The Great Outdoors

I've driven back and forth across America twice, "camping out" all the way, but it's not nearly as romantic as it sounds. First of all, even though I was not pressured for time on either journey, I did keep moving pretty quickly. Second of all, I travelled the Interstates, with only a few brief detours, so a Bob's Big Boy and Subways were never more than a half hour ahead down the road. It wasn't exactly Travels With Charlie, with my Jack Russell Terrier and miniature wirehair dachshund taking the place of Steinbeck's companion. I mostly stayed at KOA campgrounds, which were never far enough from the highway to get away from the incessant roar of semis all night. Even if they were, there was still the drone of the generators from the huge land yachts crammed side by side and separated by an occasional tree that was struggling for survival. The RV's dominated. I had to pitch my tent and set up my portable propane cookstove in the small area reserved for the outdoor types like me, struggling to set my tent pegs in hard-packed ground that was usually mostly dirt and gravel. Occasionally, when the weather was especially inclement, I'd treat myself and rent a "cabin," which had shutters for windows, no bathroom, and still cost me more than an inexpensive motel room. But hey, if you're going to rough it nowadays, it'll cost you.

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