You want to see the country. If you go alone, will you be afraid? Lonely? As a sixty-six-year-old woman, traveling America solo in a recreational vehicle, the author repeatedly heard these comments. RVing Solo Across America . . . without a Cat, Dog, Man, or Gun, takes readers along from San Francisco to Savannah, to Halifax, Nova Scotia, to the Badlands of South Dakota with a personal perspective, through problems and pleasures. Follow the route, see the scenery, meet the people, and pick up many practical tips.

From Apache Lake, Arizona: “I watched…the sun set over the mountains and lakes, the changing colors of yellow, gold, and pink, while drinking a glass of wine and listening to a Beethoven Sonata. I kept running outside for another picture, as if taking enough would hold the scene in me forever—the pink and blue water darkening, eventually taking on a silver shimmer before disappearing into the night.”

Words and photos by Lois Requist
Published by Lois Requist and Lulu.com

From Louisiana: “Slippery Louisiana is like a chicken stew on which blobs of dough (earth) are placed near the end of cooking, becoming dumplings that float along the top. It was not unusual to see water and trees in it on both sides of the freeway. The state is lushly green with wildflowers, particularly yellow ones.”

From a friend’s home in Sandestin, Florida: “I was aware of being inside in a certain way that would not have occurred to me before this venture. I didn’t have to figure out where to park my home every night. Using the bathroom was easier. I didn’t have to think about where to shower and when. Moving around was so simple—walking from room to room—things we do automatically all our lives, that require more thought when traveling from place to place. Being on the road represented freedom in some ways, a changing landscape, different cultures and faces, but it also imposed different restrictions.”

From Roscoe, Ohio: “The Monticello III is rather a fancy name for the wooden boat drawn by two horses, just as it was from 1825 to 1913….When we began, the weather was quite nice, with clouds drifting off and on, but of all things, those clouds decided to stop being lazy and get serious. A downpour with lots of thunder began. I didn’t have a coat with me…(Someone) gave me a large black trash bag. I cut a hole for my head and started back to Rhonda. I was the only one on the path and got totally confused as to how to get back. Finally, I waved down a car and asked. I was going the wrong way. I was quite relieved (and wet) with I reached Rhonda.”

From Percé, on the Gaspe Peninsula,Quebec: “Percé is beautiful and you bet, touristy as all get out. I stopped at several RV parks before settling on Camping Du Village, from which I could walk all over town. This allowed me to know Percé, to own it some way….People have fished here for centuries, long before European settlers came. Now, the community survives more on those who come to walk to Percé Rock during low tide and to take a boat to Ile Bonaventure, a wildfowl refuge. Besides the sea, green mountains frame the town….In the middle of downtown, near the fish and fudge shops, on an almost flat surface, local artists were creating something, a kind of mosaic. People sat facing the sea, watching the workers for hours.”

Heading west from South Dakota: “South Dakota felt like the West. Ranches, cattle, wide-open spaces not covered by trees, and mountains, their peaks visible in the distance, sometimes snow-capped. All of this was part of a tug, a warm contentment in me, part a response to geography, but in largerpart, emotional….Beyond the distant mountains and more miles was someone who knew my name.”