Actually, I blame my mother. I was in Blue Birds since I was eight years old. I was a city girl and had no concept of what "camp" meant. I just knew it was someplace fun. My counselor at Camp Li Tonda was named Splinter and I thought she was wonderful. I remember I didn't do a thorough job washing my plate after we made French toast (my first outdoor cooking experience) so when I pulled the dishes out of the foot of the sleeping bag in the morning, the plate was stuck to my foot. Why we put our dishes in the foot of our sleeping bags is still a mystery. In any case, I made an alphabet noodle name tag on bark, created a leather thong to hang around my neck with a small leather bag attached to hold interesting pebbles and leaves, sent a postcard to my parents; and lost the costume contest to a beautiful black girl who made a construction paper stovepipe hat, tied her braids under her chin and became Abraham Lincoln. I earned nine beads to put on my Camp Fire vest. I had so much fun. Then I cried when I realized I had to go home. My mother laughed when she picked me up because she had never heard of anyone becoming "campsick." I couldn't help it. I was hooked. I loved the outdoors and all the activities. I thought about becoming a counselor when I grew older.

I married at 18 and my husband liked tent camping. We put our camping gear in the back of his '66 Mustang for about a year until we realized we needed something larger. A '68 VW Squareback was next. If we didn't feel like setting up the 8'x10' Coleman tent, we could always put the back seat down and sleep in the car. After that, there was a VW van with a Safari conversion. We were in heaven. We went everywhere in that van until heavy crosswinds in Kansas destroyed the engine. The following year, the marriage ended and he got the camping gear and the savings account. I got the furniture and the tools. I resigned myself to living in an apartment but never lost the desire to travel and camp when and where I wanted.

I'm an optimist and tried to make a go of another marriage and another business but neither was successful. When I left, everything I owned could be carried with two loads in my '67 VW bug. After my divorce, I needed a place to live. I found Marv, my mentor. He had a 1970 22' Winnebago and I was making payments to him and lived in it while working on my master's degree. Chism Trailer Park is lovely and it was quiet enough at night that I could hear the Truckee River rushing past the park. I lived there two years and found out how much I enjoyed full-time RVing. What led to this new lifestyle began in June, 2001.

I was working at Wells Fargo Bank in downtown San Francisco as an administrative assistant. I had a strong premonition we would have an earthquake and I decided not to ignore the feeling. I spoke with my co-workers and asked if they had earthquake kits. Most of them laughed and said they knew they should have one but hadn't really done anything about it. I started to pick up what I thought I would need. Every payday, I would purchase something: sleeping bag, tent, stove, lantern, food, etc. I would store everything in the trunk of my car. I went to work on Monday following Labor Day and told my co-workers I could live in the parking lot for four days with what I had in my car. They laughed and congratulated me. The next day was September 11th. Suddenly, no one was laughing. Everyone asked how I knew. I was planning on a natural disaster like an earthquake, not planes flying into buildings.

During the summer of 2001, I didn't find anything reasonable locally, so I started looking for a motorhome on eBay. I went to check out a 22-foot Coachmen Leprechaun. When I stepped inside, I couldn't believe my eyes. The seats were covered in leopard fabric, the mattress in giraffe print and the floor had a zebra rug. There were four colors of floor tile with bolts sticking through. Over the cab bed was a bubble in the ceiling vinyl. It had leaked in the past and it would leak in the future right over the poor sleeper's head. And if I did sleep up there, did I climb out of bed on a ladder or swing from a vine? There were many other problems, the worst of which was the transmission slipping out of gear--not a good thing with a car but a disaster with a motorhome. So I drove 6 hours back to Hayward empty-handed.

A couple of days later, a friend called and said, "Guess what? There's a motorhome parked a few miles from me with a For Sale sign." Ever the optimist, I drove to Hayward and found my friend standing by the motorhome. The owner met me at the rig and opened it. All three of us climbed inside. The man smoked as evidenced by the butts in the ashtray. But the motorhome had good bones and didn't smell really bad. He asked if I wanted to hear the engine. "Desperately," I replied. He opened the bathroom door, took out a two-gallon gas can, removed the doghouse cover and the air filter, poured a capful of gas into the carb and started the motorhome. She shuddered like she was freezing, hiccupped and growled. He turned off the engine. I asked how much he wanted. "$2500." In shock, I yelped, "Have you heard this engine?" He gulped, stared at his shoes and muttered, "$2000?" "Done." So I went home and made plans to buy her. I decided to call my RV "Wendy" because she flew with Peter Pan to Never Never Land -- and I'm Peter Pan.

I met the owner a couple of days later to take a test drive. He handed me the keys and said he would meet me at the same place when Wendy and I returned. I climbed in, sat behind the wheel and started her without priming the carb. We pulled away from the curb and stopped at the light. The seat slid forward. I reached underneath trying to find some kind of knob to adjust it. The light changed and I turned left, following his directions. The seat slid left. I turned right at the first light and the seat slid right. It was like a Disneyland ride only not nearly as much fun. When I made it back, I was never so grateful in my life to be a.) stopped and b.) safe. While I waited, I found the knob and adjusted the seat. He arrived a few minutes later and said, "What do you think?" I handed him the keys and said, "Too much." After I arrived home, I made a pot of coffee and sat in the rocking chair. No doubt about it--that drive scared me. And more than I hate intolerance, I hate being a prisoner of fear. So I rocked and thought and drank coffee and thought and decided to wait 24 hours. I was ready to give up and start looking elsewhere. I couldn't believe I'd found two duds in a row.

For the next couple of days, I couldn't stop thinking about that motorhome. I called my friend, told him I changed my mind (he thought I was a lunatic), called the owner and we agreed to meet to exchange cash for the pink slip. I guess Wendy was drawing me to her. At 11 o'clock on Saturday morning, my friend, his mother, the owner and I sat inside Wendy at the dinette and in a few minutes, she was mine. Everyone left and I started her. We managed to get to the freeway where I drove with my fingers crossed. She flew down the road with lots of power and why not? She was empty! I sat in the driver's seat looking out the big windows over the traffic and realized I was grinning from ear to ear. I turned up the volume on the one station I could pick up on the old AM radio and sang along with Buffalo Springfield. As I arrived in Berkeley and turned the corner toward my apartment building, my luck ran out. The lovely parking space across the street with no trees wasn't vacant. The only space on the street was under two trees, one with a low branch. I pulled close to the curb, heard the scraping sound, cringed and stopped. When I got out, I saw that I'd cracked the right rear side reflector and the rain gutter was slightly bent. I couldn't help it. I had to smile. At least I didn't break the light bulb! I walked upstairs to my apartment and knocked on my neighbor's door. She came downstairs and I showed her all of Wendy's charms. Her reaction was happiness for me but confusion about RVs in general. She's from Ethiopia and doesn't understand camping at all. It's hot in her country and the last thing anyone wants to do is sit outside in a tent or RV.

Early the next morning, I drove Wendy two miles to the big Berkeley Marina parking lot. For a couple of hours, I practiced backing her into spaces, pulling forward, making u-turns and generally getting a feel for her. I pulled over to a parking area along the bay and turned off the engine, sat at the dinette and looked out at San Francisco, the Bay Bridge, Treasure Island, the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, Angel Island, people fishing on the pier and the ocean beyond. I had the best view from the best piece of real estate and it was FREE.

The following weekend, I took Wendy to Allied Trailer Supply in San Leandro, Calif. The guys are familiar with old RVs and I needed a 110 light to work somewhere. After 6 hours, the tech finally straightened up and asked me to come over and showed me what he'd done: new plugs, points, condenser, distributor cap and cables, air filter, oil filter, gas filter and a much cleaner engine. He handed me the key and told me to start her. Good old Detroit, Michigan USA engineering resulted in a deep growl and a healthy-sounding engine. We grinned at each other. I shook his hand and thanked him for his hard work, then I went inside the shop to pay. I promised to bear all his children for the rest of his life if he took pity on me. $340. What a relief! When I backed up and turned around in the gas station, I waved to the techs, Kim and Annand. I reached the edge of the driveway ready to turn right. I heard a loud clank. Kim and Annand rushed to Wendy's side. I turned off the engine and jumped out. The three of us stood there in horror looking at half of the large tailpipe lying on the ground. A bungee cord appeared and Annand hooked the pipe onto the door of the side compartment. Now what? Annand said, "I know someone who has a shop in Berkeley and he will be fair." He gave me the name and number, and I went home to call for an appointment.

I've been a workamper since May 5, 2003. Olema Ranch Campground in Marin County, California has the best of both worlds: RV and tent camping in tall pine trees, open meadows and visiting deer. I awoke to the sound of crows and cows lowing, and fell asleep to owls, coyotes and the smell of dying campfires. I was there for over two years.