When we had a pop-up tent camper, I felt comfortable driving to the campground and setting up camp. It was low enough I could see over the top while driving, and small enough that narrow roads did not bother me.
The new travel trailer is a different story. It is 19 ft. long, and about foot wider, maybe a little more. I have let my husband do all the driving with this behemoth (even though it is small in terms of travel trailers). He has asked me often if I want to drive, and each time I have said no way, until last night when we were taking it back the four or five miles to the storage facility. Since it would be easier for my husband to meet me at the campground after work this Friday, I decided I should suck it up and try to pull the camper myself. He was quite excited; I felt like I might vomit.
Through the neighborhood we crawled at about .5 miles per hour; yes, there is a decimal in front of the five. He said, “Uh, Honey, you might want to pick up the pace a little.” So I started going about 2 miles per hour. It feels really weird only seeing white aluminum in your rearview mirror. On the road, I started to feel more comfortable and got to within 5 miles of the speed limit. We were a couple of miles in and the road narrowed drastically, and there was no shoulder. He laughed at me as I checked my mirrors every time a car passed, mostly because checking after the car had passed was too late to correct my position. We finally made it to the storage facility with no issues, other than me driving five to seven miles below the speed limit. Now for the fun part, backing into our space.
Luckily, the camper next to us was out, so that left an empty space on one side and a camper on the other. I thought I was doing really well, until my hubby told me that I was backing into the wrong space. I had gotten the camper in an awkward position for our space, so I had to circle the lot and come back around. It took about six tries, but I did get it in between our parking barriers. When I got out of the truck, my husband saw wet places on my shirt. He said, “Did you spill your water?” “No, that is sweat!” I exclaimed. He laughed and told me that I did a good job.
On the way home, I felt satisfied that I had tackled my fear of the big rig and excited to drive to the campground this week. We were chatting about the experience, and then it struck me, “I have to drive this thing on the highway, don’t I?” What will it feel like driving at 65 miles per hour with semis passing me? I better bring an extra shirt and maybe a clean pair of shorts.
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