What We Learned During Our Eleventh Month On The Road

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Today marks eleven months since we locked the door to our house in Florida and set off for a year-long adventure in an RV. Here’s what we learned during the past month:

When you’re crouched down in front of the outdoor water spigot getting ready to do your final hand-wash, make sure you know whether the lever goes up or down to turn it on. If you get that wrong, you’re going to walk away with your shoes, your T-shirt, and the crotch of your jeans soaking wet. It’s way worse, too, when your neighbors are out there watching you.

There are times when the weather is forecast to be so dangerous that your only smart choice is to bug out and stay in a hotel until the threat passes. Sometimes, that means driving 300 miles to get past the storm’s reach, which is too far to get an RV out of the way in time. When that happens, you’ll get all teary as you say goodbye – out loud – to your rig, and assure her you’ll be back. It’s truly like leaving a friend, and you’ll worry about her until you get back and know she’s okay. It’s an awful feeling.

When you’re staying in that hotel overnight to ride out the storm in safety, don’t freak out the first time you turn on a water faucet. You haven’t seen that much water come out of a faucet for a long, long time, and it’ll look and sound like a fire hose in action. Remind yourself this is normal.

When you return to your rig after the storm passes, and you find she’s okay, there is a sense of euphoria that reminds you how precious your traveling home and this lifestyle really are.

PJ’s Coffee. Specifically, their Strawberry Rose White Chocolate Latte. This is what coffee should be, and from this moment on Starbucks should be ashamed of themselves.

There are towns where some roads are called “historic,” but what it really means is, the road itself is history. Drive it at your peril.

If there’s a beach road you can take instead of an interstate, and your GPS doesn’t have an almighty conniption about some terrible fate that will befall you if you take it, take it (we’re looking at you, glorious Highway 90 between Waveland and Biloxi!).

We’ve reached the point in our adventure where our Florida license plate isn’t the furthest state away. It feels weird and sad and just a little bit exciting to realize we’re getting so close to home.

Equally, it is impossible to believe we have one month left in this incredible journey. How? How is that possible? (Insert loud crying here.)

The moment may come when you meet brand-new RVers who are trying to find their way back to sanity, having endured one setback after another. Now is your moment. You’ve been there, you understand, you got through it, and you can talk them off the ledge and assure them it’s normal and it’s going to get so much better. Your reward is the relief on their faces. Their reward is, they don’t feel so alone anymore. How perfect is that?