Confessions of the Happy Camper, Day 1

"...and so it begins..."
--Gandalf, spoken ominously after seeing a big ball of fire in the distance and anticipating the start of the battle for all living kind in Lord of the Rings, Return of the King

For some reason that quote loves to pop up in my brain at the most random times.  Like when the snow started falling for our biggest blizzard this year, or when I look up at the clock and realize that it's 8 pm so I'm officially 26, or, most fittingly, when hubby and I load the last shred of every possible item we could possibly need for the next 10 days into our car and camper and hit the road for Canada.

Day one was all about driving.  I love that blissful feeling of starting a road trip.  I'm usually pretty well prepared, so I don't feel tense.  I feel excited and relaxed, knowing that if I forgot anything we can grab it along the way or, if it's something at home, one of our nearest and dearest with a key can save the day.  The weather was nice, we were only leaving an hour later than planned, and we were anticipating another honeymoon, 10 days of uninterrupted us.  YAY. 

We drove along, stopping briefly at my mom's house to say goodbye and borrow a few things from her, then truly hit the road.  We took our first stop at a Wegman's in New Jersey for some other food.  (Wegman's has an awesome selection of gluten-free food, and we are super jealous that there are no Wegman's near our home town.)  We enjoyed some delicious artichoke dip and gluten-free crackers while merrily driving along and singing.  About an hour later, we needed a bathroom break and some gas so we pulled over at a rest stop along the interstate.  Hubbs jumped out to fill up, and I decided to take a quick look around the rig to make sure everything looked sound and secure.  Hitch looked good, side door to the camper secure, lights...uh..."honey?"

"Yeah?"

"What happened to the license plate?  And, well, the left tail light?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you know the license plate for the camper?  Yeah...it's not there.  And the left tail light is just kind of hanging."

"..."  (If you can speak an ellipsis, that's what hubby did.  You know, that sort of pregnant "oh crap" pause.)

"Hey honey?  Do you think they will let us into Canada without a license plate on the camper?"

"I don't know."

"Oh.  Ok.  I'm going to the bathroom."

And so it begins. 

We realize that the kit screws that came with the plate just must not have been big enough for the pre-drilled holes.  Or something.  In any case, we must have hit a bump and the plate just bounced right off and was in the road somewhere in MD, DE or NJ.  So what's the first thing we do?  Call my mom.  We pretty much always call my mom for everything.  She just knows stuff.  It's incredible.  Being a mom just makes you thoughtful and resourceful.  Also, she had google at home.  She suggested that we call my grandpa, who was a police officer for 30 years.  He said we should call the MVA.  Here's how that went, while Lenny fixed the hanging light, which had also come loose:

Me:  ON HOLD FOREVER PUSHING 198347 buttons.
MVA lady:  Hello?
Me:  Hi.  We just bought a camper and got a new license plate for it two days ago, but now it fell off and is lost.
Lady:  Well, you'll need to buy a new one.  That will cost $50.
Me:  Oh, well see, the thing is, we are in New Jersey.  We already left for our vacation.  We are at a rest stop and just discovered it.
Lady: You're going to get a ticket if you drive probably.
Me:  Yeah, see, we know, that is why I called you.  What should we do?
Lady:  You need to come get a new plate.
Me:  Well see, again, we are in New Jersey.  Can we get a plate here?
Lady:  No, it has to be Maryland.  Do you have anyone who could come here and get one for you?  They should get you one and then overnight it to you wherever you are staying.
Me:  Oh wow, that is a great idea.  Let me ask someone I know and love to please go stand at the MVA, aka, Satan's Headquarters, for an entire day to get me a new plate.  Let them dish out 50 bucks, then another 20 at least to overnight the plate to a rest stop somewhere off the Jersey turnpike. 

Ok, so I didn't say the last thing.  Next, we called the state police to ask if we could just write the plate number on a piece of paper and attach it to the camper with tape.  They said they didn't know.  They said we should go into town to a station and ask there.  Somehow we were near Stamford, Connecticut, so we went there to find the police station.  This took a million years, or most of the afternoon.  It is very difficult to navigate a busy city full of one-way streets trying to find a police station with a giant camper attached to your truck.  We finally found it, so I waited with the car (parked illegally, of course) while hubby went inside to try to figure this thing out. 

He waited in line to ask the friendly clerk if he could speak with an officer.  She asked what was the concern and he explained the no-plate situation.  After hearing her story, she directed him to a phone on the wall and gave him a 4-digit number to call.  No one ever answered at that number.  He was then directed to sit and wait for someone to speak to him.  He waited for about half an hour, then was told that he needed to contact the state troopers and that the local department couldn't help.  They suggested the cardboard plate deal, but we'd been told by the MVA that was illegal.  Dejected and annoyed, hubby headed out to find me.  We decided to go for broke and just keep driving, since we'd now lost a total of over three hours.

We hit the road, only to get stuck in major traffic.  At this point, we were never going to make our intended first stop campground.  We kept going for as long as we could, then realized we had to set up camp before it got dark or we might strike disaster trying to set the thing up for the first time in the dark.  We were near the coast a little north of Boston.  Apparently people really like the coast a little north of Boston because no campgrounds had free space.  I started wanting to freak out, but we found out that Black Bear Campground had one free space, so we rejoiced in having a home for the night.  Until we pulled into the campground.  Then we almost died of laughing or crying.  We weren't really sure at that point.  I have never seen such a crowded, filthy, sopping wet campground in my whole life.  Granted, since at this point I really hadn't seen that many campgrounds, all I could think was, "What have we gotten ourselves into?"

By now it was dark.  The first thing that we realized in our madness was that we had intended to stop along the way to pick up batteries for the lantern, but had forgotten in the plate mayhem.  My hero husband set that whole camper up, first time, by the headlights of the car.  We couldn't even connect to the electric because this place had crazy outdated plug that you had to rent an adaptor for if you didn't already have one, but the grounds were so crowded that they had rented every last one.  He amazingly got it situated though, and we crawled into bed as fast as we could, lulled to sleep by the sounds of the family next to us constantly cussing each other out in thick Boston accents.

(Driving away in the morning from the worst campground in the world.  My husband was so mad I guess he'd ripped off his shirt Hulk-style.)

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