The whole thing started when my daughter and I went to see RV: Runaway
Vacation starring Robin Williams. I think the definition was needed
because nobody in the UK knows what RV stands for. Actually, it means
recreational vehicle.
And so it was that we found ourselves under a bright blue winter sky at the
Cruise America HQ in Arizona, awestruck beside The Beast, aka our gargantuan
motorhome. A seven-bedder (30ft long, 8ft wide and 12ft tall), she had an
appetite to suit her bulk (about 10mpg, I am ashamed to admit). Personal
details included a “furnace”, and 30-gallon capacity for sewage (courtesy of
an on-board flush lavatory). Her operational instructions were so complex
that Mr Millard and I had to sit in front of a 40-minute video before we
climbed aboard. We should have sat through it twice.
But we were raring to go; and slowly, very slowly, my spouse steered The Beast
on to the open road. Actually, we went to Wal-Mart. Once we had managed to
park (tip: go for two spaces running end to end, otherwise you haven’t a
prayer), we stocked up on camping-style fodder and some “luxuries”. Cruise
America supplies a basic kitchen kit. There is a kettle, for instance, but
no coffee maker, and so we bought a stainless steel jug and improvised with
a colander. (That’ s what I mean by luxury.) Then we were away, chugging
down the highway while vast chrome trucks brushed past on the fast lane,
honking like fury.
If you are taking a young family, you need, along with nerve, a third adult.
It is crucial to have someone in the back who can operate as a
behaviour-quelling device; certainly it was for the Junior Millards (9, 7, 4
and 2). The RV might be slow, but rocking about at 50mph it’s no time to
suddenly open the back door, or indeed, go to the loo. Everyone has to sit
down, belted in, while the monster is in motion. (If you have a young child
you must supply your own car seat.)
We were fortunate to have our nanny Tina with us, but any willing adult would
do. Tempt them with the idea of great views and camp fires. Play down the
noise issue. Why wasn’t I in the back? Mr Millard needed someone up front
beside him for moral support. Plus, I had to shout “No! We want Route
66!” at key moments.
At 10pm, Mr Millard finally hauled The Beast into our first location, the KOA
(Kampgrounds of America) site at Kingman, Arizona. Everything was shut.
Almost the only light came courtesy of the glorious Milky Way (which our
London-born children had never seen before). But there was a big sign stuck
on the office door. “Millard: site No 68”. And so we tootled up to Site 68,
which was basically a sandy rectangle. And parked. RV touring in America is
very relaxed. It’ s certainly good value. One night in a KOA campground
costs about $30 (£15).
“Where’s the hotel?” my husband joked. At which point I ushered him out into
the darkness with a torch and a pair of Marigolds to hook the Beast up to
the electricity, water and, er, sewage points belonging to Site 68. In the
meantime I decided to make popcorn in the microwave. Four minutes later I
opened the bag to get a stream of boiling oil across my hand. Thank God for
nappy rash cream.
In the morning Mr Millard and I familiarised ourselves with RV Reveille,
namely sewage. There’s nothing quite like pumping out your own sewage of a
morning. I came to think of it as colonic irrigation on a vehicular scale.
Our ten-day tour was classic RV fare; about four hours’ driving a day, taking
in a clutch of monumental sights en route. We first headed for Death Valley,
where we stood on the giant salt lake and then whipped over the
Toblerone-shaped Nevada mountains for a night parked on the Las Vegas Strip.
Then we travelled via the Hoover Dam and Arizona desert to the Grand Canyon.
At which point we discovered that we should have paid a bit more attention
to the introductory video for The Beast.
The Colorado Plateau, which forms the desert plains of Arizona, is high, flat
and empty. We seemed to go for miles, during which time we were the only
vehicle on the road. It was frightfully Little House on the Prairie.
But forget about American desert climes; after the sun had gone down on the
KOA at Seligman, a one-horse town on Route 66, the temperature hit minus 4C
(24F). Our bedding consisted of rather thin sleeping bags. A mysterious fan
under the table blew cold air around at intervals, while trains the length
of an interstate highway shot by outside.
As Laura Ingalls Wilder never mentioned in Little House on the Prairie,
the only answer was body heat. Which was great, until the baby vomited
enthusiastically all over our bed, his cot, and most of the floor, at which
point I found myself full of a strong desire to check into a hotel.
Next morning, I hit the KOA laundry. “Aw, honey,” said Bonnie, the friendly
woman in charge. She poured me a cup of scalding coffee. “Your RV has
on-board heating!” I stopped piling vomit-strewn sheets. So that’s what the
furnace thing was for. “Learning on the journey is what the pioneer spirit
is all about,” I said to my shivering brood as I adjusted the thermostat and
we set off for the Grand Canyon. Yee-hah.
The Grand Canyon. It’s big. We’d done big: Death Valley, Vegas, the Hoover
Dam. But the sheer immensity of the Grand Canyon, 4,600ft deep, up to 16
miles wide and 277 miles long, is in another category.
We had a night in the delicious hot tubs and scented pine trees of KOA
Williams, about 40 miles away, but then went up to the South Rim and stayed
on site, at Trailer Village. We lit a fire and the children ran around it
like Native Americans (even though one was wearing his Chelsea strip). We
cooked some steak. The Chelsea strip played his violin. Well, without a TV,
DVD, or anything else, you have to be resourceful in an RV. It’s fun. As
Williams put it in the movie: “If you want to find out about your family,
put them in an RV.”
The next morning, after Sewage Duties, Mr Millard and I and the older two
children followed the guidance of the Grand Canyon Guide, an
excellent tabloid daily handed out on arrival in the park. We caught the
Hiker’s Express bus to the Kaibab Trail Route, and hiked down to Ooh Aah
Point, which is 600ft down and provides spectacular views, hence the name.
After a few minutes we were alone, surrounded by the mysterious terrain. The
round trip was less than two miles, but it took 90 minutes.
After our hike, the whole family sat on a giant plinth on the Rim for lunch.
We were surrounded by the canyon’s magnificence, munching on egg sandwiches.
Try doing that at home.
On arrival back in wintry Britain, the children charged into the living room
and switched on the television. I groaned. Was this their first reaction
having experienced ten days of the world’s grandest natural sights? “No!”
they chorused. “We want to watch RV again!” I suspect we might
be hooked.
Need to know
Rosie Millard and family travelled with United Airlines (0845 8444777, www.unitedairlines.co.uk)
and Cruise America (0870 5143607, www.cruiseamerica.org.uk).
Getting there: United Airlines flies from Heathrow to Phoenix
for £321.60 return.
Getting around: Cruise America’s C30 vehicle, sleeping seven,
costs from £612 (US$1,183) a week.
Staying: Kampgrounds of America (www.koa.com),
charges about £13 (US$25) for two people per night.
