I'm so sorry I've been gone. I hope everyone has gotten along without me as we embarked on the greatest of all American vacations: the Great American Road Trip. That's right, we packed our little 24' camper and car to the brim with all kinds of "shit that we would need," effectively used about 50% of that "needed shit," and embarked on a nearly 2,000-mile journey across the Northeast United States with our little family and home-on-wheels in tow.
I have... some thoughts.
First off, we had a great time. We really did. But like any environment, when you put people in close quarters, there will be emotions, and let's just say, interesting exchanges. Just think back to college and remember the Stanford Prison Experiment. In this experiment, I'm the prisoner and my kids, are the guards. BUT, we made it through this adventure with our marriage intact and both kids still alive... mostly. Our youngest looked like the Hunchback of Notre Dame coming home. One eye was literally swollen shut from a bug bite, and she meandered about mumbling inaudible phrases that no one but us could decipher. "The bells!"
There are many things to observe while traveling across the United States, and being the observant person that I am, I noticed a few patterns starting to emerge.
Our journey started in Pennsylvania, specifically Presque Isle. It was lovely. We stayed in a private campground that appeared to offer peaceful tranquility on its website. Part of that tranquility was because it was surrounded by a large industrial complex! Awesome. I have to offer a short backstory: we typically stay in state or federal parks, which are usually spectacular. This trip, we were staying solely in private campgrounds due to a lack of public availability. With that being said, I believe this was our first experience staying in a private campground. Regardless of the interesting surroundings, the campground itself was nice and predominantly quiet. Our site was right on a bay that was part of Lake Erie. It had a lovely view.
Nice, right?
I caught this majestic bastard mid-flight. Who knew Lake Erie could look so... nice? Weird.
And it was nice. Despite the insane location, we had a predominantly good experience—regardless of the tornado sirens and an incredibly strong storm that rolled through an hour after we pulled in.
Next, we made our way to Mount Morris, NY, to adventure through Letchworth State Park. This was another mom-and-pop, family-owned campground nestled in the hills of New York, not far from the park and a short drive away from the Finger Lakes region. Our campsite was, again, absolutely charming. It overlooked a valley, and we were surrounded by things for the kids to do.
How pleasant.
Holding true to the current theme, it was pleasant, and this is when I started to see a pattern emerge. Private campgrounds all have their own "vibe," meaning no two are quite alike. In contrast to the previous spot, this one seemed to be more of a party destination. The camp store was festooned with magnets and tchotchkes, blatantly bragging about the copious amounts of alcohol one might drink, or espousing the opinion that booze makes everything better. The wife and I kept musing that this place must be wild on the weekends, because during our stay, it was quiet and somewhat dead. I even recall that their webpage advertised a "campground crawl" weekend. What better way to go camping than to get hammered and meander through a campsite with a bunch of strangers? I can think of a million other things I would rather do.
Regardless, this campground really was great, and the ownership was warm and accommodating. Also, Letchworth State Park was astonishing! Copious waterfalls and vistas were found throughout, and this hidden gem touts itself as "The Grand Canyon of the East." It really was. I would highly recommend taking a day here if you ever find yourself in the area.
Marvelous.
Our next stop brought us to the Green Mountains of Vermont. What can I say about the Green Mountains? They are green, and they are mountains. They are also beautiful! Verdant, rolling peaks with wide-open skies that make the heart sing.
WOW!
This campground was one of a kind. A true family-owned and operated spot. The interesting part was that it wasn't commercialized at all. The owner communicates solely through email, which, at first, I found quite odd. After arriving, I figured out why. He and maybe a few of his immediate family members were the only staff on hand. It makes sense to keep a form of communication that isn't immediate but allows you to be responsive based on precedence. Smart.
The other part of this campground's overall vibe was that rules were few and met only the very basic requirements to keep the place functioning. It was refreshing not to have to worry about all the tiny nuances of typical campground rules. This was the only place where the owner didn't care if I flew a drone. Worth every second, just for that.
I also have to be transparent and say that we drove six hours through high winds and fierce storms to get to this site. When we finally arrived, the poor owner was working hard to clear debris and trees that hadn't survived the weather, but he didn't fail to offer us his very best hospitality. A real personal touch. There was also an abundance of ramshackle buildings, which made the area even more fun to explore, and some of the more colorful permanent campers gave off a mountain-hippy vibe, adding to the overall motif. This was one of our favorite sites; it was entirely unique, offered beautiful mountain views, and was run by friendly, interesting people.
Woo!
We continued to the White Mountains of New Hampshire, our furthest destination. I know why they call it the White Mountains: quartz, snow-capped peaks, whatever. These mountains aren't remotely white this time of year. False advertising!
We stayed at another private campsite, which was probably the busiest of our entire trip. Our time here happened to fall on Father's Day weekend, which explained the volume of people. Yay. I absolutely love being around people. (I don't).
A beautiful overlook.
Regardless of everything else, this was another lovely spot. We were tucked into a thicket of white pines, offering remarkable seclusion and forested beauty. The owners were very nice, even when they double-charged us for firewood. Oops! We also arrived during one of the rainiest parts of the year, so everything was soaked. That's OK, we're camping. We stayed at this site the longest—three nights—which I think was just enough time to hit all the highlights of the area. I have a few stories involving this leg of the trip that, in retrospect, would be funny now, but certainly weren't then. I'll save those for another time. I'll just say it involves me backpacking our youngest, 40+ pound child, up "an easy, family-friendly trail." HA!
One of the highlights was riding a 100+ year-old train up to the summit of Mount Washington. A memorable experience for sure. 
The train to the top.
The top. "We ain't found shit."
As you can see, it was a memorable experience for everyone, even though you couldn't see past your nose. My father-in-law was gracious enough to send me a picture of what the summit looks like on a clear day so I could see what we were missing. It looked impressive. This was on Father's Day, and the wife and kids had marked their bodies—specifically their hands—with temporary tattoos of my face. That way, when they inevitably got lost, the authorities would know who to return them to.
Without boring you with even more detail of our activities, we departed for our final destination: the Finger Lakes of New York. My wife and I have been to the Finger Lakes previously without kids. That excursion was much more fun than with kids, but we made the best of it.
This final campground, I will admit, was chosen because of its proximity to the highway. Did this make it a terrible campground? No, it was still quite nice, but not without its quirks. One interesting part was the abundance of seasonal campers. This means someone pays for an entire season of camping, and in return, they get to park their camper there in perpetuity. Not for us, but good on you if that's your thing. Every campground we stayed at had a permanent population, if you will, but not at the scale and volume of this one. The place was completely dead except for a few fellow transient campers and a handful of perma-campers.
So, you're probably thinking... "So what, Beard-Dad? I'm bored and don't care about your stupid vacation." Fair point, but this is where things got ridiculous.
Our first night, there was a gaggle of campers carousing about 200–300 yards away from us. They played loud music into the evening and were of a colorful nature. If you're thinking, "Colorful nature? Does he mean white trash?" you would be correct. OK, we can weather one bad set of neighbors, considering this is typically aberrant behavior among campers. We were relieved that they were packed up and gone by the time we returned to our site the next day from our adventures. Great, peace for us!
Nope.
The next evening, we were treated to a playlist of country-western and smokin' oldies blaring loudly out of a slow-rolling golf cart carrying a few geriatrics and their presumed grandkids. Really? Now, I don't typically judge a book by its cover, but their campsite had no fewer than 5 American flags split between traditional stars and stripes and the tackiest America 250 merch, not to mention the two flags sadly flapping behind a golf cart that would've been proudly owned by any rapper in the game. So that explains it. What's more American than being rude and annoying the shit out of your neighbors? Absolutely nothing. It sums us up perfectly these days.
The most insane part of this divergence was that they were located at a wholly different part of the campsite but made it a point to slow-roll by us and innocently wave at every pass, as if taunting me to say something. I didn't, mostly because my wife is already embarrassed by me enough as it is. But this entire, plodding process went on for literal hours before they probably got tired of their passive, drive-by tauntings and had to get their daily allowance of Ensure just to pass out to the sounds of a CPAP machine.
Despite the tranquil river flowing behind us, this was our least favorite campground. Seneca Lake was still looking good, though!
From there, we made the final six-and-a-half-hour trip home, downloaded all of our gear, and crashed out.
So, after regaling you with the mundane details of every campground, what have we learned?
- Paved roads are a myth in private campgrounds. My back has a problem with this one.
- Private campgrounds are like a box of chocolates: sometimes great, sometimes overpriced, and disappointing.
- Weird people enjoy camping. Yes, we're weird too.
- Most of these places are owned and operated by families that really do want you to have the best experience possible.
- Each campground has a vibe that can't be replicated. They may have similarities but are distinctively unique.
So, that's the long-winded overview of our vacation and the reason for my prolonged absence. I have a few more stories and commentaries to share, but like I said, I was gathering content and don't want to vomit it out all at once. Thanks for reading!
Dad out.