On March 27, Tessa and Philip Miller left their Arizona home with their dog, Sprinkles, in an RV named Elsie for a three-month road trip through the South. They had face masks sewn by their daughter, sanitizing wipes, disposable gloves and a fully stocked freezer. “Only a few states were sheltering in place at that point,” says Tessa. “The government was just beginning to communicate the severity and likely length of the situation.”

“We also knew that self-isolation would be easy in an RV if it came to that,” says Philip. “You don’t have to use anyone’s kitchen or bathroom but your own.”

“We already had plenty of toilet paper onboard,” says Tessa. “RVs use a quick-dissolving paper that you can’t find in regular stores, so we always have that covered before we take off.”

The Millers remained on the road — with significant changes to their itinerary — and stayed with their original return date of June 28. 

They’d planned a year in advance. Then the cancellations started pouring in. 

Tessa and Philip spent a year planning their trip and made reservations at RV parks six months in advance. Soon after they departed, their phones started blowing up with cancellation notices from state and national parks. “Twelve out of our first 16 scheduled stops were cancelled because the parks had closed to the public,” says Tessa. 

They pulled out the laptop and started reworking their route to include privately owned RV parks. “We decided right then to go all private,” says Philip. “Most private places have full-time residents, so they may not be affected by shutdown orders. There was talk about reopening national parks in June, but you can’t plan a trip around what might happen.” 

During their seven years as RV travelers, the Millers have made advance reservations at every park and campground they visit. “Beginning in early April, we saw a big reduction in the number of RVs on the highway,” says Philip. Enough travelers canceled their plans this year that the Millers could find a place to stay by calling a day or two ahead, although the check-in process changed. 

“They usually ask you to call when you’re five minutes away,” says Tessa. “When we arrive, there’s a packet of information sitting outside the office with our lot assignment. Sometimes it’s an actual person standing at a distance who points to where to park. The only ‘hello’ we’ve received was from a parrot perched outside a locked office in Georgia.”  

So much for apps. They plot with a pencil now. 

“Every place has been generous with their cancellation policies,” says Philip. “Normally non-refundable deposits have been returned.”   

Tessa has stopped using her trusted travel-planning apps. “I now use a pencil and a piece of paper,” she says.  

The cancellation of upcoming stops has meant less movement for the Millers. They prefer to change locations at least every four days, but, says Philip, “We spent 10 days in Fredericksburg, Texas, and then 16 days in Columbia, South Carolina — our longest stretch ever.” Should restrictions ease, the Millers will attempt to reconstruct their original travel plan, although they’re not counting on it. 

Their usual haunts are locked, but they can still buy the T-shirt online. 

The Millers had planned to spend their days at national parks, presidential libraries and roadside attractions, like the 38-foot filing cabinet they saw last year in Vermont. “Almost nothing like that has been open on this trip,” says Philip. Now, when they unhitch their Jeep from Elsie, it’s for a photo-taking safari, a windshield tour or scavenger hunt they devise themselves. And if they can visit an attraction, they might buy the T-shirt online afterwards, since the gift shops have been closed.

“For last year’s trip, I didn’t pack a single T-shirt because I knew I would pick one up at every place we visited,” says Philip. “I played it safe this year and brought a supply from home.”

“Restaurant closings haven’t bothered us,” says Tessa. “Unlike our previous RV, Elsie has a residential-size refrigerator and freezer, and we prefer to cook all our meals on her grill anyway.”

“But we do miss the music festivals, farmers markets and quaint shops,” she adds. “The supermarkets and big box stores are generally open. It’s the small local places we love that are usually closed.”

Outdoor activities have occupied so much of their time that they’ve started keeping a chart. In the first 30 days, they hiked 49.79 miles, biked 49.61 miles and kayaked for three hours. Many of those miles were logged in federal forests, which the Millers have found to be open, though not in every instance. “We had just completed a section of a trail in South Carolina when a sheriff came up to us said, ‘It’s a beautiful day, but you can’t be here,’” says Philip. “He told us that particular passage was closed because there were no volunteer workers to clean the bathrooms or patrol the trail.”  

“Of course, we’re also doing a lot of the same things everyone is doing,” says Tessa. “We have satellite TV, [e-readers] full of stuff we’ve been wanting to read, and at least a hundred DVDs donated by friends. And there’s always campfires and stargazing.” 

For the Millers, sheltering-in-RV was still a vacation

They enjoy every minute (really). 

The Millers are sticking to their usual routine of rising early and embarking on the day’s activities by 8:00 a.m. They still try to follow what Philip calls their 330/3:30 rule. “We travel no more than 330 miles a day,” he says. “And I have to be relaxing under the awning by 3:30 p.m. each day.” With fewer places to visit now, Philip admits that relaxation time can come an hour or two early, an adjustment he’s fine with.  

Whether it’s because they love the RV life or have embraced what Tessa calls their “inner flexibility,” the Millers are enjoying this trip as much as any other — including their five-month, 8,479-mile loop around the Northeast in 2019. “Not once have we regretted our decision or wished to be home,” she says.

In late May, the Millers reported that they were in South Carolina, where the state seal features Spes, the Roman goddess of hope, and the Latin motto Dum Spiro Spero — While I Breathe, I Hope. “We’re still breathing freely out here on the open road, while hoping for a return to normalcy,” says Tessa. “We plan to continue doing both.” 

Written by

John Diether

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