Friday, May 13, 2011

My Home for the Road

The roommates and their friends were gathered around the table, feasting on our traditional White Trash Sunday meal when I announced, “That’s it! I’ve made a decision! I’m done trying to figure out what to drive on my trip!” I’m not sure anyone even looked up from their food. Ian had made a fantastic ceviche, Daphne a salmon, Amy and Erin salads, and I’d stuck vegetables on sticks and called them Fresh Garden Skewers. In addition, Obama was on TV, announcing that bin Laden had been killed, and all of this clouded out my announcement, which probably no one cared about anyway. (Shut up about your trip already the likely refrain in their heads). I kept talking. “I’m taking the truck, getting a canopy, Chris is building me a bed. End of story.”  I was done thinking about it. Until I wasn’t.

The word of the week had been reframe. Thanks to what I believe is scientifically known as a “f****** bucketload” of rain and its negative effect on my ability to do anything outdoorsy and fun, my interior monologue had been cranky, defensive, and critical. As the Springtime of Soggy Desolation neared its end (giving way to the Summer of Sweaty Southwestern Solitude) , I finally got around to rearranging my attitude from I wasted all this effort getting fit so I could wear sweatpants and hoodies? WTF?! to Well, at least I’ll look decent skinny-dipping in Arizona. 

This reframing meant that I abandoned my disappointment in not finding the Camper Van of My Dreams and settling for a less romantic option: a canopy for my truck, a built-in bed/storage unit, and well, a lower score on the Awesome Scale of Awesome Awesomeness than I would have liked. It also meant the guys had won--Ethan and Chris had been the first to suggest "why don't you just sleep in your truck?"--a truly testosterone-inspired idea if I'd I ever heard one. And now, dammit, here they were, victorious. 

Reframing was not pain-free. My Fantasy Van (not as porn as it sounds) was SWEET. Vintage, heavy on character and low miles, expertly maintained, great price, plenty of room for the dog. I had homemade curtains, throw pillows (lots of the soft plush ones), kick-ass organization (love that labelmaker), lots of room in the cockpit for me and Frida and/or the occasional hitchhiker (just kidding dad). It was as cool as the Mystery Machine, only less inclined to overnight breakdowns at haunted houses run by evil proprietors in disguises.
...and it was just right!

So there I was, reframing my way from “WHY AREN’T THERE ANY COOL CAMPERVANS FOR SALE?!?!” to “Great! I’ll sleep on a padded board in the bed of the Toyota—how adventurous! How outdoorsy! How sportswomany! What fun to write and complain about!” when my reframe broke. Monday morning I did my usual Craigslist check (this time for a cap for the truck) and there it was: exactly, precisely what I needed, only without a hot tub and George Clooney: One-of-a-Kind Camper for Sale. I immediately called the seller, who said another guy was coming to check it out that day. I wanted to locate this other potential buyer and have him neutralized.

I am a believer mostly in random chance; I don’t generally think “things happen for a reason” unless you drive drunk and total your car smashing into a bus stop or have unprotected sex a gazillion times and get pregnant. Obviously there is cause and effect at work in the universe. I just don’t think it applies to road-tripping librarians and Craigslist. Every now and then, everything we need to happen just happens at the right time; a young couple decides to sell their homemade camper, a multitasking internet surfer finds an ad for it and KAPOW! worlds collide, money is exchanged, and a new, tiny universe known as the NapCamper is created.

I did not grow up in a camping family. Our bi-yearly trips to San Francisco to visit the Belbens were punctuated by overnights in Ramada Inns, and I am in no way complaining about that. I love an ice machine, a swimming pool, and color TV as much as the next lazy traveler. But this backstory—learning the word “Vacancy” and memorizing the license plate number—has left me deficient  in the realm of outdoor skills, and I think that will make for some entertainment for all of us, as I attempt to operate my Coleman 2-burner stove and try to figure out how to make s’mores from scratch. I’m pretty sure I can learn about this stuff between now and departure date, but first I’ve got to finish sewing those throw pillows for the NapCamper.

1 comment:

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