From Auto-Level to Arnold Palmer: Our Campsite Setup Routine
I was just sitting here thinking about camping—or more to the point, the part they never really show in the brochures: the setup.
We have a 2025 Grand Design 295RL with auto level, just for a little background. So here’s my question for everyone:
How long does it take you to set up camp?
And I mean from the time you pull into your site until you finally sit down, look around, and enjoy your favorite drink. Mine is a good old Arnold Palmer.
For us, it takes right around an hour, assuming the site is at least halfway level and I don’t have to perform a small civil-engineering project before we even unhook.
First thing I do is try to get the camper pretty close to level from left to right. Yes, I know we have auto level. But I figure there’s no reason to make those little hydraulic legs work any harder than they have to. I’m retired. I understand the concept.
Once we’re close, we unhook from the truck, I hit AUTO LEVEL, stand back, and watch the magic happen.
I’m not saying auto level is the greatest invention in RV history…but it’s definitely somewhere above indoor plumbing and just below air conditioning.
Once the camper gets itself situated, Dawn heads inside, puts the two slides out, and begins doing whatever mysterious things happen inside that somehow turn a camper from “we just dragged this thing 300 miles down the highway” into something that looks like it belongs on HGTV.
Meanwhile, my first mission is electric.
I hook up the 50-amp cord and immediately yell inside:
“DAWN! TURN THE A/C ON!”
Not for me, of course.
This is strictly for Odie Dog.
At least that’s my official story.
Once Odie has been saved from the horrible hardship of being slightly warm for seven minutes, I move on to something very important—the flags.
Three flags go on the front of the camper.
🇺🇸 United States flag in the center.
POW/MIA flag on the left if you’re standing there facing them.
USMC flag on the right.
Once the flags are flying, I feel like the campsite has officially been claimed.
Then comes water.
Then sewer.
And yes, I’m one of those people who takes the sewer hookup seriously because there are certain mistakes in camping that you only need to make once before they become permanently burned into your memory.
After that, the real fun starts.
Out comes the outdoor rug.
Then the chairs.
Then the little tables.
Then whatever collection of decorations Dawn has decided absolutely must accompany us into the wilderness.
Apparently there is a fine line between “camping” and “moving our living room outside,” and we crossed it years ago.
Then I start setting up the cooking area.
Ninja Woodfire comes out.
Cooking table gets positioned.
Grilling utensils get organized.
Propane and everything else gets situated.
Because sooner or later someone is going to ask:
“What are we having for dinner?”
And somehow that question always seems to be directed at me.
Then come the electric bikes.
Unloading them isn’t terrible. Getting everything arranged so they’re out of the way but still easy to get to apparently requires the strategic planning abilities of a small military operation.
By this time Dawn is still doing things inside.
I don’t actually know what all of those things are.
I just know that eventually I walk inside and suddenly there are pillows everywhere.
Some are decorative.
Some are functional.
And some, apparently, are not to be touched under any circumstances.
I have lived with Dawn long enough to understand that asking questions about the pillow system will not improve my life.
Back outside, I do the final walk-around.
Electric hooked up.
Water hooked up.
Sewer hooked up.
Slides out.
Awning where we want it.
Chairs arranged.
Grill ready.
Flags flying.
Bikes ready.
Odie Dog has inspected everything and apparently approved the campsite.
Then and only then comes the most important part of the entire setup procedure.
I grab my Arnold Palmer.
Sit down.
Look around.
And say the same thing I say just about every time:
“You know…this camping thing is pretty relaxing.”
Of course, it only took an hour of work to get relaxed.
So now I’m curious.
How long does it take you from the moment you pull into your campsite until you are officially DONE and sitting down with your drink of choice?
Are you one of those people who can pull in, plug in, throw out two chairs and be relaxing in 20 minutes?
Or are you like us, where apparently establishing a temporary residence requires utilities, landscaping, outdoor furniture, transportation, food-service facilities and minor interior decorating?
And more importantly…
What’s your “setup is officially finished” drink?
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