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Of all the places we have visited in a truck camper, by far the most meaningful have been the homes of friends and family scattered across the United States and Canada. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ....
The ability to go anywhere and camp anywhere usually paints the picture of a truck camper challenging an off-road four-wheel drive trail or boondocking in a remote location far from the reaches of civilization. While these abilities are an important and highly compelling part of the truck camping lifestyle, it’s been the ability to visit friends and family and camp at their homes that’s had the biggest impact on our lives.
With our truck camper, we’re able to visit our friends and family throughout the United States and Canada and stay a few days. To put our friends and family at ease, we always tell them ahead of time that our rig is about the size of a UPS truck and that we prefer to stay in our camper. We will not be house guests. So far, we’ve been able to fit our truck camper in their driveways or on the street in front of their homes. It’s fantastic.
There’s no better way to illustrate this experience than by sharing a personal story of what happened to Angela and me during the first six-weeks of our truck camping lifestyle. Our adventure started in August of 2005, a year and a half before we started Truck Camper Magazine. We were total truck camping newbies learning how our truck camper worked and what the truck camping lifestyle was all about. As you’re about to read, we learned fast.
I also want to invite each of you to share your stories of visiting friends and family in a truck camper and how that experience has been meaningful for you. Please send your stories to
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Not House Guests: Visiting Uncle Randy
Since my mid-teen years, I had dreamed of a trip out West in an RV to explore the United States and reconnect with Uncle Randy and my three cousins. Growing up, my father and I had visited Uncle Randy and his three daughters a few times, but the trips stopped by the time I was in middle school. In my early thirties, I no longer really knew Uncle Randy or my cousins and longed to reestablish that connection.
For the benefit of keeping this story as short as possible, I’m going to skip 2,000 miles ahead to the end of week one when we finally pulled into the driveway of my Uncle Randy’s house in Bozeman, Montana. For me, our arrival was surreal. I couldn’t believe that we were actually there. Randy and his wife, Susi were very welcoming and their driveway even had a spot that seemed custom made for our truck camper. Everything about that moment was exciting.
For the next few days, we had lunch and dinner with Randy and Susi and talked, and talked, and talked. It became abundantly clear that they didn’t know much about our lives and we didn’t know much about theirs. This is the kind of honest to goodness human relationship building that can only happen face to face. Facebook and texting aren’t going to cut it.
After visiting for a few days, we set out for Glacier National Park and the Canadian Rockies. The best story from Glacier is how we took the truck camper across the Going-To-The-Sun road. We now know that we were breaking park rules by being about a foot longer than the twenty-one foot restriction. Lucky for us, we were headed east towards Logan and didn’t connect with the jutting rock overhangs. It was a stunning and harrowing drive.
The Canadian Rockies were beautiful beyond description. We hit all the major sights including Lake Louise, Banff, and the Jasper Icefields. At one point, I distinctly recall thinking that I could no longer fully absorb all of the incredible sights before us. I was on amazing beauty overload. Since starting Truck Camper Magazine I have met a few US residents who refuse to visit Canada for one reason or another. They have no idea what they’re missing.
After crossing back into the United States, we returned to Uncle Randy’s house in Bozeman. Unfortunately, three straight weeks of non-stop long distance driving had began to take its toll on Angela’s back. When her back went out, Angela had trouble with the steps into the camper and climbing in and out of the overcab bedroom was impossible without her being in tremendous pain. Clearly Angela was in trouble. The next morning we went to Bozeman Deaconess Hospital to get her some help.
The doctor prescribed pain medication and lots of rest. Since staying the camper was not possible, Randy and Susi invited us to use their guest room. We were heartbroken to leave the camper (it was already home), but this was the best solution for Angela’s recovery. Having to put our adventure on pause was a major let down but, in hindsight, it was the luckiest thing that happened to us on that trip.
While Angela got better, I spent lots of time getting to know Randy even better. During one particularly good heart-to-heart conversation, Randy told me that he hoped his relationship with my dad could change for the better. As brothers, they had never been the best of friends.
The next morning I called my dad. Randy had already called him and, as dad put it, they had a wonderful conversation and “buried the hatchet”. I could clearly hear in my dad’s voice that something important had happened. In no way was everything resolved between brothers, but it sure felt like there was hope.
A day or two later, Angela felt well enough to continue our trip. The night before we left Bozeman, we spent an absolutely off-the-charts amazing evening with my cousin Sarah, cousin Carey, her husband, and two children. Once again, our truck camper fit perfectly in their driveway making our visit as painless and non-intrusive as possible.
Angela and I were sad to leave the next morning, but excited about our new relationships with our Bozeman family. This was a new and very promising beginning.
From there we explored Yellowstone National Park and Grand Teton National Park before heading West again to walk the Craters of the Moon, drive the beautiful Columbia River Gorge, and stare at the ominous Mount Saint Helens. After an incredible visit with high school friends in Seattle (another dream realized), we drove south into Oregon. That first day in Oregon we visited the Tillamook Cheese Factory and camped at a state park campground near Cannon Beach.
As we drove into the campground that evening a Class A motorhome was driving out. The campground road was fairly narrow so I pulled over to the right hand side of the road to give them more room. A few seconds later, we heard a horrible snap coming from the passenger side rear of the truck. I had clipped a fence with the truck and taken a nice chunk out of the dually fender.
After pulling into the campsite for the night, I celebrated my stupidity with every word that can never be published in the fine electrons of Truck Camper Magazine. I was so angry at myself. And that’s when I said what I have come to regret for the past five plus years. In the heat of the moment, I said to Angela, “It’s your turn to drive, until you hit something”.
Well, Angela took to driving the truck like a fish finding water. She got the truck keys in her hand and drove that truck for the rest of the trip. Did she hit anything? Nope. How about our next cross country trip? That’s right, Angela drove the whole way. Did she hit anything? Nope. But wait, there’s more. We’ve been cross country yet again and Angela still hasn’t hit anything. A trip to Florida and back? Not a scratch. I have driven the truck a few times here and there when Angela needed a break or we were testing two rigs at the same time, but 99% of the time, Angela has had the wheel.
Getting back to the story, my fence clipping accident would soon be the last thing on our minds. The next morning the phone rang around 4:30am. We didn’t recognize the phone number and ignored it. About a half hour later, the phone rang again. This time, it was my father calling.
My Uncle Randy had died in the middle of the night.
Within an hour of hearing the news, Angela and I were packing up to make the fourteen hour drive back to Bozeman. My dad flew in from Pennsylvania and we spent a week with family and Randy’s friends trying to come to terms with what happened. Randy had been sick with asthma and circulation issues but, at fifty-eight years old, no one thought he was that sick. You just never know.
While I was completely heartbroken about Randy’s passing, I also felt incredibly lucky to have spent quality time with him just two weeks before he died. Had we waited until the following year to drive out, we would have missed him. Sometimes things are just meant to be, and this was one of those times.
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