Highly Anticipated Camping Trip Cut Short

We’re back from our “annual” winter desert dispersed camping trip. Granted, due to Covid issues, we skipped last year’s trek to Southern Arizona, which may have contributed to our hyper-anticipation this year.

Like children waiting for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve, we couldn’t sleep the night before and left pre-dawn loaded with everything we needed for dispersed camping plus more than enough prepackaged food for the four weeks we’d be gone.

“You never know what could happen out there,” Mr. Right told me and pushed another case of SPAM into the van’s limited underbed storage space. “We might break down and have to survive on our own for months.”

“You do realize we need to replace the ice and fresh food every five days, and the grocery store is only 7 miles to town?” I asked him. “At least we have enough water to quench our thirst from all the processed foods.”

The van interior has approximately 76 square feet of living space in, which half is taken up by a queen-sized bed. It fits Mr. Right and I, plus two dogs with a combined weight of 100 pounds. They tend to worry about being left behind, so they load themselves first, usually a day or two before we leave.

The dogs lay panting and drooling on the raised bed as I worked my way around two 7-gallon water containers and four cases of bottled water while trying to find space for my lone backpack of clothing amongst the toilet bucket, a square yard of sawdust (for the toilet bucket), a large cooler, 32 pounds of dog food, and one box of wine.

“Of course, I know that.” He shoved a case of canned chicken white meat on top of the Spam and pushed an industrial size box of instant oatmeal out the other side. He slammed the van’s back barn doors closed and strapped two more carrier totes full of cooking paraphernalia and a big, black box of tools onto the tailgate carrier. When he walked around to the open side doors, he stopped and huffed. All the stuff he was able to get under the bed from the back had pushed everything else out the front, and he had to start all over again.

We love desert camping. It’s quiet and relaxing. It’s also hard work. No electricity, running water, very little social interaction, and there’s no avoiding the elements. Mr. Right likes the way it toughens us up. I like the way I lose a few pounds each time we go.

Except, this year, we returned early. Mr. Right and I expected this trip to be very much like our previous visits--relaxed, absorbing Vitamin D, hiking the washes, and eating S’mores while stargazing under the winter sky. Constant dust storms in 50-70 mph winds made worse by years of drought kept us confined in the van and wearing face scarves when outside. The fine silt seeped into every crack and pore. We’d agreed when first traveling by campervan that if one of us was miserable and ready to leave, the other would comply. I was gritty and fed up, so I made the decision to go. It turns out that Mr. Right was miserable, also, but didn’t want to admit it.

As we outran a freak snowstorm through New Mexico into Texas and Oklahoma, we talked about future camping trips that growing older will dictate when we go, where we go, and how long we stay. I hear the weather in Utah is perfect in late Spring. Not to mention Mr. Right’s family there would love us to come visit. All the comforts of home without the joys of camping.