It was sweet, self contained, and easy to tow. One trip to a bluegrass festival had me, two pups, and a bunny living in it for a weekend. On another trip, we illegally camped atop the Capulin volcano in New Mexico. It was the darkest night I had ever seen, with stars so bright and plentiful it looked like someone spilled powdered sugar on indigo velvet. We got away with it, but I noticed when I tried again a couple of years later they had remembered to lock the gate.

One August, Ginger and Panda and I took off on a four week jaunt with no destination and ended up stuck in Yellowstone’s Fishing Bridge campground at the end of the summer season while the Jeep got repaired. I spent four days driving all over in a rented Suzuki Swift enjoying the fabulousness of Yellowstone. Ginger kindly ate the driver’s side seat belt of the Jeep on the way out and I had to drive home from Idaho without restraint–got really scary when the brakes failed 10 miles from home in the Dallas rush hour. The trailer brakes were the only thing I had to keep me from kissing the bumper in front of me.

La Casita was perfect for me and the pups, but it became claustrophobic when Tony added another human to the mix and me and the Casita parted ways.  I still miss the independence it offered. Never having to find a hotel when you’re dog tired, always having a restroom available, and chilled beverages and hot dinner just minutes away.  But hey, now I never have to worry about backing the damn thing into an RV space and getting it leveled in a sand pit.

Me and my best bud in my Casita trailer, Summer 1994, I think. In Colorado, not that you can tell.

Ginger relaxing on the daybed in her twilight years

My folks were already parked in their usual spot at the Timber Ridge Campground in Ouray, and they were thrilled to return from the trail to see me at the park office. They welcomed us with open arms (and wallets) and we had a great week together. Before they left, I called the LIRR to check on my start date only to find out that I did not get the job. My fearlessness over-rode my sense, and I announced that I would be staying in Ouray for the summer.

My loving and generous parents dished out the cash for a nice tent and a few other necessities and me and my pups spent six weeks living the rough life. Oh, so rough! Maggie’s Kitchen, the campground diner, was all of fifty feet from my campsite and the showers about the same distance the other direction. I had a massive extension cord to power an oscillating fan, a lamp, and my laptop and a cozy air mattress to sleep on. My days were wasted spent writing my first novel (still unfinished). Friends in the campground saw that I wanted for nothing, and I thoroughly loved the tent life.

I maxed out my credit cards to pay my expenses and rent back in New York, but I would not trade this experience for anything.

Summer Home 1998

When Jetta was about six months old, my boyfriend, Larry,  and I drove to upstate New York to pick up a car from his folks. He had been riding a bike for transportation for years and “free car” meant something. We loaded Jetta into my Honda and took off on Christmas Day.

Things started going wrong early. We were horsing around in a roadside stop when the car keys fell out of Larry’s pocket into deep autumn leaves. Frantic searching turned them up, but at the next stop, Jetta’s dog tags disappeared! We never found them. A couple of hours later, outside Hope, Arkansas (before it mattered) the clutch went out. We had a Gulf credit card and barely enough cash for the tow truck. My folks wired us the money for a new clutch, plus some extra, and after two days of exhausting nothing, we were back on the road.

I had only met Larry’s folks once, and his mother didn’t like me much. Understandably, she hoped her son would meet a nice Jewish girl and I was anything but. His dad and I got along well, though. All that changed when Jetta joined in. Mom loved the dog, and me by extension, and dad couldn’t wait for us to leave.

Vague memories of a trip to New York, dim sum in Chinatown, sleaze in Time Square, and a mad dash to make the train at Penn Station, then back on the road, two cars, one dog, and very little sense.

We got into Texas just as the ice storm hit on New Year’s Eve, slip-sliding across Lake Ray Hubbard and laughing at Billy Bob in his four wheel drive going 50 mph into the ditch.

Full circle –Jetta’s first and last road trips were to New York.

Ready to Go, No Restrictions!

I like to travel. I’m not very good at it, and need to hit a whole bunch more continents and hemispheres, but I really like to travel.

Generally, I travel with a canine companion, but even in this increasingly pet friendly world, I can’t always take a critter along. In 2003, I found a solution of a sort. I had said goodbye to my first two fur kids by then, so I found a Jerry Bear backpack and customized  it with a set of angel’s wings. I sewed the dog tags of my departed pups into the wings and now, they go everywhere!

The Bear is a great avatar, even if he’s not a panda. He’s been to Niagara Falls, ridden a mule to the bottom of the Grand Canyon,  and many happy trips hosted by the famous Mouse. Soon he will be heading to Peru!