Campfire Stories – Go Big or Go Home

Every camper has that story — the one that makes you laugh before you even start telling it. The one you’re grateful you survived… but still aren’t totally sure how. And also the reason you keep coming back for more. Welcome to Campfire Stories, where the best memories are the ones you could never plan for — and definitely couldn’t make up.

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We had just decided we were going to buy a camper, and somehow that turned into finding the camper almost immediately. It was brand new, an 18-foot Starcraft travel trailer, the perfect size, super cozy, and exactly right for my husband, me, and the dog. End of story. We bought it.

We picked it up in November, which meant we immediately put it into storage for the winter — but not before buying approximately everything Amazon has ever suggested for campers. At the time, we felt extremely prepared. Later we would learn we only needed about 25% of what we bought, but confidence was high and return windows were short.

By March, we were itching to go. This was our very first trip ever, and my husband gently suggested maybe we try a quick Michigan trip to ease into this whole camping thing. I suggested Florida. I wanted warm. I wanted ocean. And I wanted it immediately. We don’t go small — we go big.

So we loaded up the camper and hit the road, even though this was my husband’s first real time towing a trailer. He’d practiced in parking lots and around the neighborhood, and he’s a road-trip guy. He likes driving. He’s good at it. We figured… how hard could it be?

Three hours later, we had aged about twelve years.

We stopped for gas once and somehow did not take out a gas pump, which still feels like a personal victory. A near miss is still a miss. Marriage intact. Spirits… cautiously optimistic.

Our original plan for night one was to boondock in a casino parking lot because, obviously, we knew what we were doing. As we got closer, reality set in. No power. No water. No thank you. We looked at each other and silently agreed we were in over our heads.

We found a KOA in Indiana, pulled in, and were given a wildly upgraded site because apparently no one is camping in Indiana in March. We got out of the truck and may have kissed the ground. We had survived Day One.

At that point, turning around was not an option. We were committed. Florida or bust.

The next few days were a blur of driving, rest stops, snacks, and learning things in real time — like how often you think about trailer tire pressure once you own a trailer. We spent two nights in Nashville, which was actually perfect. We missed Post Malone by about five minutes but did see Garth Brooks pouring drinks at his bar, which felt like a solid consolation prize. Mostly, Nashville gave us a chance to breathe, because towing a travel trailer is a lot more mentally exhausting than we expected.

We looked ready. We were absolutely not mentally ready. But we were determined.

Eventually, we made it to Carrabelle, Florida, to a beautiful RV resort right across from the ocean. I was thrilled. The dog was thrilled. My husband, meanwhile, had aged another twenty-three years and was sporting five-o’clock shadow by mid-morning, but he was an absolute champ.

Florida was everything we wanted it to be. Beach runs. Gulf shrimp. Sunshine. Our tiny travel trailer felt perfect, and somehow, despite everything, we had figured it out.

Then came packing up to leave.

As we were loading everything back into the camper and my husband was hooking the trailer to the truck, he casually said, “Yeah… it’s just like checking out of a Marriott.”

We laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

Because it is not like checking out of a Marriott. Camping is hard. It’s physical, it’s stressful, it’s a lot of work — but it’s fun hard. And every bit of the blood, sweat, stress, and wide-turn coaching was worth it.

That trip threw us directly into the deep end. People told us we were crazy, and honestly, they weren’t wrong. But if we had taken a small, easy trip first, I’m not sure we’d still have the camper. Hauling a travel trailer takes miles to get comfortable, so we forced ourselves to get a lot of them, fast.

As of today, we still have the trailer and we’re heading into our second season. We have more confidence, fewer Amazon boxes, and a much better understanding of gas stations. Things I wish I had known? You don’t need everything Amazon sells. Getting gas is not for the faint of heart. And if you say “wide turns” enough times, eventually your husband will turn wide enough — but he will never want to hear you say it again.

And honestly? I wouldn’t change a thing.

Got a campfire story of your own?

Share it with us — the fire’s always going somewhere.

Email your story to redrunstorage@yahoo.com! We will keep you anonymous if you'd like!