The secrets of successful RV travel

Regardless of how many bad movies they make, everyone at some point wants to head out on an RV trip.

I can safely say "everyone" because everyone has a very different idea of what such a trip entails. Never has the phrase "open to interpretation" meant so much.

I hauled my family along last year on our maiden voyage. It was an experience to be cherished or best forgotten, depending on whom you speak to. I choose "cherish" because I was wisely editing out the best-forgotten bits as they occurred.

When asked to participate on a press trip to the Yukon and Alaska for GO RVing Canada and Yukon Tourism recently, I was able to bring a friend.

The Yukon: Cold lakes hot sun, towering mountains

Using all my RV smarts, I chose Melissa, a friend of long standing. We have no secrets; we have no lies. These things matter.

Melissa was doing a bit of reconnaissance. Her sister has been speaking lately of RVing across the U.S. with her spouse and two young kids. While all the pamphlets indeed show the exquisite moments captured only deep in the wild, they kind of leave off the personality tests that should accompany a rental application.

To appreciate an RV trip, you should be organized, but not a control freak. Find that line, and you're golden.

You should expect the unexpected around every bend in the road. You should have your camera ready, not your temper. You should love peanut butter; you should be able to make a meal from odd things in tins, stale bread, marshmallows and saltines. You should recognize that running out of water and only having wine is a good thing, sometimes.

You should deeply love the people you have along for the ride. It's not a "let's get to know each other" kind of trip. You have to be able to lovingly explain to someone that they can't poop because you just cleared the tanks.

Because we were far, far in the north, road conditions changed like quicksilver. We did a four-hour stretch of a washboard dirt road. With nowhere to pull over on the narrow path that fell away thousands of metres, I fought to keep our rig on the "road" as Melissa played whack-a-mole in the back: cupboards popped open under the insane conditions, the microwave Frisbeed its glass platter to the floor, and she had to use our bath towels to mop up the milk that flew out of the fridge. And what was she was doing as she cleaned up? Singing. This is the type of person you want to RV with.

By Day 2, you find a rhythm; you remember to make sure the toaster isn't against the pots, take the kettle off the stovetop, and put the stovetop in the bathroom. You plunk four water bottles in the front holders, charge devices overnight, and open the fridge slowly.

On Day 3 you learn that nothing should be stored on the front bunk, because even a towel falling on the driver makes them scream. On Day 4 you discover that stuff you wore on Day 1 is still clean enough to wear. By Day 5, you can finally gauge how to pull up to a gas pump without taking it out, and by Day 6 you are bellowing out the door to your fellow RVers asking if anyone has any coffee left.

Day 7? You finally find that missing egg. Under the chair.

Lorraine Sommerfeld's column appears Saturday in Wheels and Mondays in Living. www.lorraineonline.ca

The Yukon:  Cold lakes, hot sun and towering mountains