By MT Cozzola

Picked up the rig and Dave drove it home without hitting anything. We parked it out front and packed as quickly as possible, so we could get to the Rock Island KOA before dark. We were so stressed about getting out of town that we didn’t take time to level the rig, so every time I opened a cabinet the door either hit me in the face or immediately slammed shut.

I don’t really know what I think of this yet. There’s plenty of room but not enough places to put things. I haven’t figured out a place for the dog treats, or a place for the water bowl so I don’t have to empty it every time we move, or a place for dirty clothes, or a place for wearable semi-dirty clothes. Also, we need a bar of soap and something else I’ve already forgotten. And do I walk to their showers or use ours? Also, I forgot the apples and the dates. Everything was so rushed and I was cross.

But now, looking out this screen door at the trees, and hearing the soft rain and mumbled thunder, I’m content. The bump on my head from walking smack into the loft bed over the cab is fading. I like being in a contained space where everything has its appointed place, surrounded by wind and green.

It’s weird how a motorhome mimics a living body. Power, plumbing, water. You have to get stuff in and get stuff out. What you do with the rest of your time is up to you.

Gas: 24.9 gallons, 215.2 miles, 8.6 MPG. Next stop: Henderson, Nebraska.