Alabama in a Class C, with a Cat
State four. Alabama.
The checklist has grown again. It was five items when I left Horseshoe Beach. It’s now seven. Awning, electrical, water, sewer, tire chocks, levelers, cat. I need to write all of these down rather than trusting myself to remember them under the pressure of departure, which is when I’m most likely to forget the one that matters.
The drive along the Florida Panhandle was everything I’d been looking forward to since the last time I passed through the area with my daughter on the way to Tallahassee and didn’t have time to do it properly. Pastel houses up on stilts, turquoise trim, construction everywhere — some of it hurricane recovery, some of it just the relentless development pressure that follows anyone moving toward the coast in Florida. Destin area around the bridge had so many brand-new buildings it looked like they’d been installed overnight. All of it perfectly painted. The Gulf on one side, the Intracoastal on the other.
Penny watched out the passenger window and offered no opinions, which I’ve come to accept as her standard editorial stance.
The Electrical Situation
I pulled into the campground outside Gulf Shores, got set up, plugged in, and the surge protector immediately announced: polarity reversed. This is not an ideal first impression from a campground pedestal. I ran off the onboard generator for a while, then a maintenance guy on a golf cart showed up, then a buddy of his showed up, then they needed a different tool, then they scratched their heads for a while, and eventually it was fixed. Everything’s working now. This is the RV experience as it actually exists, as opposed to how it looks on YouTube.
Being the Single Guy
Most of the RVs at this park are families or couples. Out of the twenty-two I counted on an informal walk — sixteen fifth-wheelers, a few pull-behinds, my Class C as the only one of its kind — the overwhelming majority were traveling with at least one other person. A single middle-aged male by himself is, if not a statistical anomaly, at least an outlier. Nobody’s made me feel unwelcome. It’s just a thing you notice.
There’s something about being the only person in your rig that RVers who travel in pairs take for granted. Every decision is yours. Every meal is yours. There’s nobody to hold a conversation with while you’re setting up unless you count the cat, which I increasingly do.
The RV Reckoning
I’ve been thinking, honestly and at length, about whether a Class C is the right vehicle for the way I travel. The conclusion I keep arriving at is: for landscape photography, not really. To do what I actually want to do — sunrise sessions, trailhead access, scenic roads that don’t accommodate 30 feet of anything — you need a small truck and a fifth wheel behind it, or a larger setup with a tow vehicle, or a Class B van that parks where a car parks. The Class C is comfortable and has the onboard bathroom and the loft and Penny’s sleeping spot under the pillow, and it’s genuinely great for this kind of coastal hop. For small mountain towns and trailheads in Tennessee and North Carolina, it would be the wrong tool.
I’m not changing my life right this second. I’m just thinking out loud about the next version of it.
Penny Watches the Sunset
Penny continues to be an incredible co-pilot.
She’s gone from hiding under pillows to full-on sunset watcher. Seriously. I caught her perched on the dash, intently watching the golden light fade over the campground like she was meditating.
She’s adjusted faster this time—wandering the space, checking out the windows, occasionally popping out to see what I’m cooking (or burning). And she’s right there when I wake up, calm and quiet, keeping the rhythm with me.
She was on the dashboard, facing west, perfectly still. There was nothing moving out the window that I could identify. She was either watching the sunset or she has a richer interior life than I give her credit for. Probably both.
I took pictures. They’re genuinely cute. Mississippi next.
I’ll be staying near Ocean Springs, and I hope I can squeeze in a visit to New Hope, Alabama before I cross the line. I don’t know how much more I’ll be able to explore, but I do know this … every state, every stop, every quiet morning with Penny brings something new to appreciate.
And for now, that’s more than enough.
