hoh Rain Forest we parked at an RV site. There were hook ups, showers and toilets but no dumping station.

Jeff--Where are all the dumping stations?

Me—And why isn’t there an app?

COMEDY OF ERRORS

Here are more pictures from our trip:

A remote beach along Juan de Fuca Hwy.

Apollo swam in Lake Crescent.

Purple Haze Farm; famous for its lavender.

Cape Flattery; the furthest point of WA state and the tip of the US.

You would never know that by the third night, a bed slat broke causing one side of the mattress to slump, the steering wheel clicked every time we veered left, our dog stopped eating because he was filling up on pine cones, Jeffrey twisted his ankle trying to get a photo of an eagle, a plethora of bruises developed from bumping our heads and banging into corners inside the van, or the seventeen times we set off the smoke alarm.

Worth the twisted ankle.

By the fourth night we worried about the grey and black water tanks. We called several RV sites before reaching our final remote camp site and asked if we could pay to use their Dump Stations. Nope, nope and nope. We arrived at a private camp site called, Good ‘Dose’ of Relaxation, tucked into a hillside with a view of Mt. Jupiter Ridge. I later learned the reason the host used quotes around the word, Dose. Below the property was the Dosewallips River.

We finished a lovely home (camper) cooked pasta dish and hoped to eek in a quick rinse of the dishes. Nothing worked. The “inverter” shorted and all the systems in the camper went dead.  Jeffrey had to super surf the internet and was able to reset it after a number of tries and a text to Celia. One indicator grabbed our attention.

Me—What does “Full” mean? The electricity is charged?

Jeffrey ran his fingers through his last remaining hairs on his head and sighed.

Me—We can’t wash the dishes, can we?

Jeffrey—We can’t do anything.

Me—What would happen if we brushed our teeth?

Jeffrey—Everything can back up.

Me—Gross.

We both groaned.

Me--We should just go home.

Jeffrey—What? Why?

Me—We have nowhere to wash dishes, shower or crap. We need to go home. We’re only a couple hours away.

Jeffrey frowned and slumped.

There are moments in life when one doesn’t want to admit something was a huge fail. Jeffrey was reminding me of our honeymoon in Bora Bora. He loved scuba diving, except that he had motion sickness and could never equalize in the mask leaving him to vomit on the boat and a mask full of blood. It wasn’t until I said to him, “Maybe diving isn’t for you,” that he realized his stubbornness. (However, he would later admit that for the right dive, the puking and nose bleeds would be worth it.)

Jeffrey—Yeah. You’re right.

Carissa—We’ll have a nice, long hot shower and crap to our heart’s content. I’ll drive.

Off we went. Apollo was confused but curled up between us and went to sleep.

Once home we unloaded the truck. I considered the money we spent on the rental, insurance and another few hundred that we’re supposed to be reimbursed. As I carried clothes, dog tote, food, back and forth, separated the twelve laundry piles I thought, “I don’t want to work during my vacation.”

In the end, I had a realization. I am not a camper van chick. But… I’m really glad I tried.

ALL’S WELL THAT ENDS WELL

P.S. The next morning Celia told us of a dump site near her home. We were required to empty everything before returning the van. For some reason the waste tank is called a Cassette. It’s unlike those that I remember. They recorded and played music. The van cassettes were dumped and replaced, easy peasy, and we drove back to Celia’s. We told her about the sidestep, steering wheel and bed slat. Hopefully insurance will cover the repairs.

1.     Have you ever f-ked up a camper van trip?

2.     Do you like camping? My back was cranky.

3.     Do you like long driving trips? My back is fussy.

4.     Have you ever read a Shakespeare play?

5.     Did you know that FB envy is a real thing? https://www.reuters.com/article/facebook-envy/is-facebook-envy-making-you-miserable-idINDEE90L0AZ20130122