Scrambling out of bed, careful not to hit my head on the ceiling of our little camper, I threw on some clothes and opened the shades to look around. “Holy cow,” I shouted, “there are two elk with huge racks right outside.” I fumbled around, trying to locate my phone and turn it on. Bringing up the camera without the help of my glasses proved challenging. With my wife behind me, we stumbled out of our teardrop trailer to video the unfolding scene.
The bull elks, only about 50 feet away, bugled while the nearby cow elk bleated in response. The bulls began charging each other, slamming their expansive racks together, stopping only when the females cried. So close were these beasts that we saw the mist from their snouts swirling around as they bugled. The rising sun filtering through the trees added to the magnificence of the moment.
After several minutes, the larger of the two bulls looked over at us and started walking our way. You’ve never seen two older women move so fast as we dove for the safety of our trailer, slamming the door behind us.
We envisioned these epic moments when we retired early, sold our suburban home, and purchased a 21-foot trailer to travel the country. We romanticized giving up our jobs, home, and the semblance of security we’d previously taken for granted. We idealized every part of full-time RV living, giving little thought to the potential drawbacks.
Now, more than two years in, we remain thankful for our decision.
Previously, we lived in a liberal Western Washington city celebrating diversity like football fans in Minnesota celebrate a Vikings win. Businesses and homes throughout our town displayed pride flags and Black Lives Matter posters. Being a lesbian couple in that environment lulled me into believing being gay was widely accepted and supported.
I should have known better, but I was too busy being idealistic.
Not a lot of diversity (or inclusion!) exists within the RV community. We rarely see people of color or couples who are gay. Conservative, straight, white people tend to be the norm.
We’ve commonly heard disparaging comments about liberals and noticed people trying to avoid eye contact with us. We quickly learned to be as stealthy as possible. Being two women traveling together, we were already careful and watchful. But we felt even more alert as we observed the demographic in most RV parks.
For a while, I found myself feeling a little cynical. I wondered what it would feel like to go for an after-dinner walk through a campground or RV park and feel like you fit in. This sense of belonging is likely pedestrian to straight couples, unaware of the freedom they experience simply because they are heterosexual.
I didn’t come out of the closet until I was fifty, a long time to wait to be who I’d known myself to be since childhood. It was disheartening to suddenly feel my safety in jeopardy or that I needed to hide myself again. Some may think this is too dramatic, but I’ve seen too many YouTube videos of gays being physically attacked to consider holding hands during our evening walks in RV parks. But sometimes, I find myself surprised.
The first time we drove through the Lonestar State, I assumed Texans would be judgmental and unwelcoming of us. But then we had a heartwarming experience at The Lonestar Bar in Fredericksburg.The Lonestar Bar boasts award-winning pulled pork, apple pie fries, and a giant pig named Minnie Pearl. She’s friendly, surprisingly chatty, and loves being petted.
We slipped into our favorite protective measure and walked a few feet apart to exude a ‘we’re just friends’ vibe. Nearing the bar, we acted casual but kept our heads on a swivel, taking in our surroundings like covert operatives in enemy territory. We spotted two women eyeing us without even trying to be discreet.
“This should be interesting,” I murmured under my breath.
To our surprise, as we got closer, the women waved and welcomed us to the bar like old friends. They invited us to grab a beer and sit at a neighboring table. We were shocked and relieved because the last thing we expected to see in a small-town Texas bar was another lesbian couple.
You never know what you’ll find when you live on the road. For me, that’s part of the allure. I enjoy the expansiveness of it as well as the spontaneity we feel. I’m also grateful to experience the beauty our country holds. Places like the Grand Canyon and Yosemite are gorgeous examples of a grand design we are privileged to see and enjoy.
I’m not sure how long we’ll continue to travel like this, but for now, we relish it.
Kim Kelly Stamp is a writer, essayist, and espresso enthusiast. Originally from the Pacific Northwest, Kim and her partner now travel full-time in their teardrop trailer.
