Home, In Different Forms

This trip was different.

It was the longest one so far, ten days, and honestly, the most comfortable I’ve felt running the van in all its glory. I’m a real professional now. The systems make sense. I don’t panic when something beeps. There’s a confidence there that I didn’t have before, and that alone felt like a win.

The plan for this trip was to get some quiet time.
That part didn’t exactly happen.

The first stop was Avila Beach, and it was incredible.

Flying Flags RV Resort is easily a ten out of ten. The place is clean, well-kept, and thoughtfully laid out. The sites are level and mostly crushed gravel or paved, which I now realize matters more than I ever thought it would. Every site has a gas fire pit, the views are amazing, and honestly, there isn’t a bad site in the whole place. They also have cabins, glamping tents, and traditional tent camping, so it feels welcoming no matter how you travel.

The day we arrived, they were hosting a pup parade with the Grinch and handing out pup cups. It was ridiculous and perfect.

It was there that I realized two days is not enough time in places I actually enjoy.

Up until now, I had only stayed two nights anywhere. That was my comfort zone. But Avila made it clear that rushing through places I love defeats the whole reason I’m doing this. I could have stayed there for a month and been perfectly happy. The town of Avila Beach itself is small, charming, and close enough to explore without feeling overwhelmed.

Vicky and Lyric stopped by on their way home from Camarillo. We went to dinner, then had lunch the next day. I worked with an incredible view, took advantage of a late checkout, and eventually got back on the road toward the next stop. Good old 831.

Thousand Trails Marina Dunes RV Resort is another favorite. This was my second time there, and it didn’t disappoint. It’s clean, well-maintained, and the sites are level gravel. Again, no bad sites. The only downside is the highway. If you’re on that side, you hear traffic. But you’re also directly across the street from the beach, and that more than makes up for it.

This isn’t a crowded beach. It’s quiet. Open. The kind of place where you can just sit and think. Or not think at all.

After getting settled, I changed my plans. I was originally going to stay two days, then head to Half Moon Bay. But that wasn’t the point of this trip. The point was to slow down. So I extended my stay and canceled Half Moon Bay.

After all, this is the place I call home.

Being back in the Monterey area is always bittersweet for me. When I tell people I’m from there, they always talk about how beautiful it is, how lucky I must have been to grow up there. I usually nod and say something safe, like, "They have the best clam chowder," which is true but not really what I want to say.

The Monterey area people know is not the Monterey area I lived.

I lived there briefly in eighth grade and then all through high school. I lived in more houses than I can count, and sometimes no house at all. If it weren’t for friends or people my mom or brother knew, there were times I wouldn’t have had anywhere to go.

When I look back on those years, I’m honestly amazed. Not just that I made it out, but at what I’ve built since. And maybe even more than that, at how much I’ve learned to forgive. I’ve spent most of my life in survival mode because of those years. In a lot of ways, I still am. But it taught me exactly what I’m made of.

Good or bad, I know my limits. I know my capabilities. And I don’t take well to anyone telling me what I can’t do.

While I was there, someone said something that stuck with me. He asked, “Are you home? What home?” He knew my background. He knew what my life looked like when I lived there. It caught me off guard and hit harder than I expected. Not because it was cruel, but because it reminded me how complicated the idea of home has always been for me. That place holds memories I don’t romanticize, but it also holds pieces of who I am. Going back now feels different, especially knowing where I’m at in life.

Maybe that’s the point. Home doesn’t have to be where you came from. It can be where you find peace, on your own terms. Sometimes, that’s a van.

That whole story goes deep, and it deserves its own space. Maybe that gets finished on another stay at Marina Dunes. For now, the trip wasn’t over yet.

From there, I headed to Sugar Barge RV Resort and Marina in Bethel Island. Not because it was a destination I’d been dreaming about, but because it was close to my cousin’s house and it was time for the Osgood family Christmas party.

Once a year, we all get together. This tradition started with my grandma and used to be on Christmas Eve. Over the years, we moved it around to make room for families, schedules, and life. But a lot of it stays the same. We still make many of the dishes she made. My uncle still plays Santa. He’s been doing it for as long as I can remember, taking over after my grandpa. We play a white elephant game and just enjoy being together.

It’s never long enough. Every year we talk about doing something different the next year, and every year we don’t. Life gets in the way. Still, this is our party. And those of us who love it really look forward to it.

This year was no different, except that it turned out to be the longest one we’ve had in a while, which probably says everything. Despite the rain, it was perfect.

Halo stayed in the van out front, and every so often, I’d go check on her. She did really well, especially since she’s not used to being away from me for long periods of time. She also did great on the ride home and didn’t even need any trazodone.

After the party, I made my way to Paso Robles and stayed at Sun Outdoors Central Coast Wine Country RV Resort, yet another amazing place.

This resort was paved, clean, and very well kept. They also had cabins, a wine garden, a wine bar, and a separate adults-only hot tub. Totally my thing.

At one point, I thought a fuse had blown because the van's batteries weren’t charging even though I was plugged into shore power. I checked everything inside to make sure I wasn’t losing my mind and was convinced it had to be the fuse. The problem was that the fuse was under one of the back seats, which is now my bed. There was no chance I was tearing that apart, so I decided I would just ride it out.

Something told me to go look outside.

Turns out the 30-amp plug had somehow come loose. Plugged it back in, and everything was back to normal.

I stayed there for two more nights and then headed home early to avoid a rainstorm and wind. The last thing I wanted was to get caught in that on the drive back.

Overall, it was a really good trip. Everything worked the way it was supposed to. Halo did great. I got to spend time with friends and family. And I avoided any truly crazy weather, for the most part.

What this trip really reminded me of is how much freedom I have right now. I’m doing this on my own, figuring it out as I go, and trusting myself to handle whatever comes up. I don’t regret getting the van for a second. Every trip teaches me something new, not just about how it works, but about myself and what I actually want from this life. The more time I spend out there, the more certain I feel that this was the right decision.

It also makes me feel close to the people I’ve lost. When I’m in the van, there’s this constant thought about how much they would love it, how excited they would be. I can hear my mom’s voice saying, “Where to now, Jenny?” If I’m really honest, that might be the best part of all of this. He would geek out over how everything worked, and she would just enjoy the ride and already be thinking about the next adventure.

I guess that’s where I get it from. The courage to go, the curiosity to explore, and the stubbornness to keep moving. After all, this is Loose Gravel.