You pay $45 for a campsite, walk half a mile to the bathhouse, and the water pressure feels like a camel spitting on your back.

You park in the woods and meet a raccoon named “Steve” who is clearly a regular. The staff just waves at him like he’s a neighbor.

You think she’s coming to say hi — she’s actually there to ask for a part of your black tank setup mid-potato-salad.

We pull into a Walmart parking lot in Louisiana around midnight — the classic RV’er move when you’re just looking to crash for free, snag a Walmart breakfast sandwich, hit the gas station coffee, and be back on the highway by 7:00 AM sharp. But this… this wasn’t that.