I decided that I wanted to travel with Colby in the simplest manner possible, and not in some sort of monster truck. I did my homework. Steinbeck traveled with Charley in an early version of the RV–a camper affixed to a truck body. He named it Rossinante.

Fifty-three years later, it is mind boggling how much more there is to choose from: Fiberglass campers, aluminum campers, travel trailers, mobile homes, fifth-wheels, truck-bed set-ins, pop ups. I knew I wanted to be surrounded by something solid, for safety. And I knew I wanted to be able to untether my car, so that when I parked somewhere I could leave the trailer and go explore.

I searched online for deals. There are some fantastic little trailers out there. You can check out fiberglass trailers on the Web and read about some of the ones for sale. I really dug this one little Boler camper that I saw in New Jersey–I took my mom and dad with me to look, because I am mildly paranoid about going alone to visit people I meet on the internet. (Though how my parents, in their 80s, were going to help me if I landed in a nest of marauding cannibals is another matter.) This little Boler was awesome; it had been redone with a checkerboard floor and painted white and aqua, very retro looking.

But the truth is, I needed more than cute. I needed functional. I needed an actual bathroom, not a port-o-pot, and I needed everything in it to work. Another couple was there to see the Boler at the same time as me; they were about 15 years younger, they were more the type for buying something that would not quite work so that, when they get to be my age, they can appreciate the need to do the sensible thing. In any case, my search landed me in Thetford, Vt., where I purchased a 13-foot Scamp trailer that was just a year old from a guy named Warren.

Now, what was especially awesome about this purchase was that Warren came down on his price because he liked my project and was willing to barter. He is working on a website for people who give up drinking. He knocked off a thousand dollars so long as I agreed to provide four short profiles for his page. As of today, I have found two people I know who have given up booze and neither have consented to an interview–so if you are a sober person, preferably one who is famous, please contact me.

I knew I’d buy that Scamp even before I saw it. The day Suzanne and I went to look, during the tour a horrible sulfur smell escaped from somewhere deep inside the thing, but, it might have been Warren, I thought, who was a very nice, energetic, well-groomed guy but, hey, maybe he stank? Or it may have been coming from the Scamp fridge…because we found two Power bars in there growing mold… but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. It was my trailer.

I returned to pull it home, and spent a few hours dashing around to Walmart and U-haul and AutoZone, looking for an adapter for the trailer hitch, but, that just cemented my strange bond to Warren, who I like very much and feel connected to; he got this Scamp just a year ago as if he had been saving it for me. It is not easy to find a used Scamp, especially a newer one with a bathroom in it (instead of extra beds). Warren had used it, but, he and his wife had a baby and that meant they weren’t likely to use it again. And so in late August, adapter in place, money exchanged, promise to write about sober people made, I took my trailer home.

I am not as bookish as Steinbeck, I suppose, or maybe it’s just that our culture has changed so much, exchanged its high brows for lower ones. In any case, I christened the machine The Dog House.  I was ready to put me and my dog in it and hit the road.