Dispatches from the Road: Days 1 + 2

I feel like I'm living in a parallel universe. When we pull into rest areas now, we follow signs for "Trucks & Trailers"...not "Autos." Looking out my dining room window, I see grass, picnic tables, and lines of RVs...not thin walkways between walls of brick. And my favorite: This morning, my alarm clock was dozens of tiny acorns raining from the oak tree overhead and crashing into our roof...not my cell phone.

How did we get here? Is this real life?

Similar thoughts must be passing through our dogs' minds, because we see it in their faces. Maya startled awake from a nap today, and we watched her eyes fill with panic as she took in the room around her. Finally, she locked in on us, and we witnessed recognition click for her. She then came right over and laid down at our feet. Dan gave her a piece of steak, and she farted her thanks.

Transitioning our lives from the city to the open road has been relatively easy—and amazing (once we finished all the prep work). Earlier today, we watched a biplane swing low over the highway and then cruise above seemingly endless fields of corn stalks. I felt like we were living the beginning a 1950s sci-fi movie.

The dogs have taken well to life on the road, too, and they don't even have a concept of decades, 1950s or otherwise.

I can't believe how much we've learned in these first two days of travel. Here's a brief list, and then it's bedtime:

Hauling a 25-foot trailer isn't as hard as you'd think. Sometimes it's so easy, you even forget it's there (until a semi reminds you). Backing it up, however, is a different story.
In Chicago, we considered it an inconvenience to live more than a mile from a grocery store that sold organic avocados. Driving 45 miles just to buy something other than Doritos and Little Debbies puts that in perspective.
Driving three days in a row for four hours at a time may be overload. But it's exceptional practice for setting up and tearing down a camp site.
If you see a bald eagle perched on a mailbox, it probably is not real. (An example of what Dan calls my "Wonder Moments.")
Campgrounds during the week are a sleepy scene. We're night owls, and thus constantly second-guessing anything we do after sundown for fear of being "those guys."
When your keychain has keys for one front door, three storage compartments, and a car, as well as a knife, flashlight, and multi-tool, it spends almost as much time being lost (because it can't fit in your pocket) as it does being found.
Spotify's "Discover Weekly" playlist is surprisingly "pretty dope."
If you hear a low, curling growl from under your trailer, it's best to forgo letting the dogs out for one last night pee.
Even if the grill that came with your trailer doesn't work and the refrigerator isn't getting as cold as the FDA may require for most meat and dairy products, you can still cook up a romantic dinner.
Shower every day. As Dan says, "If you can smell yourself, it's too late." Dan will be showering first thing tomorrow morning.