We wake the next morning at 4:30AM. The anxiety of our insecure camper situation made it hard to sleep as it is. The activity in the parking lot only made it more so. We just want to get the camper up to our work station as fast as possible so that we can get to work. We set everything in the camper on the floor so nothing will fall and move into the cab of the truck to drive away. Google predicts a 9 hour drive. We assume more.
In Day 2 of our return trip from picking up our new (to us) 1970 Avion C11 has us stopping by Silver Springs State Park and wandering into Georgia.
There is something so relieving in closing a question. Whatever the solution may be, to just take any options off the table and proceed down that single, prescripted path is liberating. We spent years considering camper options. A cheap new camper? A custom pop up? A rugged specialty off-road rig? There were so many options that we wasted hours upon hours discussing and stepping through what it would take for each to serve our needs. In the end, we wanted an adventure and, when the opportunity arose, we took it—partially out of a love for the design, and partially in a desperate need to stop looking and start doing.
We walk around the outside of the camper. We prod about on the inside. We look at each other and nod. It needs work, but we expect that. It smells like what it is: a 47-year-old camper. But the aluminum exterior looks solid and the interior will do...for now.
Before we can turn toward Florida, we have to dump the fiberglass shell that had formed the roof of our home this past year. To our thinking, fiberglass is designed to be light. So this will be awkward but rather simple to remove. Right?
Early on in our travels, we agree that we want a truck camper. We are not set on any one particular type. There are so many to choose from and each camper is a matter of compromise. We like the idea of renovating a classic—something with a style unique to its time. There are several models we are eying on Craigslist when a 1970 Avion Ultra pops up in Florida.
Welcome to the Flying Fish in scenic, downtown Little Rock Arkansas. We came for the animatronic singing fish, we stayed for the frogs legs.
Seven miles down a moderately managed dirt road in the Ouachita National Forest is the Little Missouri Falls. The drive is pretty doable for any car in the proper conditions—there is a creek crossing that could cause trouble after a heavy rain—but the reason to drive this road is the swimming hole at the end.
Cars cruise past our campsite, methodically crunching the gravel. It initially seemed odd to have a parade of vehicles regularly circle through the group camping area. Now we know better.
I bounce in my chair as we turn into Toltec Mounds Archeological State Park. The name, however, is a misnomer. These massive man made Mounds were originally attributed to the Toltec because locals believed that regional Indians were too savage to achieve such great earthworks. We now know that assumption to be wrong for multiple reasons.