As time had gone by on the road trip, Mike and I found the routine of navigating to a new area, searching for a campsite (and sometimes having to really work to get one) set-up and tear-down, finding food and supplies, using strange bathrooms and dealing with strangers (and their dogs!) increasingly wearisome. Necessary activities, such as dumping, gassing up, resupplying, and cleaning the rig, assumed a disproportionate aversiveness.
What was wrong with us? Why weren’t we having fun anymore on our “dream trip?”
We set up less and less of our available comforts when we pulled into a new site: no more sun tent, outdoor barbecue, beach chairs or carpets—because everything we put out had to later be torn down, cleaned, and put away, and we were just plain tired of it.
Even once-pleasant activities like breakfast out filled us with ennui: how many truckstop diner bacon and eggs could a person eat?
We asked oth…
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