Camping on public land means there are no bathrooms, no water, no picnic tables, and no trashcans. Bureau of Land Management (BLM) land is camping in its rawest form. I always carry 7+ gallons of water with me, and I have a self-contained commode that I use in the privacy of my own tent. Back east, I carried a shovel with me into the woods, and that sufficed where even the winter trees provide some shelter and seclusion, but in the western desert where there are only scattered, knee-high shrubs, that just won’t do.
BLM land is owned by the federal government and is open and free for camping and recreation. There is very little (read no) BLM land back east, but in the west, there are vast stretches of it.
Between our visits to Guadalupe Mountains and Carlsbad Caverns National Parks, Ella and I setup camp on BLM land in Carlsbad, NM. This particular land was a cleared lot with a dumpster and a rail fence, set aside as a campsite for anyone passing through. There are always a wide variety of campers on BLM campsites, from giant RVs to one-man ground tents and everything in between. Ella and I joined our neighbors, RVers from Washington state, by their campfire after supper and shared stories. Soon, another camper, another solo woman adventurer, joined us. There’s a beautiful camaraderie among campers, especially in BLM sites. We all chatted each other up for several hours under the stars in the cold evening air.
At the National Parks, Ella was not permitted on any trails in the Guadalupe Mountains, nor was she allowed in the cave at Carlsbad Caverns. We did as much sight-seeing as we could in each park, making the most of the scenic drives and public areas.
Guadalupe Mountains NP, TX
Guadalupe Mountains National Park is a hiking park full of wonderful trails, but it is not a driving park, so the few areas we accessed were on the perimeter of the park. The ironic thing is that the mountains driving to the park were extraordinary, more so than in the park. They were tall and jagged, had little vegetation, and were sometimes red, sometimes mottled gray and white, and sometimes dirt brown. The highway cuts revealed a wide variety of rock strata that often looked like misshapen, craggy bricks, haphazardly stacked into some sort of surreal fairytale castle wall. The tallest mountain, El Capitan, is the most prominent, and you see it from many different angles.
In the park, the views are beautiful. The mountains look strong, solid, and powerful. The desert terrain is covered with cactus, yuccas, and shrubs, and the trails are white, dusty sand, lined with quartz and limestone rocks. While I’m confident that the hikes through the mountains are breathtaking, there was not nearly the scenic variety as on the drive in. After visiting all that was available to us, we hit the road.
Carlsbad Caverns NP, NM
The Carlsbad Caverns scenic drive is almost 10 miles of beautiful views of the mountains and valleys in the area. It’s a dirt road, so you can’t drive fast, which suited me just fine since we stop often to get out and walk around. Caves, both low and high, were visible in the faces of the mountains. It was warm in the winter sun, and it was easy to imagine wildlife or native tribes using the craggy overhangs as places of protection, as well as shade from the summer heat.
At the BLM campsite, the couple whose fire we shared had been to the Caverns the day before and said it was exquisite. They spent five hours inside on a self-guided tour, marveling at the formations. Without a doubt this is a park I will return to without Ella. I really want to experience those caverns!
Lincoln National Forest
As we were driving through NM, after seeing mountains that looked similar at three previous National Parks, I was amazed at the variety of this state’s mountainscape. Holy guacamole!
At the beginning of the drive, the range looked like the mountains we left behind – dry, barren, and rocky. As we drove, however, the mountains changed with the elevation. First, they began to be dotted with small, green juniper shrubs. Soon those shrubs were accompanied by cedar trees and pines. Then the mountains were rolling, a steady up-and-down of green hills with a variety of conifers. Sprawling ranches became visible, and grassy valleys were fenced into parcels for cattle and horses. They grew more upscale and sprawling as we continued the drive – one had a small Learjet and dirt runway; one had a flag that proclaimed with unseemly pride, “Democrats are Idiots,” flying next to the American flag.
Before I knew it the mountains were covered with pines, cedars, and other evergreens, and there was a layer of snow on the ground. Birch trees made an appearance. Signs for elk and reindeer crossing emerged. Ski tracks were visible down the ranches’ hillsides. I was now in Lincoln National Forest. I was shocked. I had no idea this repertoire of mountains was in New Mexico’s wheelhouse. There is a full-on ski resort here, called CloudCroft. Who knew? I am still dumbfounded when I think about it!
Snowy mountain at Lincoln National Forest. Photo: Cloudcroft Facebook page
I am sorry I didn’t stop to camp in this lush forest. I was on my way to White Sands and had made reservations at a hotel in Las Cruces for a few days. I desperately needed a shower, to wash clothes, and to catch up on my blog.
Don’t worry, Lincoln National Forest. I’ll be back!
Confused because the GPS guided me to a town instead of a National Park, and because I couldn’t find the visitor center even though I drove directly to the address, and because the only Ranger station I could find was closed, I decided to drive straight to the Hot Springs campground. Maybe there I could make sense of my surroundings. Besides, I knew I needed to get there early if I wanted to camp because they didn’t take reservations.
When I got to the campground, it was a sea of RV’s. I don’t normally mind camping among RV’s, even though they usually have generators that wipe out any feeling of being in the wilderness, but this campground was laid out just like a parking lot. And it was very crowded. I found a Ranger and asked him where the visitor center for the park was. He gave me the address – the same one I had been to – and said it was one of the bathhouses on Bathhouse Row. LOL.
Hot Springs National Park is not like any other. It is, in fact, a town, known for its hot springs of course, but more widely known for the bathhouses that were created back in the late 1800s and early 1900s to service the mafia. Ella and I returned to town and went to the visitor center bathhouse to pick up a map of hiking trails. I decided there and then we would find a more primitive place to camp for the night.
I chose nearby Lake Catherine State Park. It was a pretty park and very well-maintained, but I didn’t know it was a power-generating lake. On the far shore, the focal point was a shiny, purring, well-lit power plant. When I didn’t look in that direction, I could pretend I was more or less in nature.
Our campsite was on the edge of the lake, which was very low for a lack of rain. Each site had a dock, but they were all on dry land – it made for interesting exploration. There were crazy-looking, gnarled tree roots sticking up through the sediment and an enormous driftwood root ball that intrigued Ella. The sun was setting, and the moon rose full and bright, reflecting over the water.
In the middle of the lake was a small island loaded with geese that honked enthusiastically and constantly. Flying in and out and lobbying for position with each other, they were a constant source of entertainment for me and Ella. They never stopped honking. In the middle of the night, when one would honk, all of them would honk. It would create a honking frenzy, and they did this every hour or so, all night long. Their zest for honking was comical and amusing, maybe even motivating. Even with the winter chill in the air, the moon shining brightly, and the impromptu goose sing-alongs, I slumbered sweetly.
Now that I had a better handle on what to expect, the following morning we went back to Hot Springs National Park. We started off at the visitor center where I left Ella tied outside in the care of a park volunteer, and I ran in and did a quick self-tour of the bathhouse museum. It was fascinating! There were four different floors for bathing, therapy, and restoration, and a roof garden for socializing. The curated pictures gave a great idea of what it was like back in the day, and it was quite an event, for sure. Each level had a different function. One was more social, one was therapeutic, one was for individual bathing with dressing rooms and a bathtub in each room. These bathhouses were not community pools like the Turkish baths of yore. It was very obviously an upscale, social, yet private activity. Here the rich and famous found healing and conducted business while fraternizing with mobsters. Today, Bathhouse Row has seven or so bathhouses still on display. Some are museums, but the rest are still fully operational.
Along with feeding the bathhouses, the springs bubble up in several steamy fountains around town. A steady flow of people fill jugs and bottles at all times of day and night. The water is 137 degrees, so you can make a cup of tea straight from the spring. I filled up my water jugs and let them cool before drinking.
Hot Springs National Park is pretty cute. Pretty small. Pretty well preserved. But definitely a city. There are several trails that run up the mountain through the park, all within view of the town, hidden poorly by trees. There are a few scenic drives that switch back and forth through the mountain to make the most of the land area. Scenic overlooks of the Ouachita Mountains have distant views of stores, warehouses, and construction sites.
After the scenic drives, Ella and I went on a few hiking trails. To my delight, fog had rolled in and obscured any visible traffic and shrouded the town below from view. Our favorite hike was the Sunset Trail, amazingly thick with moss and lichens that covered large rocks and tall trees. It was an excellent way to end our visit to Hot Springs.
Ozark Mountains, AR
Before heading south, I wanted to visit my son in Kansas, and that would take me on a northern route through Arkansas. Wonderful! I could do some brief exploring in the Ozark Mountains. After reading a few blogs, I chose several waterfalls that I wanted to see and mapped them out using my GPS. It’s around 20 degrees and snow from a recent storm was covering the forest floors and tree branches, but the roads are clear.
Photo: OzarkDrones.com
The drive through the Ozarks was beautiful and there were very few other people on the road. In fact, the only other vehicles I saw were two snowplows. Odd, I thought, since the roads are clear. As I turned off the main road into the National Forest, the paved road turned to dirt. I had about 20 miles to drive to the first waterfall. It would be slow going.
I was feeling pretty adventurous knowing that I had many miles to travel on this forest road, and as is typical, the more interior I went, the worse the road got. Erosion turned the road into a washboard with divets, potholes, and minor washouts in low-lying areas. The road was wet because of the melting snow.
I started to feel a bit of trepidation but exhilaration at the same time. I was super thankful that I had my Subaru and that I had a rooftop tent and not a trailer or an RV for this excursion. I was really excited about the possibility of being in the sho-nuff wilderness. I had sought out an uncultivated landscape the whole time I was in Hot Springs, and now I was getting a major dose of it.
Snow started to show itself on the road now, not just on the sides of the road. I got out to assess the situation and realized that everywhere it looked wet was really a layer of ice. I started to feel just a little concerned – I had been traveling on a layer of ice this whole time. Even more invigorated, I kept going.
I came across downed trees that a Ranger had cut up a day or so before, sawdust still fresh on the road. I could tell the tire tracks on the road were fresh, and even though I was worried about sliding, and I was on a very narrow road that had a steep uphill on one side and a steep downhill on the other, I felt confident that if a Ranger had gone ahead of me, I was also safe.
This is not my photo. My hands were at 10 and 2, and I didn’t have the nerve to take pictures. Photo: StockFreeImages.com
I felt safe until I came upon some large rocks that had freshly fallen onto the road. They were not covered in snow and the tire tracks did not go around them. My GPS had me turn onto another County Road, and it got even rougher. Now the snow was a couple of inches thick on the road, and there were no tire tracks, so I wasn’t completely assured I would be OK. I couldn’t see what was under the snow, so I didn’t know how stable the road was. It was very narrow with a steep fall on one side and the possibility of rockslides on the other.
Branches and small trees had fallen that I had to maneuver around. I was starting to feel more than apprehension now. My hands were sweating, and I had to take deep breaths to keep the oxygen flowing, reminding myself to breathe. I would find my lips pursed and my eyes dry from not blinking. I was holding my breath again. I would take a deep breath and tell myself, “You’ve got this; you’ve come this far; you’ve got all the equipment you need if something bad happens; you can change a tire; you have lots of warm clothes; you have your satellite communication device; you have plenty of food and water; you have enough gas to keep the car running for warmth if needed; and you have trusty Ella.” While I normally love solo adventuring, having another warm body with you does wonders for bravery.
I had to cross a one-lane bridge over a stream, and the view was beautiful. I wanted to get out and take pictures, but I didn’t dare stop. My phone, whose GPS I knew was working on memory, had no cell service, even with my signal booster. Deer ran across the road in front of me. More rocks and branches had fallen onto the roadway, and I either had to go over them or around them. Either choice could be dangerous.
I am inexperienced and out of my league here. I am not an outdoorsperson, nor an overlander, and I have never been on trips with anyone who is. I’m learning on my own. I’m not really sure what my capabilities are or those of my car. At that moment, I was super glad I had chosen the Crosstrek, which is all-wheel drive and has a higher clearance than other comparable cars. More self-talk. More continuing to breathe. More reassuring myself that I can take care of myself if something bad happens.
It was getting colder, and the sun was bright even though it was lowering in the sky, so the snow was continually melting and freezing. A bank of gray stratus clouds was on the horizon. I started wondering if it weren’t supposed to snow again. Weather in the mountains can be tricky and unpredictable.
After two tremulous hours in the forest with no sign of civilization, I pass a farm, and tire tracks reappear in the road. As soon as I see tire tracks, I start to feel more assured, and my confidence floods back. Even though I see no people, only cattle in the fields, I know I will make it without incident. Pretty suddenly, the road turns from snow back into wet dirt.
The funny thing is, I never saw a single waterfall.
All in all, it was an exhilarating yet terrifying trip through the mountains. I’m super glad I did it! I’m super sorry I didn’t get any pictures! Even when I passed the farm and turned onto a paved road, I had no cell service. Fortunately, I have some good maps, and I navigated my way to the Interstate that leads to my son.
After all that – the very narrow roads, the switchbacks, the ups and downs, and the gorgeous, awe-inspiring, and intimidating views of mountains all around me – I decided it was time for a long stretch of dry, flat land. Kansas here I come!
During the winter flooding, when you get to a certain point on the wetland boardwalk, the path dips underwater, and you find yourself with your soles in the swamp, unable to go any further. Standing in the water-covered foot path, you have a first-hand, eye-level view of the swamp, and the plant life and cypress trees are amazing. The boardwalk stretches for a few miles in a loop and is the perfect vantage point to enjoy the wilderness of the Congaree River. In the winter months the river rises and covers much of the National Park.
After a snowy trip in the Smokies, Ella and I hit the road for warmer temperatures, making our way to Congaree National Park in South Carolina. Arriving in mid-January, I learned that it is a floodplain park, and all the trails that lead to the Congaree are flooded – but not to worry! – a self-guided, boardwalk tour will tell us everything we need to learn about the park, its biosphere, and its significance.
Congaree National Park Boardwalk
We began the tour on dry ground, but as we walked, we could see the water level rise. The farther we walked, the higher the water rose, until we felt like we were smack dab in the middle of the swamp. I kept stopping to enjoy the view and take pictures, and Ella just had no patience with all that. She wanted to go! Where the water rose to meet the boardwalk, a thick raft of leaves floated on top and gathered along the edges, looking like land. Ella, in her incessant need to explore off-track, stepped off the boardwalk into the water and fell up to her shoulders. Ol’ Ella, the swamp dog.
Swamps are full of the most interesting colors and textures. The mosses, ferns, lichens, mushrooms, and evidence of microbial decay are in glorious abundance, and here in the National Park they are protected. The standing dead trees, called snags, are important to the ecosystem because they provide homes to all kinds of birds, bugs, algae, bacilli, and fungi. Snags and their cousins – fallen dead trees, often as tall as 100’ – are a profusion in this park, so you can imagine the cornucopia of decomposition: mycelium, algae, sludge, gloop, muck, and mire. It was glorious!
With each elevation change, the wildlife also changed. At the highest point, squirrels were squirreling, and gnats were gnatting; there were oaks and pines, ferns, tall grasses, wintering vines, and holly. As we continued, the plant life changed steadily. Saw palmettos began to make an appearance and then giant cypress trees. Owls hooted loudly, and woodpeckers took advantage of the snags. Clumps of algae, moss, and lichens floated on the surface and gathered around eroded tree stumps.
Being able to go no further, we turned around and retraced our steps to the other end of the boardwalk where it culminated at the Congaree. A thick brush of water hickories, sweet gums, laurel oaks, and loblolly pines lined the river on both sides, and the water ran a murky gray-green. It looked like every Alabama river I ever saw.
There are several trails that wind through the middle of the boardwalk loop that have a great representation of fungus and mycelium. Dusty colors of gray, blue, green, and purple on the ripples and folds of lichen foliage popped out of dry-rotted tree stumps and looked like bouquets of spring flowers. Tiny white mushrooms grew in long leggy clusters like small stands of trees trying to outdo each other for the sunlight. As the rains continue through the winter, these trails will probably be covered with water too.
Because the Congaree campground was flooded, we went to a nearby state park, Poinsett, and stayed for the night. It was chilly, the perfect night for a campfire, and this was the perfect park for one. In many state parks it’s hard to find enough wood to build a fire, and, in fact, wood gathering is prohibited. This park, however, was full of dead, dry branches of all sizes and widths. Fire making was a breeze, and Ella and I stayed toasty as we tried to spy the stars peeking out between the canopy of branches above us.
Campfire at Poinsett State Park
Both Congaree and Poinsett were very akin to the topography and biosphere of home. It felt familiar. Almost too familiar. I was ready to see more of the US and its natural wonders. The next morning, we walked, had breakfast, and broke camp, eager for the next leg of our incredible National Park adventure!
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.
As an extrovert, I thought I would hate traveling alone. It seemed natural that I would want someone with me to share experiences with – after all, the adage says that when you enjoy something with another person, you enjoy it twice as much. You have someone else’s perspective, you have companionship, and you have someone to reminisce with after it’s all over.
All those may be true, but each can also be a disadvantage. Another’s perspective can be a distraction, companionship requires resources, and memories are not always shared the same way.
You can focus your attention on what you want specifically.
When traveling with friends, I get easily distracted. I’ll get engrossed in conversation and miss the beauty or the culture happening around me. On my own, there are no timelines, no expectations, and no external distractions. My mind and my observations are my own.
On a hiking trip with some of my friends, I wanted to enjoy the quiet of the surroundings, stop and photograph lichens, dead trees, spider webs, and other bits of nature that fascinate me. My friends were on the hike for exercise and socialization. They worked up their cardio, swinging their arms, creating and expending energy with every swift and deliberate marching step. I perturbed them with my dawdling, trying to find a quiet moment to catch a brief glimpse of wildlife and snap a photo for my journal. By knowing I was slowing them down, I was completely distracted from what brings me joy on a hike, and vice versa.
In Beijing, my group had planned a day at a bazaar, so they could shop for deals and load up with gifts for friends and family back home. My preference was to wander the city streets, experience local pubs, and see the city from as many different perspectives as possible. I broke off from the group, as I often do, and lamented the fact that I had a deadline to meet back up with them. There was so much exploring to do, and having an agenda I had to follow took my focus off what was important to me. It was still a fabulous trip, don’t get me wrong – I just feel like I need to return to experience more of it!
Your schedule and your resources are all your own.
The freedom of solo travel is unmatchable. You can see what you want to see when you want to see it. You can eat what you want when you want. You can seek out company when you feel like a little conversation, or you can retreat without judgement or disappointment when you don’t. Best of all, your budget is your own. You use your resources however it suits you, and there is nobody who expects you to use them differently.
One evening in Italy, my group agreed on a restaurant. It was a fabulous place, but once we were seated, the complaints began. There’s no pasta on the menu, the wine is twenty euros a glass, they only have sparkling water, there’s no olive oil on the table. Each one of us had an expectation of what we wanted from the restaurant. As a solo traveler, you can choose the restaurant that ticks all your boxes.
On a practical level traveling solo is much easier. There’s only one appetite to appease, only one preference for attractions, and only one internal clock to determine the day’s agenda. The things that require concessions and compromises are no longer an issue. You are in charge of seeking out joy in every single moment.
You can enjoy things your own way.
You may enjoy the historical significance of your city, while your travel buddy may want to live it up, enjoying the freedom from homelife responsibilities.
On the first night of a girls’ getaway, after a very long day of travel, I and my two roommates agreed we would go to bed at a reasonable hour because we had been up at least 24 hours and had a morning activity planned. My roommates got caught up in the activities of the evening and came in at midnight; I had been asleep for three hours. As drunk girls do, they were bumping into furniture in the dark, shushing each other, laughing and giggling, and telling each other stories about things I absolutely didn’t want to hear.
Not only that, but they both were heavy packers and had to unpack their whole suitcases to find whatever they were looking for, so the room was a wreck. I’m a minimalist in almost every way, so this roommate relationship was being taxed on every level.
I unobtrusively gathered my things and got my own room. An angels’ choir sang for me as I entered my own, sweet little space with just enough room for me and my stuff. Peace descended and I slept like a baby, refreshed for the day ahead.
I want to stress here that the way these two were enjoying their vacation was 100% legitimate and perfect for them. They had the right and liberty to throw down all night long if they wanted. It just wasn’t for me. It was then that I realized, traveling solo is a gift from the gods, and you can’t convince me otherwise.
I have traveled with tour groups, with friends, with women, with a romantic partner, and with a best friend, and my favorite way to travel is by myself – bar none.
The experience of solo travel is transcendent.
In Nova Scotia, on a solo trip, I hiked a several-mile trail to the top of a cape that had a magnificent view. As I was climbing, I met a solo woman on her way down who had seen the view and couldn’t contain herself. She had to share her awe-inspired wonder at the harsh and bracing beauty of the Atlantic waves crashing against the steep, ragged cliffs. We were two strangers sharing a moment together – her in the telling and me in the anticipation of the experience. Our lives touched in an intimate moment, and then we moved on.
With solo travel, each of us experiences the pleasures of travel in our own way. No apologies or excuses are necessary, and no judgments are in order. Some like to wander and get lost while others like to plan and map their routes. Some prefer to experience culture through food, some through shopping, some through local interactions. Some like to relax fully strewing their clothes and belongings all over the room, while others like to live carefully out of their suitcase.
There are no rights or wrongs, but when two or more are together, there is compromise. Traveling solo allows you to immerse yourself in each moment with no compromises and no distractions. Only joy!
