Ella and I drove straight to Amelia Island, a 9-hour drive, and as darkness was rapidly approaching I realized pretty quickly that free camping isn’t really a thing in Florida. I started this adventure on Dec 20th, 2021, and the northeast coast of Florida was my first stop. I found a campsite at Fort Clinch, a beautiful state park lined with tall live oaks with twisted branches, dripping with Spanish moss.
The campsite was a tent site, but in this particular park, they wouldn’t let me use my roof top tent (RTT). No big deal, I thought, I’ll pitch my ground tent and be just as happy. Unfortunately, the evening was super windy, and it was getting darker, both challenges to setting up a tent. I was exhausted from a long drive so opted not to pitch my tent, which meant sleeping in my car. This is a real bummer. Sleeping in my car is not like sleeping in a van or RV. All the space in my Subie is taken up by storage: food and cooking equipment, clothes for all seasons and weather conditions, mechanical and recovery tools for my car, and my camping gear. Ella sits on the back seat on the passenger side, and every other square inch of space is spoken for. Sleeping in the car means sitting upright in front of the steering wheel, hoping I can find a tolerable position for a few hours at a time.
So, I wasn’t thrilled, but I was exhausted. In my fatigue it seemed like the best option. Well, turns out there was a huge storm that blew through, and the rain and the wind were crazy strong. I was SO glad I was in my car and not in a ground tent. And I was so tired, I ended up getting a pretty good night’s sleep, all told. It was, however, really cold, and I wasn’t dressed for it, nor had I pulled out my sleeping bag.
Sleeping in the car during a storm
The next morning first thing, Ella and I went for a long walk in the residual rain. There was a beautiful trail in the park that took us through a hammock – a forest made up of both tropical shrubs and hardwood trees. The lushness and variety of plant life in and of itself was amazing, but just beyond the vegetation were giant sand dunes. It wasn’t like anything I had seen before, a mixture of Southern pine and oak forest, jungle palmettos and ferns, and beach grass. Really gorgeous. Breathtaking, in fact.
Hiking the Fort Clinch Hammock
I was struck by the incredible beauty of these maritime forests, full of oak trees, pine trees, and vines, but also palms, shrubs, and succulents – even cactus. Hammocks are wildly populated with ferns, fungus, and verdant life, all set against white, sandy dunes covered in sea oats and beach flowers. All the things you would find on the beach and in a forest together. The sea grape shrubs with their beautiful broad, round waxy leaves – just so gorgeous. I read that the settlers used those leaves as dinner plates because they’re so big and sturdy; I can totally see it. This jungly, tropical area is just teeming with so many birds: egrets and cranes, birds generally the size of cats, but some as large as dogs, with very long legs and long bills. Some bills are long and hooked and pointed while some are round and flatten out into a spoonbill. Some birds have plumage that is all white, some all black, some pink and rosy, and some really fluffy and feathery like the tricolored heron.
Rosy Spoonbill on Blackpoint Wildlife Drive
I couldn’t wait to get out and see the Island. Ella and I went to Fernandina Beach, and it was such a cute little town. It seemed to be a leisure town with its resorts, but at the same time historical, so it had a distinctly unique feel. There was a sweet little shopping district with storefronts, coffee houses, and all kinds of boutique-y shops just across the street from a marina. It was quite picturesque. The quaint, old-timey feel was very welcoming, and we walked around for several hours. Watch shops, shoe shops, toy shops, and boutiques were all decorated for Christmas, and the vibe was really chill. It was still raining and chilly, but only a light rain. After walking through the brick-lined walkways with Dickens-like streetlamps and locals greeting each other warmly, we stopped at a coffee shop where Ella and I shared a bagel sitting outside at a café table in front. We were greeted by everyone who passed us. It was really, very charming.
From there we drove around the island a bit, in awe of the giant live oaks cascading with Spanish moss. The streets were endlessly shaded by a canopy of branches from the stately, giant trees on opposite sides of the street, intertwining with each other overhead. The rain made the streets glisten, and it gave everything a majestic air. It was a magnificent, sensory feast.
Amelia Island Live Oaks with Spanish Moss
From Amelia Island, we went to St. Augustine Beach. The Atlantic Ocean is much rougher than the Gulf I’m used to in the panhandle of Florida. The surf was surging into white-capped waves that crashed over themselves loudly and relentlessly. The sand was no less dramatic. The wind blew whisps of dry, white sand over the dark, wet beach like a constant and swiftly flowing river. Being at the confluence of these two forces, the waves crashing in one direction and the wind blowing the sand in a perpendicular direction, created a constant, clashing energy. The effect was mesmerizing. Ella and I soaked in that scene for a good while before heading to find a campsite for the evening. We stayed in Anastasia State Park that evening, chosen for its wild beauty. It would offer the perfect hike in the morning before we set off toward the south to the Everglades.
Ella at entrance to St. Augustine Beach
On our way south, we stopped at the lighthouse at Ponce Inlet, at the Canaveral National Seashore, and at the Manatee Overlook, and took several hikes along the way. Although we didn’t see any manatees, we did see a river otter run right in front of us and dive into the water, as well as several jumping fish, and of course the ubiquitous alligator. We had spent a lot of time out in the wild, and I was in need of a rest from watching Ella with the utmost vigilance to keep her safe from the wildlife, so we stopped at a hotel in Titusville where the Kennedy Space Station is. And here comes the irony. While we were having our respite in civilization at a hotel with a pool, hot shower, and washer and dryer, Ella almost provoked a gator attack.
There was a catchment pond behind the hotel with a sign posted that said Beware of Alligator. You don’t have to tell me twice. I was sure not to go near that pond and to steer Ella’s walks in the opposite direction. One morning as we were wrapping up our morning walk, I was switching hands with her leash to navigate the door key. She broke loose and ran, top speed, to the pond where the alligator purportedly hangs out. I called her, but she was hell-bent on finding out what made her spidey-senses go off whenever we walked past the pond. She got about halfway around the pond when she heard – we heard – a roar. An animalistic, deep throaty roar, like a lion. She stopped in her tracks, and the bellowing sounded again. Then again. I turned toward the sound, and sure enough, there was an alligator in the water with its head and tail both out, about 20-30 feet from Ella, warning her not to come any closer. With each bellow it forced, its body contracted, and the water around it rippled. I was hollering for Ella the whole time, and she finally decided that coming back to me was her most prudent course of action. She steered clear of the pond for the remainder of our stay there.
While there we visited Coco Beach, Kennedy Space Center, and several more nature preserve trails. Since I have Ella, we didn’t do any attractions, but we spent our time walking and taking in the sights and sounds of the eastern coast of Florida. On our way south, we traveled the scenic A1A or Hwy 1 the whole way, opting for the slow, picturesque route, rather than the Interstate. I took in the military vibe of Patrick Space Force Base (I didn’t even know we had Space Force Bases!), the posh beach houses of Hobe Sound, and the endless, gorgeous Atlantic beach views. This was Christmas Day, and I was bound for Miami’s South Beach. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a holiday.
Ella at South Beach, Miami
We arrived at Miami Beach with light to spare and walked on the boardwalk until well past dark. It was fun to feel the energy of Miami and watch folks enjoy their nightlife and family time. It was especially fun to hear the multiplicity of languages and see the diversity of people, both local and visiting. I had made a plan to be in Miami for two nights because I was going to take a walking tour of Little Havana, as well as take in some other sights, such as the Art Deco district, the Wynwood Walls, and the like.
The truth is, though, the longer I stayed in Miami, the worse I started to feel. The parking was atrocious, and the overcrowding and commercialism were sucking the life straight out of my body. I tried my luck parking in a paid lot, but the transactions with the unmanned, parking-ticket machine made for a very slow process for the long line of people of diverse languages. People were everywhere; concrete was everywhere; traffic never stopped; restaurants and shops had long lines; and money was constantly changing hands. It was 85 F, and the sun was beating down strong. The whole scene was killing my soul. I changed my mind right there and decided to forego my Airbnb and head on down to the Everglades.
I felt relief immediately. It was an affirmation that my purpose for this trip is not about travel but connecting with our country’s vast wilderness resources.
I never did the Little Havana tour, nor did I participate in any holiday revelry. I was so content with experiencing south Florida my own, special, quiet way. One thing I loved about Miami – the trees are fire!
I’ve never been much of a camper or outdoorsperson. This lifestyle is new to me. I knew I would need some pretty good self-training, so on my second practice trip I tried my hand at a number of different ways to camp – a national forest or two, state parks, a Hipcamp, beach camping, using my ground tent and my rooftop tent.
In November 2021, I loaded up my car with everything I thought I would need when I went on the road and wouldn’t have a home to come home to. For our first stop, I used my Free Camping app to find a hunter’s camp in the Talladega National Forest. Hollins Hunter Camp had no amenities except a fire ring. The area was woodsy and beautiful, with a flat, cleared area to pitch a tent. It took about an hour to setup camp – I set up my rooftop tent (RTT) and Ella’s tent first, and worked deliberately, learning the best, most proficient ways to setup my gear. It’s a lot of work.
I was finally settled in and ready for a quick supper – some leftover chicken and some yogurt – and a fella drives through my camp in an old pickup. He’s about 75-80 years old and stops for a chat. He turns off his engine but stays in the car. He is the only person I’ve seen all day, and it’s dusk and chilly. I say it was great to meet him, and gently signal that I am ready to sit down and eat my supper in the peace and solitude I came to purposefully enjoy. He continues to talk. In his warm, friendly, Southern drawl, he tells me about his family. His daughter is a nurse, his son works at the farmer’s market, his grandson is in college. He is out here because he wanted to get away from the house for a spell. He tells me about buying his truck, hunting in these here parts, hands me a map of the area, and explains about the coyotes I will most definitely be hearing tonight because of a big hunt this afternoon. After a bit, there is a lull in the conversation, and I tell him again how great it was to meet him, and blessedly he turns on his engine. I’m not sure what signal I sent at that point because I was awfully relieved he was going to leave me to my supper, but he turned off his engine again and started in on another conversation. He wanted to know who my people were, where they were from – the typical Southern convo. I gave as little info as possible while still trying to sound gracious. After what seemed like an impossibly long time to have a conversation without saying anything, he gave his farewells and turned his truck around and left for home.
Camping at Hollins Hunter Camp
It dropped to 36 F that night, and Ella slept outside in her tent. I was bundled up in a hat, gloves, a head band to cover my ears, and blankets on top of my sleeping bag so I could cover my head. The morning sunrise was beautiful, pinks and yellows peeking through the forest trees. The air was crisp and clear. Ella and I went for a walk first thing to get a lay of the land and orient ourselves. We never saw another person, although we saw a truck parked in another campsite – hunters no doubt. Back at the campsite, we had breakfast and cleaned up. I decided to pack up and we headed to Cheaha.
View from Mount Cheaha
We hiked all through Cheaha, but I wasn’t quite sure where we would spend the night yet. I wasn’t crazy about spending it in the state park which was full of RVs and families. That’s not a bad thing by any means, but I knew I needed more practice in the wilderness. After a full day of hiking, I asked the park personnel if there were a more primitive campground. There was – the Civilian Conservation Corps campsite. Ella and I paid for the night and set off in the car the ten or so miles away to the most primitive site. There was a latrine, and supposedly a working water pump. Each campsite had a fire ring and a flattened, gravel area for a tent. We chose the farthest back campsite and were the only ones in the campground that night. It was beautiful in its isolation. I built a fire and had a peanut butter sandwich and fruit for supper. I slept in my RTT, and Ella slept in her tent on the ground again. It was not as cold, but still very chilly. In the morning we hiked again before breakfast and then broke camp.
Ella sleeping in her tent on a very chilly night
I made a few videos about campgrounds you pay for versus free campsites, about pooping and peeing in the woods, and about my camping food. I’m not particularly fond of cooking at home. I do it, but it’s purely out of necessity and not out of a passion for the act of creating food. It turns out, I hate fixing food in the wild too. It takes SO much time, so much cleanup, and uses so many resources that I try to conserve, like water and propane. I make coffee in the morning after our walk, and beyond that, I usually eat cheese and crackers, yogurt, fruit, maybe some cereal. It all suits me just fine.
After packing up, we headed off to Bankhead Forest for the night. I found a horse camp on my Free Campsites app that had a small fee – $5 per night – and was used as a basecamp for trail riders. Again, I was the only one there. Ella and I were settled in for the night, and I was fast asleep when around midnight Ella woke me up barking. I keep her tethered to the car with a long cable, so she can go in and out of her tent freely but must stay close. This night she was awakened by something in the middle of the night that had her very aggravated. She barked aggressively and jolted me out of my sleep, and then really jolted me when she took off at top speed and snapped her harness that was attached to her tether. Nearly panicked, I grabbed a flashlight and quickly put on my shoes, still in a fog, wondering what the heck was going on. I was spooked for sure.
I shone the flashlight all around and never did see anything out of the ordinary. I caught a glimpse of her running in the distance every now and then, but she was not even about to come to me. She was wild and free in the moonlight. I took a walk around and tried to settle my nerves. I am convinced she was tempted by a prey animal – an armadillo, or raccoon, or a deer.
As I was looking around with my flashlight, I kept seeing these sparkles everywhere. Really out-of-place, small, sparkly things attached to the trees and grass. During that evening while I was fixing my supper, I noticed a sparkly in the grass and thought a child must have lost a rhinestone from a hairclip or some such. I investigated with a flashlight and found a small hole in the ground where the sparkle reflected off my light. It was pretty neat, but I wasn’t about to go fishing around in a hole in the ground to find out what it was. I didn’t give it much thought until I’m standing in this wooded area in the dark, in the middle of the night, surrounded by sparklies on the trees. I shined my flashlight on the tree and saw a dozen spiders, pretty large with little sparkly eyes peering back at me. It was fascinating! I looked closer and closer, my heartbeat already racing, but now stimulated by a bit more adrenaline, hoping these spiders weren’t jumpers. Turns out, it’s a wolf spider who indeed has a sparkly eye, and sometimes when the mama carries her babies on her back, her whole back becomes sparkly with a hundred baby sparkly eyes. Truly mesmerizing!
The sparkly wolf spider. Photo credit: Bamshki
The next morning Ella was back in her tent, snoozing the morning away. We set off for our morning hike. We traveled down a dirt road, and several miles in we found a trail off to the side with a sign that said “Camp” nailed to a tree. As it seemed to be a horse trail that led to a horse camp, I decided to take it, assuming the camp was the one where we were staying. My philosophy about taking trails when I don’t have a map with me is that once the trail starts not looking well-trodden or forks in any direction, I’ll double back rather than risk getting lost in the woods alone. This was certainly a well-trodden horse trail, with the dirt churned up and muddy, with old, hardened, horse apples dotting the path. But there were a lot of obstacles as well. A stream to cross, lots of fallen trees, some wash-outs, and work-arounds. It was several miles long with fun changes in elevation, and the fall leaves covered the ground like a carpet. We were walking so long that I started to doubt that I knew where we were going. Maybe it would be wiser at this point to turn around and retrace our steps than to hope we would end up at our camp. I kept going. After a long time, we finally made it to the camp, and it just so happened that it was our very campsite, so the Subaru and RTT were the first things we saw when we crested the edge of the forest. A pretty great morning.
We had breakfast and broke camp and headed to Oak Mountain State Park. Oak Mountain is very much a family-oriented RV park with some primitive campsites, so we were surrounded by RVs with their bicycles, kayaks, ATVs, and all the outdoorsy, family-fun equipment. We were also surrounded by family sounds like children crying, TVs blaring, chainsaws burring. It was around $25 a night and included water, bathrooms with showers, trash service, and picnic tables. Because I knew the park was big and I would want to drive around, I set up my ground tent this time. It took a lot of work and effort to carry all the gear to the campsite and set it up. I really appreciated my RTT at that moment.
I guess I’ll take the small tent
The next morning, Ella and I set off for a walk first, but then took a scenic drive in the park to hike some trails with overlooks. It was gorgeous despite the rain that began to fall. We wore ourselves out and went back to the campsite for supper. I cooked this night. I made rice, beans, broccoli, and tomatoes. It was delicious, and I was super hungry so was glad to have more than just snacks. But then it was time to clean up. I was tired, most our gear was wet, and I really didn’t want to wash dishes. But I did, then we headed to bed. Ella slept with me and kept me cozy in the cold night’s air. It was 36 F again that night.
We woke up, walked, had coffee, and broke camp. Everything was still wet from the day before’s rain though, so I strung up some clotheslines between the trees to dry out our gear. It took much longer to break camp since we had all the ground gear – the tarp, the tents, the flies, the carry cases, the sleeping bag and mat, all had to be cleaned, dried and carefully rolled, to make sure it’s useful for the next time it’s needed.
Ella and I drove to Montgomery because I had some business to finish up regarding the sale of my father’s house and estate. I dropped Ella off to be boarded, and I went on to a hotel for a hot shower and to do some laundry. The next morning, I stopped by the house to see how the estate sale staging was coming along, then picked up Ella and headed off to New Orleans.
I was scheduled to meetup with some online forum friends in New Orleans and had scheduled a funky campsite using the Hipcamp app. My trip into NO was already remarkable because I was traveling through a really industrial and not-very-well-kept part of the city. I knew I was close because I was only minutes away according to my GPS, but I couldn’t believe there was actually a campsite in this part of town. It definitely didn’t look safe. Or clean. Or campsite-ish. The roads weren’t marked very well, not to mention they were in horrible shape, maybe left over from Katrina or other massive amounts of flood waters that this town sees year after year. I was passing by parts of town that were literal dump-sites. Under an overpass there were sofas and mattresses, bags of trash and tons of debris, just toppled from the heights above. Was this really where I was staying? If so, I would turn around and stay in a hotel in a heartbeat. I kept going.
I came up to a blue-painted steel bridge of sorts with a stop light. It really didn’t look like it went anywhere. I’m embarrassed that I couldn’t figure it out, but the whole scenario just seemed surreal. I wasn’t even sure I was on a legitimate road since there was a red light with no cross-traffic, and I was the only one around. So odd. I wondered if I should back up and backtrack, maybe I had misread the GPS. Soon enough, some traffic started to back up behind me and I was relieved to figure this was a legitimate passage, and I wasn’t waiting at some perpetual twilight zone red light. Then, as if to answer all my questions, a barge appeared on the river crossing under the bridge, which as I looked closer, was raised for passage. It wasn’t like the draw bridges that are raised on hinges forming an A – the only type I’m familiar with – but the whole center span of the bridge was elevated using an enormous pully system. Once the barge passed, the bridge lowered. It took a very long time.
Once across the river, I was only a mile away from my campsite. I thought the landscape would surely change and open up to a normal camping area. It did not. GPS directed me through a neighborhood, a kitschy one at that, but definitely not a camping area. I arrived at the destination, a corner lot fenced in by a brightly painted, fanciful fence – sky blue and purple with a yellow sun, a pink cartoon pig, and a sign that read “clothing optional beyond this point.”
Funky campsite in NOLA from Hipcamp app
I called the camp director, James, and he said he’d be there in about 20 minutes, just go in and make myself at home. I opened the double gate and was greeted by a cute pit bull who immediately tried to mount Ella. She was not pleased. A fella named Jacques then greeted me. He was the dog’s owner and lived on the property, which as it turns out is a commune of sorts. There is a home on stilts (because river) and several campers and sheds within eyeshot. There’s an overgrown garden and a carport with tons of outdoor gear – kayaks, skiffs, bicycles, motorcycles, and all the spare parts to match. There is an outhouse painted purple (for Number 2 only; find anywhere you can on the property for Number 1). The shower is by the chicken coop and is an outdoor wooden shed with an attached hose pipe. There is artistic flair everywhere.
I knew I liked the place right away. The vibe was cool. The artwork was funky. Jacques was who you imagine in this scenario. He was tall and thin, maybe creole looking, tattooed and pierced, with long green braids and painted nails. Effeminate, trusting, kind. He showed me around, and I set up my roof top tent in the driveway.
The camp director was the homeowner, and I never got a feel for what he did or who he was. He made friends easily, I know that. In the 20 minutes I waited for him, five different people came looking for him. I was pretty sure he was a dealer, but maybe not. All the folks were on bikes or had outdoor gear in their car. One fella said he would wait for him, so I struck up a convo with him. He said he was in the Coast Guard, just recently stationed in NO. He met James the night before and James invited him to come chill by the campfire.
That night, I spent the evening with my friends in NO and left Ella in the care of James and company. She spent the night by the fire ring with her new friends, scarfing bits of kielbasa tossed her way. I didn’t stay more than one night there, so my curiosity about James, Jacques, the numerous other campers, and motley crew of acquaintances was never satisfied. I’ll go back though, if given the opportunity. It was way fun.
When I got back to the campsite after the night with my friends, Ella was stuck in the overgrown garden. She had wrapped her tether around every upright, dead stick she could and was crouched amid the sharp, broken, brown vegetation, stuck and unable to move. Poor baby. She had scratched her eye on something and had a big ol’ shiner. She was miserable. As soon as I freed her, she ran to her side of the car. I opened the door, and she jumped in and slept inside the car that night, her safe place. She was much happier in the morning.
The following morning, we folded up and headed out. The night was so muggy, warm, and humid, that the fly of my RTT sweated so much it looked like rain. I didn’t have time to let it dry out, so I put it away wet. Really wet.
I drove to Galveston, TX, about 5-6 hours or so. Free camping is permitted on the beach on Bolivar Peninsula. On Sunday when I got there, there were quite a few campers and RVs from the weekend. By Monday morning they had pretty much disappeared, and by Tuesday campers were sparse. They started to show back up for the Thanksgiving holiday, though.
Camping on Galveston Beach
Bolivar Peninsula is great. There aren’t many homes nearby and you can drive right on the beach. The sand is packed tightly and there is just enough room before the dunes to create a really nice, wide, dispersed space for a campsite. There are latrines on the beach, which I normally would steer clear of, but since there was no privacy, I had to use them. People were pretty respectful to keep them as tidy as could be.
Camping on the beach is a different animal altogether, and I spent 3-4 days there. Once I found the spot I wanted to setup camp, I opened my RTT and let it dry in the gulf breeze. There was a continuous breeze, sometimes downright blustery, the whole time I was there. It was pretty cool too. There was a big storm that came through the first night, and the wind shook the tent and car and made a wild racket. I didn’t get much sleep at all that night. Ella decided her favorite place to sleep while camping is in the car, and after the night at the horse camp, I agree. She is much happier and warmer on her bed in the backseat. I am much happier when she isn’t barking at and chasing every moving thing in the middle of the night.
Ella and I spent our time at the beach walking for miles along the coastline. I never did any cooking, not even coffee, because of the wind. Listening to waves and watching the surf have hypnotic, relaxing effects. The sunsets and sunrises were very peaceful. Families would come and go, fishing, playing in the water, building sandcastles. The sea birds were a constant force of motion, trotting in and out with the waves, diving for fish, and teasing each other. Pelicans flew overhead. Occasionally a heron would join the fun.
A couple, Vipool and Sarah, introduced themselves while on a walk. I visited them several times over the next several days. She was very knowledgeable about social media, vlogging, YouTube and SEO. She had a lot of insight into how I should go about my videos. They had decided to do what so many have done during the pandemic – sell everything and hit the road. They restored a vintage camper and now spend their days working right on the beach, or anywhere else they want to go! They were super interesting and a lot of fun to visit with.
The guys camping next to me were both down on their luck and had randomly come across each other there at the beach. One had lots of food but no way to cook it; the other had all the cooking gear but no food. Neither had any money until their next paycheck so they pooled their resources and setup camp together, strangers bonding through adversity. They had an ingenious way to build a fire in the wind though. They dug out an embankment in the sand with a deep pocket and high sides and found some driftwood to burn. They were able to keep a fire going, which seemed miraculous to me.
Chilly on the beach
Camping on the beach has its charms but also has its detractions. The sand, wind, cold, sand, and sand get old after a while. All-in-all though, breaking camp wasn’t nearly as much of a bummer as I thought it would be. I used a brush to clean all the sand I could off everything, and because it was so windy, I hadn’t unpacked much gear. On Weds morning, I packed up and set off for an Airbnb in Fredericksburg, TX, a seven-hour drive or so. Ella and I got there around 4 pm with just time enough to shower and relax with a glass of wine before my family joined me for the Thanksgiving holiday.
I felt triumphant after this several-week-long camping episode. I was confident I had the resources and skills to make my National Park dream trip work. Look out, world, here we come!
Big life decisions often accompany cataclysmic events. I decided to sell my house and everything in it when my father died, and I hit the road with my trusty dog Ella to visit all the National Parks I could. Before embarking on the actual trip, I knew I needed practice to be sure that I had all the appropriate gear and that my routines and my funds would be sustainable. I took two extended trips to accomplish this. The first was a trip to the west coast and back, and the second was a series of camping trips in the Southeast.
In August 2021, I took off for Texas and California to deliver furniture and keepsakes from my father’s estate to my two sisters. I bought a hitch for my Subaru and rented a Uhaul trailer. I loaded up the trailer with boxes, furniture, and sundries, and loaded my car with camping equipment. With Ella in the backseat, we headed out with all good intentions. On the road, I was suddenly reminded I’m not a mover. The trailer wasn’t loaded particularly well, so along the way it was bumping and jumping on the hitch and making a loud racket. I thought I might lose it, but it hung in there. I had a bad experience in college where a trailer jumped off the ball in the middle of Atlanta traffic, and I was starting to have flashbacks. The ride was shaping up to be a little on the stressful side already.
I left much later than intended. Originally, I had planned to camp in Slidell, LA, on the way, but since the sun was already going down by the time I was half-way there, I decided to drive the whole way through to my sister’s in TX. No big deal. It’s a 10–12-hour drive, but I had no time restrictions and no one else to appease. As long as Ella would hold up, I knew I could hold up. No worries.
Around midnight, I was passing through Pearl, MS, and noticed a regional airport sign. It seemed to make sense that I heard a helicopter above me. It didn’t quite register how odd a helicopter would be at midnight, or how odd it was that the sound was getting louder and louder. Lordy, in fact it was so loud I thought it must be right overhead. It took a few more moments for me to realize it wasn’t a helicopter at all – it was a flat tire. My Subie had picked up a screw and the tire shredded to pieces, right there on the Interstate. Did I mention it was the middle of the night?
Notice the 0 in the top right of the PSI gauge
I have roadside assistance, so I hit them up, and they were very responsive. The thing about roadside assistance, though, is you likely just woke up the repairman from his comfy slumber, or he may have a list of other unfortunate customers before you. Or both. You never really know. Either way, you can expect to wait. For hours. So, Ella and I waited patiently on the side of the road in the dark listening to the whoosh of traffic as it passed us, each car buffeting us as it went. In about an hour and a half or so, the repairman showed up.
To get to my spare donut tire in the back, I had to unload all my gear, right there on the side of the highway, in the dark. Ella was on a leash and wanted to explore, wondering why she couldn’t track down every intriguing scent. It was inconvenient, to say the least. Then, once the tire was changed, I had the flat, full-size tire to carry with me to a tire store. It wouldn’t fit back in the car because the compartment was too small for it, but fortunately I had the Uhaul trailer, so we stashed it in there.
Now, where to stay? I couldn’t go more than 50 miles or 50 mph on the baby spare, so I had to overnight somewhere there in MS. I checked my Free Campsites app, mostly used by RV’ers looking for a place to overnight, and found a Cracker Barrel nearby. My first night on my wild, adventurous, see-all-the-wonders-of-America-tour was spent under the streetlight in a Cracker Barrel parking lot. It was as romantic as it sounds. My car was so full I couldn’t lean the seat back, so I battled the steering wheel with my knees all night long. It was so hot – MS in the summer – that I couldn’t roll down the windows for the cloying heat, humidity, and mosquitos. I would crank the engine and run the air conditioner every 30 minutes to an hour, whenever I heard Ella start to pant in the backseat. I was feeling super adventurous.
Waking up under the Cracker Barrel sign
At daybreak we headed to the nearest tire store, and Ella and I roamed the area while the tire was replaced. It was swelteringly hot, and the sun was brutal. I thought, this is the kind of practice we need! Not really what I had in mind, but more than likely what we will encounter on the real trip, so get used to it! All-in-all, it took a little over 3-4 hours for the car to be repaired, and we set out again for Killeen, TX. We made it just in time as my sissie got off work, so much rejoicing ensued. Ella and I stayed with her for a few days, and the visit was refreshing and fun.
After a few days, we get back on the road and continued our drive of the continent-sized Texas. I tried to drive as far as I could before looking for a free campsite. My mantra is ALWAYS FILL UP THE GAS TANK WHEN IT’S HALF FULL, and ALWAYS PITCH YOUR TENT WHEN IT’S LIGHT. Such wise advice to myself I repeated over and over, congratulating myself on my good common sense. Unfortunately, apparently I’m not a great listener. That night, I kept challenging myself to drive 20 more miles before looking for a campsite. This is why:
While I was driving, I was super enjoying the scenery. It was gorgeous. I was well into NM and the mountains in the distance were in perfect juxtaposition to the broad, flat deserts full of cactus and scrubs. Not only that, but the sky was magnificent. The sun was setting, and the colors were vivid and rapidly changing from pink to orange to red. There were numerous storms on the horizon, so I watched them evolve from light blue showers to deep purple downpours, all in the distance, so just a feast for the eyes. The sun was setting right in front of me as I traveled west, and it was casting a golden glow on the cumulous and cirrus clouds that crowned the mountains. The sky was bright pink, the sun neon orange, the clouds various shades of blue with shiny, golden edges. It was an amazing sight, and I just didn’t want it to end.
I did finally stop for the night, but it was well after dark. It was windy, too, because of all the storms around, so putting up my ground tent was a bit of a challenge. The wind made the fly tricky, so I weighed the odds of rain. There were storms all around, but above me was wide open, clear sky. I decided to chance it. Ella crawled in the tent with me, and right above me, through the dome screen was the bright, white moon peeking from behind a large tree with leggy branches. The breeze was fresh and cool, very relaxing. It was a magical night.
The next morning, we headed out early with the plan to stop and camp in CA if needed. The drive was easy, so we kept on trucking. I was approaching the craggy, brutal mountains at the border of AZ and CA that create a remarkable transition into the state. I was on half-full, so I knew I should stop for gas soon, but I kept thinking, CA is super populated, so I’m sure it won’t be difficult to find a gas station as soon as I cross the mountains. It was 120 F, and Ella’s feet burned every time we stopped, so I wanted to power through.
Spoiler alert: CA is super populated on the coast – not inland. And inland lasts for a really long time before you get to the coast. There were no gas stations. I sweated bullets wondering if I was going to have to call roadside assistance again, especially since cell service was spotty at best. It wasn’t the first time I stretched the limits of my gas tank on this trip. In Dallas, during 5:00 traffic, I took a look at my gas gauge for the first time in apparently a very long time because it was on empty. I scrolled my info button to see how many gallons I had before empty. It said 0. To say I started a mild panic might be an understatement. I moved my car and trailer to the far-right lane and slowed to about 50, thinking roadside assistance is my number one on speed-dial right now. And you might think that a city as large as Dallas would have lots of gas stations just right off the freeway. Me too. But that’s not the case. I took a random exit and had to drive several miles through back roads before coming across the only gas station in Dallas apparently. I know it was the only gas station because everyone and their brother was there to get gas. There were only four pumps, and each one had a line. By the time I navigated my Uhaul-towing-butt up to the pump, my car was gasping for life. You might think that experience would drive home the mantra I kept repeating to myself about never letting the car fall below half-full. I love your optimism.
Bottom line, I never did run out of gas. But I sure made myself sweat more than a few times.
The desert terrain from east TX, to NM, to AZ, to CA is gorgeous. Miles and miles of nothing but cactus and sand, but somehow a great variety in all of it. The rock formations, mountains, and churned up dirt created an ever-changing landscape, and the plant life was just as variable. Being from the Southeast US, I thought the cactus, trees, and shrubs looked foreign and exotic or maybe like Dr. Seuss creations. I couldn’t take my eyes off the scenery.
Reaching the coast of southern CA was just as exotic. The hills rolled with trees and different rock formations that were a feast for the eyes. The traffic told the tale: this place is where people want to be. So many people! The weather is perfect, 70s with a cool, constant breeze, and the topography is gorgeous. Ella and I made it to my sister’s with the Uhaul intact, and I stayed there for a few days, enjoying walking on the beach, visiting parks, and taking a few short hikes. It was a glorious visit.
San Diego sunset
While in SD, I bought a rooftop tent (RTT). There is a lot of dissension in the camping community between favorite tent types. You’d think folks wouldn’t care about each other’s camping styles because live and let live, but everyone’s got opinions. Some folks swear by the RTTs, and others say they are overrated, not true camping, not worth the price. I love mine. But it did take me a long time to get good at setting it up and taking it down on the first try. Way longer than I thought it should. But now that I have a good bit of practice under my belt, I love it.
The first time I used it was on the way back from CA. I had just spent the night at my niece’s house in AZ, and she warned me it was monsoon season. There were lots of monsoons around, so be careful driving. I had seen them on the way out and agreed they looked formidable, but I’m from the Deep South where we have no shortage of extreme storms. I wasn’t worried. I did drive through some horrific storms, dropping speed to about 30 or less on the Interstate and watching the blurry taillights in front of me for clues as to the road conditions ahead. After making it through the worst, I started looking for a campsite, and found one in west TX right on a small lake. It was peaceful and private, although I could hear people across the lake enjoying their evening. The campsite had a table and a fire ring, but no other amenities. The night was just like the one I experienced in NM – breezy, storms in the distance, clear overhead. I set up Ella’s tent on the ground and crawled up to my new RTT. Somewhere around midnight, Ella started to whine. She was fretful, and that’s not normal for her. I went out to check on her and heard thunder in the distance. As I looked up, the sky was overcast, and it looked like rain, maybe even a storm, was imminent. I zipped up my tent, and Ella and I jumped inside the Subaru to weather the lightning and thunder, never her favorite. Well. It was a doozy. The wind whipped the car around, and the rains didn’t let up. For hours we watched the monsoon dump water on the windshield as the wind swept the water away in blurry waves. Occasionally we dozed in the car.
At daybreak I was anxious to see how my tent fared in the weather. To my delight it was dry and cozy. However, what I had not thought about was the terrain. We drove in on dry dirt. That dirt had become thick, mucky clay by the morning. All over Ella, all over my shoes and our gear, all over my tires. Once the car was loaded, I did my valiant best to extract it from the muddy campsite. Thank goodness for Subaru’s all-wheel drive. Again, I thought about the call that I might have to make to roadside assistance and the spotty cell service that may or may not make that call possible. I was successful after a few fishtails in the mud. We were back on the road, ready to stop at my sister’s again in TX on the way back. We had another great, refreshing stay with her and got back on the road for the final leg of the journey.
Ella and I were on the Interstate from TX to AL for all of about five minutes when I had another flat tire. Another call to USAA roadside assistance, another repairman dispatched to my vehicle, another struggle to empty and reload the car to get to the donut, but this time the flat, full-sized tire had to go in the trunk with all the rest of my gear. We made it to a tire store, had the flat fixed, and were back on the road by Noon. I knew without a shadow of a doubt, no matter what other gear I got for my car, I had to get a full-sized spare and a tire carrier with all the tools and equipment to make my own repairs in case this happened to me when I was out of cell phone range. Also, I knew I needed a form of satellite communication in case my cell phone didn’t work.
It was a great practice trip, more for the distance and experience in desolate areas than for the actual camping. That was ok. There would be plenty of time for that. Once home, I started to research all the recovery gear I might need for my car. I watched YouTubers, read blogs, joined forums, and I’m now reasonably sure I could take care of my car, my dog, and myself if I got stuck somewhere.
A few things I learned along the way, besides the tire, gas, and get-to-the-campsite-before-dark lessons, were about practical routines. I needed to find a way to keep plenty of water since many free campsites don’t have water; ice in a cooler is for the birds because you have to change it constantly, especially in the southern heat; and everything in the car must be well-organized and at-hand at all times. Systems are the key. Making sure I always put things back where I know I will find them, especially chargers, flashlights, and Ella’s leash and water bowl, must take precedence over the ease of just setting something down or stashing it in the nearest hidey-hole. To that end, I have created several hidey-holes in my car for specific things: maps, glasses, a hat, Chapstick, chargers, etc. All things that are always where they need to be when I need to find them in a hurry.
New swing-away, full-size tire carrier!
One of the best things I learned is what a great traveling companion Ella is! I had not traveled much with her before, so I didn’t know her car habits. She is a great passenger. She is eager to explore everywhere we go, and she is great company. She mostly sleeps inside the car, but she has a tent to use as a kennel when she wants. She is my constant source of love and laughs. And her snuggles are super great.
