Next Scheduled Stop… A Cracker Barrel?
Yes. Really. But let me give you some context.
For those of you picturing Gary and me living it up in nightly RV luxury within our cozy 25-foot space—ha! Let me introduce you to the real world of RV living and something called dry camping, also known as boondocking. This is camping in places with no electricity, water, or sewer hookups. Sounds rough? It can be. But with our generator, a fresh water tank, and the infamous “black tank” (if you know, you know), boondocking can be a peaceful, even romantic experience. Imagine a secluded meadow, the whisper of a stream, or a forest clearing with only deer and birds for company. Blissful, right?
Of course, reality eventually calls. There are limits to how long we can go off-grid—determined by fresh water capacity, propane levels, and, uh, black tank space. Also, our refrigerator has made it very clear it prefers a full hookup to running on 12V battery. So, every few days, we need to plug in and reset the system.
And that, friends, is how we found ourselves spending the night at… Cracker Barrel.
Yes, on purpose! No, we’re not on the run or evading the law. While Walmart has begun discouraging overnight RV stays, Cracker Barrel has stepped in to offer sanctuary to road-weary travelers like us. And let’s be honest: fried chicken, grits, and chicken-fried steak do have a certain comforting appeal after a long day on the road. Plus, those oversized rocking chairs out front practically scream, “Take a load off.”
We’ve parked overnight at fancier places, and certainly more scenic ones, but Cracker Barrel was calling—and we answered. The bonus? A nearby Outback Steakhouse with a bar and free Wi-Fi. The downside? Well…
Bright lampposts shining directly into the rig, nonstop traffic noise, and a humid, sticky night made this one of our less restful stops. I tossed and turned for hours, starting around 2 a.m. Meanwhile, Gary slept like a rock. I did consider waking him—repeatedly—but I didn’t. He does all the driving, after all, and I’m a good wife. So instead, I muttered curses at him (lovingly) and this entire parking lot under my hot, stale breath while fanning myself with a leftover napkin.
Was it restful? No.
Was it memorable? Absolutely.
Would I do it again? With enough fried chicken? Maybe.