This summer I drove from Florida to California for some scheduled repairs and maintenance on Coddi, my Airstream. After two weeks in California, I scurried up to Oregon for more repairs.

Some issues were fixed beyond expectation while others left me scratching my head. Combine that with unexpected travel delays, an unplanned ten days in an Airbnb, and three weeks of constant schedule rearranging, while still keeping up with my business and clients. I felt exhausted and frazzled.

Once I was finally free, I beelined it to Bend, Oregon for a night at my friends, Janet and Greg’s, place. The next day was the beginning of my summer of freedom. All I wanted was to find a nice, peaceful spot in the forest and grow roots for a couple weeks. It was beyond time to rest, recharge, and get caught up on work and writing.

Just as my rear truck tires rolled onto the blacktop, I heard metal grinding. I stopped, checked the hitch, under my trailer, and the truck. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary. I eased on the gas (no strange sounds) and headed on down the road.

I was as excited as a kid on Christmas. It was finally time to coddiwomple “to travel toward unknown destinations while being open to all possibilities.” A third of a mile from my friend’s driveway, I made a right turn and heard a loud POP and grind that was definitely from the hitch. I pulled over, threw my flashers on, and hopped out.

The hitch strut was cracked and bent like an elbow. I felt a giant fist squeeze and twist my gut. I plopped down on the hot asphalt, shoulders slumped, head hung, chin cradled by my knees. I knew the hitch was toast. I knew this meant no living in the forest. I knew I was stuck again, in a place that was too hot, too dry and with too many people. Then I realized I probably looked like I was in a cheesy low budget drama- back to the curb sitting crumpled on the blacktop like a dejected hopeless little pile of sorrow. I checked my watch. It was 2:17pm Pacific, so 5:17pm Eastern. I fast walked to grab my phone. Thanks to many interactions over the years, I knew the hitch company closed at 5:30pm. As the phone rang, I thought: Please someone answer. Please.

Someone did. I described the problem and asked for advice. He assured me that this is rare, but it does sometimes happen.
“We can ship the parts tomorrow,” he said. “Please take a few pictures and text them to me.” I was on a residential street, but cars still wooshed by. With the hitch guy still on the line, I waited for a clearing and snapped photos.
As he was musing, “The angle of the main hitch assembly concerns me. . .”, I knelt down and saw that there was MUCH more wrong than I initially thought.
“This isn’t drivable, is it?” I said.
“Well, you can drive, but not too far and keep it very slow.”

A new hitch wouldn’t arrive for ten days. Janet and Greg’s driveway was .4 miles away. If this was going to happen, it couldn’t have happened at a better spot. I don’t cry often, but I shed a few tears. I thought, will this nightmare of repair shenanigans ever end?? When can I catch a break? and Thank goodness for good friends close by.

Greg was waiting out front for me, and guided me back into his gravel side yard.

While I unhitched, an idea bloomed. Airstreams have been on the road for almost a hundred years. Way back when, people towed these things with station wagons. Before the existence of fancy hitching systems, people dropped Airstreams on the ball alone and hauled them all over the world. The forest was only 45 minutes away. I could do it.

Anything can be a love story or a tragedy, it’s my choice.

I learned this early on in my full-time wandering journey. At first it applied only to my Airstream, Coddi. Each time something broke, I could choose to see the “inconvenience” as a chance to get more intimate with Coddi, learn how she works, and how to repair her with my own hands. Or I could woe is me myself into a soupy blob of self-pity and wish I had someone else to fix the problem.

After several experiences of how much better it is to learn to love my Airstream and all its parts, I realized this applies to everything. There are many reasons why I still enjoy my life of freedom and travel after seven years solo on the road, but this one insight is a cornerstone.

All frustration is a misunderstanding. When I step back, see the whole picture, and choose to fall more in love with life. . . I am more forgiving, creative, and open to fresh Ideas.

I disassembled the hitching system and was ready to roll.

The next morning, I pulled out of Greg and Janet’s driveway, drove 1/3 of a mile, turned right (just like I did the day before), and I kept on rolling to the Deschutes National Forest. I parked Coddi on the shoulder of the Cascade Lakes Highway and hopped on my mountain bike to scope out a two-tire track road. About ¾ of a mile into the forest, I rolled into heaven: crystal clear Deschutes River, the sound of the wind and babbling rapids downstream, and views of three snowcapped mountains: complete peace. I had strong enough cell service to work, trees along the riverbank for shade, and a large clear area for Coddi to soak up solar power.

I hooted and hollered for joy! This might be the most beautiful National Forest dispersed camping spot I’d ever seen. I pictured relaxing for two weeks in this little slice of heaven. I pedaled full speed back to my rig, and drove ever so gently back to the river.

Everything can be a love story.

Would you like to have more fun, live at ease, and let stress melt away? Through one on one mentoring and coaching, you’ll realize more happiness, freedom, contentment, confidence, creativity… problems fade and decisions become a breeze. Curious? Check out more here and let’s have a call to discuss what is possible.

Campsite on the Deschutes River with Snow Capped Mountains in the Distance

This article was also featured in The Blue Beret Magazine- a publication of Airstream Club International

Header Photo: View from Camp on the Deschutes River- Mount Bachelor in the Background

Get articles like this one delivered to your inbox

If you would like to receive intriguing stories, thoughts and ideas in your inbox once every month or so, sign up for the newsletter by clicking HERE

Here are more posts: