The first excursion in my newly purchased camper van — a one-night trip to a national forest a few hours from my home — was nothing short of a debacle.
The trip was meant to be a test run on solo van living before I fully took the plunge, and it certainly did test me.
My dispersed campsite was full of deceivingly deep mud, and my van got stuck in it. After unsuccessfully trying to get out, I asked the next site over for help.
They pushed and shoved without success and offered to drive me around to find someone with a truck who could tow me out.
Eventually, a group of retirees also offered to help, and I was soon in the passenger seat of a little red truck. We were about 15 yards from my van when the truck slid to a halt in the mud.
With the sun starting to fade between the pine trees, it was looking like we’d both be stuck for the night.
“Don’t worry,” he assured me as he headed back to his campsite. “My buddy has a bigger truck and is coming up tomorrow. He’ll tow both of us out.”
Around 1 a.m., I was woken up by a fist pounding on my door and a gruff voice yelling, “Sheriff’s office!”
After some scolding for getting myself into the situation, the officer towed my van out and explained that someone had called 911 for a wellness check after they saw the red truck drive me back to my campsite and never return.
As I drove my newly liberated van back down the road, I passed the group who had first helped me: A bunch of strangers who had gone out of their way — including driving to get cell service to call 911 — to make sure I was safe.
I was embarrassed by just how many people I’d dragged into this fiasco, but also overwhelmed with gratitude. It was an important first lesson of van life: There are often people looking out for you.
Over the years, I’ve experienced even more kindness while traveling in my van
Sydnee Chapman
My escapade in that Utah forest was far from the last time I’d experience kindness from strangers on the road.
When I parked next to a family friend’s vacation cabin on Washington Island, some curious neighbors wandered over to see my rig. The couple, who were my grandparents’ age, explained they’d also had their own taste of van life.
“We love meeting other travelers,” they told me, adding that if I needed anything to swing by their cabin a few houses down.
The couple became a sort of adopted set of grandparents over the next week, inviting me over for dinner and sending me home with leftovers, giving me a place to shower, and making sure my van was warm enough for the cool September nights.
The husband, a certified MacGyver type, showed me how to fix my sink after I admitted it had been out of service for about a month.
I’ve never been anything resembling an extrovert, but my “grandparents” reminded me of the sort of experience we miss out on when we retreat into ourselves rather than welcome in those around us.
Sydnee Chapman
Likewise, the only mechanic who could see me when my AC stopped working in the Joshua Tree desert pleasantly surprised me.
With nowhere to go while he worked on my van, we chatted about life, religion, and the difficulty of starting over. It was the kind of conversation most of us have with a close friend rather than a stranger.
When I told him that cars have been somewhat of a foreign language to me most of my life, he began explaining what he was doing, helping me get hands-on while pointing out things I could repair on my own in the future.
These kinds of human connections are one of my favorite things about travel
Sydnee Chapman
In a world where we’re increasingly isolated and glued to our phones, van life has restored my faith in humanity.
Over the past two years, I’ve met so many strangers who have shown me that there are still great people out there willing to lend a hand if you’re willing to open yourself up to new connections and experiences.
I’d dreamed of doing solo van life since I was a kid, often questioning whether I was capable enough to go on the adventure alone.
Although I’d spent years traveling solo internationally and living by myself, something about being on the road, especially in remote areas, with nothing more than my own wits to keep me company seemed like a different beast entirely. Imagined kidnappers and bad actors lurked in my head constantly.
It’s still very important to follow safety protocols be vigilant while on the road since encountering those possible dangers (and others) isn’t out of the question.
Two years later, though, I’ve learned that the world isn’t as scary of a place as we often make it out to be. Yes, there are bad people out there, but my time on the road makes me believe the good ones far outnumber them.
