Two questions I think every camper gets sooner or later are: “How long have you been camping?” and “Why do you camp?”
The first one is easy and hard at the same time. Honestly, I really cannot remember a time when camping was not part of my life. My mom and dad both loved to camp, although I think Dad loved it a little more than Mom did. I remember we had this great big old canvas tent that was basically shaped like a giant upside-down V. It was tough, heavy, smelled like every campground in America, and if you touched the side of it while it was raining, it leaked like the Titanic.
When I was about 13, we upgraded to a slide-in truck camper, and I thought we had officially won the lottery. Solid walls. A roof. It felt like high society. Of course, Dad said that was “not real camping,” so we still had the once-a-year guy trip with the big canvas tent, because apparently suffering builds character.
Then I kind of took a break from “camping” from about 1978 to 1988. Now, that does not mean I didn’t spend months at a time in a big GP tent with about 15 other Marines, or use a shelter half where you had to find someone you trusted enough to share what was basically a one-and-a-half-person tent. That is a story for another time, and probably one that requires coffee, a campfire, and maybe a waiver.
After the Marines, I went back to tent camping, and it was always a blast. Then in 1992, I met Dawn Fox. To my surprise, she liked camping as much as I did. So naturally, I did what any romantic man would do: I bought a bigger tent. That worked for a few years.
Then came our first big upgrade: a motorcycle camper. It was an Aspen, and we pulled that thing everywhere. It even had air conditioning, which felt like cheating, but the good kind of cheating. After a few years, we moved up to a little Sunray 109 teardrop. Truthfully, it was probably smaller than the Aspen, but it had solid walls, so that opened up a few more places we could camp.
Next came a little 20-foot camper. For the life of me, I cannot remember the brand, but I remember two very important things about it. First, it had an indoor bathroom. That was a life-changing moment. Second, you could stand up and change clothes. If you have ever tried changing pants in a teardrop camper, you understand that this was not just an upgrade. This was civilization.
After that, we went big. Really big. We got a 38-foot, three-slide CrossRoads camper. That thing was bigger than my first apartment. We loved the room, but we quickly found out it was just too big for the state parks and the kinds of places we really enjoy camping. So that one went the way of the dodo bird.
Then we got a Grand Design 226RK. We thought we had found the perfect camper. Silly us. We loved almost everything about it, but if you got stuck inside all day because of weather, it felt small in a hurry. Keep in mind, we went from a 38-foot, three-slide camper to a 26-foot camper with one slide. It was like going from the Queen Mary to the S.S. Minnow.
We also knew it was going to be too small for snowbirding, which we plan to start in October of 2027. So, back to the drawing board we went. I knew I wanted to stay with Grand Design, so we started looking at the 295RL and the 303. After a lot of looking, talking, thinking, and probably overthinking, we decided on the 295RL. I really do think we have finally found our forever camper.
As for the second question, “Why do you camp?” That is another story for another time.
But I will say this: since the early 90s, Dawn and I have been through several campers, and each one has given us memories. Some were great. Some were not so great. Some probably involved rain, mud, something breaking, or me saying, “Well, that shouldn’t be doing that.”
But I would not trade any of it for the world.
Life is good, but it is even better when you have the right person beside you, going through the adventures, the breakdowns, the campfires, the wrong turns, the tight campsites, the rainy weekends, and all the memories right there with you.
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