Back in June, I wrote about my long‑held dream of owning a motorhome and how I finally came to own Miss Molly. I had a professional RV inspection done, purchased seven new tires (including the spare), and had a full engine inspection before I hit the freeway. She was beautiful, and I was so happy to have her. Then came my first trip. Getting prepared became my first challenge. I was in and out, up and down, loading her with necessities—food, clothing, and the little comforts that make travel feel like home.
The morning I set out, the sun was blazing, and the temperature sat in the nineties. I was grateful for the air‑conditioning as we headed south down I‑5 toward Edmonds and the ferry docks. Once aboard, I found myself parked behind an eighteen‑wheeler and several larger RVs. Getting off was bound to be an adventure.
It became one when a poor traveler with two kayaks strapped to his SUV and a pop‑up trailer behind him couldn’t get his engine to start. There was no way around him, so the entire ferry sat for an extra thirty minutes while he was pulled off. Eventually, we rolled out and continued down Highway 3 toward Shelton. Miss Molly drove like a gem, and I let myself hope for a wonderful visit to the Pacific Ocean.
But it wasn’t meant to be. I realized quickly that I wasn’t thirty anymore—and I wasn’t in the best of health. Plenty of women older than me travel without trouble, but they’re clearly healthier. For me, the loading and unloading, hooking up electricity, water, and plumbing, managing propane, and all the other tasks required for comfort took their toll.
With multiple autoimmune conditions, it didn’t take long. Within the first twenty‑four hours, I went into a flare that still lingers today.
After coming home, I had several of my own private pity parties, called my “Sis,” who knows me better than anyone, and made the hard but necessary decision to sell Miss Molly—after owning her for less than two months. From post to sale was four days. It couldn’t have been smoother. She’s now with a local retired couple who will love her and take her places I only hoped to go.
Watching her leave was bittersweet, but I felt a weight lift off my shoulders as she was driven away. I didn’t want her sitting in the driveway all winter long, unused and unloved. Now she’ll see the roads and horizons she was meant for.
This doesn’t mean I’ve given up my wanderlust. No matter how rough I feel, I won’t let illness keep me down as long as I can stand upright. It simply means I’ll travel the way I did before the RV—back to my SUV, back to B&Bs, and an occasional flight when the mood strikes.
Miss Molly was a dream I caught, even if only for a short while. And sometimes catching the dream is enough even though letting it go can hurt.
