Driving the Home on Wheels

Head out on the highway

If you told me a year ago that I would be driving the motorhome, I would probably call you a liar.

On our first trip, when we drove from Phoenix to Portland over a 3-day weekend, I hopped nervously in the driver seat about 8 hours into our drive. I successfully drove 12% of the drive back, and then swore it off. I hated it. It’s big. Really big.

Driving a Class A motorhome is not for everyone. In fact, for over 9 months after we purchased the HOW, it was not for me. Jeremiah drove it everywhere we went.

Then, we realized a little over a week ago that we needed to stop going-going-going and get some medical stuff done… in Dallas Texas. Where were we? Northern Michigan. So, with a plan to get to Dallas in 12 days, I decided it was time to take the wheel. And I did.

I was talking with my friend Risa on Monday. “I finally drove the motorhome today,” I told her. “I drove for 57 miles!” My goal had been 50 for the day.

Her response? “That’s not very far.”

And, to be fair, it’s not. But it’s also exhausting. The first two days I drove our rig, I was sore. I clenched every muscle in my upper back and abs. (Those are somewhere under a thick layer of flubber.) On both Tuesday and Wednesday I woke up with a stiff neck and had to use Jeremiah’s Biofreeze to move right. But I didn’t give up.

Today, Friday, was the 4^th day I’ve driven this week – and I haven’t had one person honk at me and I haven’t wrecked yet, so I think I’m doing alright. Jeremiah tells me exactly when to turn and when to brake when he can tell I’m nervous. Against every part of my will, he also tells me when to pass people that are driving too slowly.

Born to be mild

When I used to drive from Corvallis to Bend on the weekends during my college years, I’d let my parents know when I was leaving Corvallis on Friday after my classes. It’s about a 3 hour trip. Often on those trips, I’d be driving near Black Butte Ranch, outside Sisters, Oregon, when a man on a motorcycle would pull up beside me. He’d match my speed and smile and wave and be generally dorky before zipping in front of me, and racing me home. I would always wonder how my dad, the man on the motorcycle, would be able to pick me out while driving. “You’re the slowest driver on the road,” he told me.

Fast forward to now: If you ask Jeremiah, my slow-poke driving choices are probably one of the biggest things he would like me to change. Guess what? I’m not going to. I am a 35 year old female who will always be found in the slow lane, happily watching truckers pass her.

Lookin for adventure, and whatever comes our way

Ultimately, there is value in being okay in doing things that scare me. I’m becoming less terrified each time I sit in the captain’s chair, and in an emergency, I can absolutely get us around. It just might take a lot longer than if Jeremiah were driving.

So, all of this is to say that I usually write my blogs while Jeremiah drives, so apologies if my blogs are a little less consistent for a bit. Now, go do something that scares you, and then let me know what it is so I can try it, too!