Friday, June 2, 201
Yesterday, I moved into a truck camper. Correction: I bought a truck camper and then moved into it. Correction correction: I drove 150 miles (after driving 400 the day before and spending the night in a motel in Winchester VA,) picked up an ex-boyfriend in Baltimore, drove 50 more miles to the home of the guy who was selling the camper on Ebay (John. Nice guy, retired law enforcement, something he mentioned a time or two) spent several hours loading a truck camper onto my (probably too small) truck and learning at rapid fire and bewildering speed, how to make the truck camper work (I learned practically nothing) drove off with the truck camper (thanking gods for my genial ex, who is not only an ex of mine but an ex truck driver who patiently explained to me how to drive a heavy truck) took the ex to Baltimore city limits and called him a Lyft (over Subway, after we had discovered that the diner we were trying to go to for sentimental reasons had, at some point in the last 17 years, been turned into a used car lot, O metaphor, you damn bitch) turned around, drove 60 more miles and finally ended up where I am now, Elk Neck State Park. Whew.
I have never done anything remotely like this before. I have been camping, sure, but that was when my children were younger and we did it in tents for the weekend or, once or twice, a week or two at a time. That was a long time ago. My children are, by any metric, grown up and I am setting out to disprove the maxim that there are no second acts in American lives. This is my second act. For the next year, I’m going to live in this camper and travel.
Or, at least, that’s the plan.