Part 2: Disneyland, Disco, and Downpours: Lessons from the Road
Part 2: Disneyland, Disco, and Downpours: Lessons from the Road
Day 1 began with the hum of anticipation as we pulled out of Sun Outdoors in Salt Lake City. The truck felt steady, our playlist was loud, and it finally hit me—this was real. The first stop on our maiden voyage was a Harvest Hosts stay at Zion Vineyards, tucked against those iconic red cliffs. The view alone could have been the whole trip, but it only got better. After the tasting room closed, the owners cranked up disco lights, and before I knew it, we were dancing under the desert sky with strangers who already felt like friends. That night I remember thinking, this is exactly what we signed up for.
Day 2 took us to Nevada. I’d booked another free stay through Harvest Hosts, this time at a saloon I hadn’t realized was famous until we pulled in. It had the kind of history that clings to the walls—dust, neon, and stories that don’t need much encouragement to spill out. Just as we finished setting up, the sky split open. The rain came fast and hard, flooding the parking lot and even part of the saloon’s kitchen. Chaos turned into camaraderie, everyone laughing while trying to mop and move things to safety. It was messy, ridiculous, and unforgettable.
Day 3 brought the adrenaline of Los Angeles traffic. Pulling a trailer through that maze is not for the faint of heart. Every lane change felt like a chess move, but we made it to Anaheim and checked into Orangeland RV Park for a full week. I was so grateful we’d spent those months living in the trailer first—it made the transition seamless. The half marathon was incredible, and being able to recover in our own bed afterward was pure luxury. A hot soak, real coffee in the morning, and the comfort of our own little space turned race weekend into something more like a retreat.
When it came time to head home, I rebooked our favorite stops—the saloon and the vineyard. This time, monsoon rain chased us across the desert. Red Rock mud splattered everything. Weeks later I was still finding streaks of clay in corners I didn’t know the trailer had. A plan to stay with friends fell through, but we lucked into a lakeside site instead. The mosquitos were relentless, yet the sunset made up for it. I hope I captured that light in a photo somewhere; it deserved to be remembered.After Disneyland, we headed to Burbank for work. We booked a quirky park in Van Nuys filled with movie props and vintage signs. It wasn’t the beach(though we did make a beach day), but it had character and convenience. I’d walk the dogs past art installations welded from old camera rigs. The dogs also enjoyed the homemade dog park built with quirkiness and love. It felt like Hollywood’s scrapyard had reinvented itself as a campground.
By the time we rolled back into Utah, it didn’t feel like we’d completed a trip. It felt like we’d crossed a threshold. We’d made mistakes—broken screens, frayed cords, a few expensive lessons—but none of it mattered compared to the feeling of belonging. Living on the road wasn’t about escaping responsibility; it was about returning to choice. Each mile was proof that we could reinvent the shape of our life whenever we needed to.
This first voyage wasn’t a test run. It was confirmation. We were already home.
