Life Lessons and Campgrounds

“Powdered creamer is highly flammable.  I don’t recommend using it when you’re camping,” said Josh as he stood in our kitchen pouring real cream into his coffee.   

Josh, our oldest son, is our go-to-guy for gear advice as we plan and pack for our multi-month adventure in Wander.   Josh started taking backpacking and camping trips the summer after he graduated from high school.  Later he moved onto climbing/camping trips in Washington, Wyoming and Colorado.  Last year, just before he turned 25, Josh planned a backcountry climbing expedition to Alaska.  All of his pointers are based on personal experience. 

“How’d you learn that?” I asked, but Josh just shook his head, then waved his hand to indicate it’s not a story he’d like to tell. 

I understand his reluctance to share.  Our first week in Wander was a life lesson fest. We’re still trying to decide, if ‘what happens in the van stays in the van.’  Until we do, we can share a story or two. 

On our way home from Colorado I used the Rand McNally atlas to find and select campgrounds.   In Nebraska we stayed at the Mormon Island State Recreation Area.  That’s where I learned if you can see the freeway from the campground you can hear it too.   I wish that was the only lesson we learned that night.  

My family and most of my friends know that I’m a Fitbit addict. Although, I’ve made a solemn vow to neveragain join a stepping contest, I will walk over or around anything or anybody to hit my daily 10,000 step goal.  That night, after we paid our fee and pulled into our assigned site, I heard Joe mumble something about grilling sausages for dinner.  I still needed 4,000 steps, so I wasn’t really listening.  

As I fast walked through the campground loop, I watched the moon rise and reflect off a small lake.   What a great way to end a day, I thought, taking just a few moments “to commune” with nature.  As I passed by our campsite I did see flames shoot up out of the portable grill that Joe set-up on a picnic table.  I remember thinking, I do hope that is a metal table.

Once I reached the 10,000 mark, I returned to our site.  I noticed that Joe had moved the grill.  Still wearing my good mood in spite of the light rain now falling from the moon lit sky, I slid open the van door.  A wide-eyed Joe, took one look at me and said, “New rule, we both stay with the van until our campsite is set-up.”

 “What happened? Is the picnic table wooden?” I asked.

 “Yes, but that wasn’t the problem! I used lighter fluid on self-lighting coals and almost started the tree above the picnic table on fire.  You weren’t here.  I couldn’t find anything.  I singed my hair moving the grill.” 

 “Are you okay?”  

 “I am now.”

 Looks like waiting until dark is not the best time to try and reach my step goal.  Or maybe an even better rule is to set-up camp while the sun is still shining so we can see and evaluate our surroundings?  John from Tonto Trails, our man that knows all things about life in a camper van, did tell us to drive like a granny and park before dark.  Turns out his off-road advice applies to campgrounds within sight of interstate highways.  

September Sunday Morning View

Early on a Sunday morning we left our off-road camping spot in the Gunnison National Forest and started our trek down the Keebler Pass Road.  The world was quiet.  We pulled off to admire the view — the clouds were drawn to the Beckwith Mountain peaks as if they were magnetic.  Joe grabbed his camera and captured the moment.  Our dirt road travels in Colorado were filled with panoramic wonders like this stop.   Joe can’t wait to get on the road again. 

Amphitheater National Forest Campground in Ouray, Colorado

“Excuse me! Excuse me, did you say bears?”  The question tumbled out of my mouth as I walked over to edge of our campsite, where Joe was conversing with the campground host — a grandfatherly looking man with silver gray mustache and matching hair peeking out from under his off-white cowboy hat. 

“Yes, ma’am,” replied the host.  “Bears live here. You’re just visiting.” 

He was dressed in denim shirt and a green vest, and he talked with us from the driver’s seat of his green, 4WD Kawasaki Mule — the off-road equivalent of a golf cart.  He cocked his head, thought for a moment, and then added, “Well, we haven’t had any bears in … four days. Do you have a panic button on your car keys?”

Joe nodded yes.

“Hit that or your horn and they will move on. They’re looking for coolers and if you don’t have one they will move on to the next campsite.”

In that instant, I pictured a black bear moseying through our campsite with his nose in the air, then pausing mid-stride to sniff. Gesturing toward our gray van I asked the host, “What about our food stored inside?”

“They won’t bother you in there.”  

I wasn’t reassured.  On a 1999 family camping trip to Yosemite we saw a Toyota sedan with its passenger side door peeled open like a sardine can.  A bear went through the backseat to access the car’s trunk and retrieve a cooler filled with food.  The remnants of the bear’s midnight snack were scattered across a field adjacent to the parking lot. 

Before rolling away in his cart, the host pointed to the black pole with hook installed near the picnic table and said, “That’s not to hang your food or trash. It’s a light pole.” 

As I looked over to the pole and imagined attaching a lantern, I asked Joe, “How did bears come up?”

“I asked about a trail into town and he said that we’d be hiking home in the dark and to watch out for bears.”

“I vote for eating here.”   

As we sat down together - inside the van - for meal of sandwiches and fresh veggies, Joe looked up from his plate and said, “I checked, our keys don’t have a panic button.”

“But we do have a horn?” I asked hopefully.

“If you’re in the van…”

I nodded.  Of course, if I was inside there would be no need to sound the alarm. I’ll admit, I wanted to see a bear without interacting with one of the hungry beasts.  I did marvel at the number campers sleeping in tents, not at all worried about the local wildlife. 

The next morning I heard some rustling outside the van. My heart started to beat a little faster, then I realized it was just Joe.  He slid the van’s side door open, poked his head in and said, “You have to come see the view from the overlook.  It’s amazing!” 

I pulled on some clothes, threw on a hat and coat, and then followed Joe.  Yesterday evening, we pulled into the campsite just as the last of the day’s light leaked from the sky and with all the bear talk I wasn’t that interested in leaving the van. This morning there was a chill in the air and the sound of squirrels chittering at each other as if they were broadcasting the meals being prepared at each campsite. 

At the overlook the tree-covered mountains appeared to cascade down from the bright blue sky, while the red banded mountains looked like a natural staircase to the valley floor. We peered down into the town of Ouray and noticed the main avenue was paved but most of the side streets were dirt.  Enchanted by the view, I was looking up and almost missed a doe and young deer munching on the grass at the edge of the road.  We looked at each other for a moment, then the pair headed down a hiking trail. 

In the bright morning light, our campsite seemed like the perfect breakfast spot.  Joe used our portable stove to make coffee, eggs and toast.  After bravely consuming our meal outside we spent the day in town.

That night, back at our campsite we once again ate our dinner sitting at the picnic table.  Just before dusk, I walked our trash over to the campground’s bear-proof dumpster. Passing by, I overheard a snippet of conversation between the host and a camper trying to select a site.  She said, “You’re scaring me!” 

I wanted to call out, “No need to worry.  The guy camping next to us is sleeping in a hammock. You’ll be safe inside your van.” 

 

 

Wandering in Wander!

A hearty hello from Jenny and Joe!  We are headed to the Southwest in November.  If you’re interested in our travels, pop over to our new blog and follow us as we wander in Wander (our recently acquired camper van) through Arizona, Utah, New Mexico and Southern California.  

Animas Forks (aka Joe’s First Driving Lesson)

On a beautiful blue-sky day, our first in the van, we headed north out of Durango into the San Juan National Forest. We were traveling on Colorado’s highway 550.  Wide sweeping views of gray and red peaks spread out before us.  The mountains were decorated with groves of aspen trees already displaying golden and orange leaves.  With his hands locked at 10 and 2 on the steering wheel, Joe said, “This is a lot of work…so no talking, okay?”

Sitting in the van with its wide front windshield and oversized tires, I felt like a front seat passenger on a personal tour bus.  I love old fashioned paper maps — they’re big enough to provide a view of both where we’re going and where we’ve been. I followed our route in the Colorado atlas spread out on my lap.  Before we left, we decided that Joe needed to focus on learning to drive the van, so I was the designated trip photographer.  Occasionally, I’d snap a photo of the passing landscape with Joe’s iPhone. 

Once we reached Silverton, I directed Joe to County Road 2 for our planned detour to the Animas Forks mining ghost town.  The paved road transitioned to gravel and a few miles later we stopped the vehicle to read this bullet pointed sign:

 •  Four-wheel drive or high clearance vehicles - Recommended

•  Passenger cars and vans - Not recommended

•  RV’s and camper vehicles - Not recommended

•  Semi-trucks with trailers - Prohibited

•  Uphill traffic has right-of-way on all roads.

Joe looked at me and said, “John said that the road was dirt but not technical.”  (John, the owner of Tonto Trails, not only sold us our van but helped us plan our trip through Colorado.)

I didn’t know what to say. Our van was four-wheel drive and high clearance but it was also a camper vehicle.  As we bumped along at less than the posted speed of 15 mph, Joe asked, “Is the road condition suddenly worse?”

Looking down at the illegible scribbles in my Field Notes trip journal, I said, “Yes!”

On the road we saw Jeep Cherokees, two and four passenger all-terrain vehicles (ATVs) and dirt bikes.  Some of the ATV drivers were wearing helmets, had extra gas cans strapped onto their vehicles and seemed prepared for any situation. They looked at us like we must be lost. In most places the road wasn’t wide enough for two-way traffic.  Uphill traffic had the right-of-way, so upcoming would stop at a wide stop to allow us to pass. I started to wonder, “Where exactly are we going?”

At one wide spot in the road, the driver of a gray Jeep Wrangler signaled for us to roll down our window.  I thought the driver stopped to give us a road condition report, instead he made a series of staccato statements, starting with, “Top lift up?” and ending with, “I want one!”

We reached Animas Forks, an 1890s mining town nestled in the mountains at 11,200 feet.  Turns out the road was once a railroad track that was built adjacent to the Animas River. The search for gold and silver brought miners and their families up to this spot.  The location was so remote that most of the residents wintered in nearby Silverton. We spent a half an hour walking through the weathered buildings.  Reading the posted signs I learned that 250,000 people visit the site each year. That’s how many opt to ignore the warning sign and take the road less traveled. 

The 12-mile trip up to the ghost town took a little over an hour.  As we made our way down, I noticed that the mountain looked like it was trying to swallow up the road.  Large talus piles of rocks were encroaching on the road bed any many spots.  Just as we returned to the paved section of the road Joe looked at me and said, “I learned so much about driving.  This is an amazing vehicle.”

I’ve decided to hold off on driving lessons until we return to Michigan. 

 

Durango: Our Camper Van Orientation

“Wait a minute, my boarding pass says Dallas-Fort Worth.  I thought we were going to Durango via Denver?”  I said to Joe, as I stepped away from the American Airlines check-in counter.  We were starting our van scouting trip to Durango, Colorado at the Gerald R. Ford International Airport in the Grand Rapids, Michigan.   

“Dallas, Denver — what does it matter as long as we end up in Durango,” Joe said with a shrug of his shoulder as we approached the TSA line.

“How is Texas on the way to Colorado?” I asked, before adding, “You know there could be a Durango in Texas.  I might need to start checking your work.”

Joe pulled out his second boarding pass to verify our final destination, before saying, “It was the fastest route to Durango.” 

Once Joe learned that the camper van build process could take more than a year, he started scouring the RV Trader website for used Sportsmobiles.  He also sent a rental inquiry to Tonto Trails— a van rental company with the slogan “Your Adventure. Our Rigs.”  

Our rental inquiry arrived at a time when the owners were reevaluating their business model. They offered to sell us a van in their fleet that was almost identical to the camper van Joe was hoping to order.  In Durango, we ended up spending a day and half with the previous owners.  We motored out of their driveway with a fully equipped van, operation lessons, checklists, ownership tips, campground suggestions and a Colorado atlas with a highlighted travel route.  Unexpectedly we now own a second home on wheels, that’s capable of navigating over almost any kind of terrain.   And thanks to John and Julie’s incredible hospitality we also have a new love for the residents of Durango. 

 

Iceland: A Camper Van Tryout

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What’s your next adventure?  That’s a question we often hear now that my husband, Joe, is retired.  This summer Joe’s standard answer was, “Iceland. We’re renting a van and taking two weeks to drive around the island’s Ring Road. It’ll give us a chance to try out the camper van lifestyle.”

 It took me a while to catch on, but I finally asked Joe, “What exactly do you mean by ‘the camper van lifestyle’?  I thought Iceland was just another trip.”

 “I think a van would be a great way to explore North America.  We don’t need an itinerary or reservations, just a destination.  Besides, you’re the one that wants to visit all the National Parks.”

 “Is that the only way to see the National Parks?” I asked.

 “It’s the best way,” was Joe’s answer.

 Hmm. I thought.  At least a van is better than a tent.  Joe initially thought “the best way to see Iceland” was to rent a four-wheel drive Subaru Outback with a rooftop tent.  Our college-age son took one online look at the vehicle and said, “That’s a bad idea. I drive a Subaru. You don’t want to sleep on top of one.” I was thankful for his input.  

We completed the Iceland trip in a Volkswagen California.  I loved that four-wheel drive van. Not only was the diesel engine efficient (30 miles per gallon), the interior design was spacious.  The table folded flat and snapped into the sliding door panel and two chairs were stored in zip-up panels in the rear hatchback.  There was plenty of room in the rear for our food stores and gear.  Also, the pop top provided the fresh air feeling of tent camping, while we remained safe and dry under a rain proof roof.  But a Google search revealed that Volkswagen camper vans are not available in the United States. 

 After less than a week in Iceland, Joe decided we passed the camper van lifestyle test.  So, he started a dialogue with a van conversion company in the United States. Maybe I should have groused a bit about wearing the same pair of pants five days in a row. Or perhaps complained about vying for sink space to brush my teeth in a unisex bathroom while a teenager was standing guard over his charging I-Pad, a lady was filling up her noodle pot with water and a couple of campers were taking a sink bath. 

 In just one conversation, Joe learned that the build process — the art and engineering of taking an empty cargo van and adding cabinets, a galley kitchen, a bed and a pop-top roof, a water tank and a heating system — can take anywhere from nine months to a year.   Joe was a bit deflated, while I might have been more than a little relieved.  A year would give me the much-needed time to embrace what I think of as the “van people concept” — traveling, sleeping and living in a space smaller than the average laundry room.