📘 This post is part of The RV Diaries – a multi-part recap of our chaotic, cat-filled 10-day camping trip to Patoka Lake. Buckle up for bad directions, questionable decisions, and one very brave feline.

A not-so-peaceful escape that still found its magic.

When we packed up to head for Patoka Lake, I imagined something calm. Nature. A little stillness. Maybe some s’mores. Instead, I got a vibrating 30-foot camper, a road trip full of chaos, and a cat who lost all faith in humanity about two hours in.

We left Portland, Texas around 7:45 AM on June 14, headed for Austin to pick up the RV we’d rented from Cruise America. My cat Jake—who hates his crate with a passion—was riding drugged with a vet-prescribed Gabapentin. He meowed a bit at first, but eventually settled down. For a moment, it almost felt like things were under control.

We arrived at the rental lot around 11:00 (not earlier, because apparently they don’t prep RVs the day before—because why would they?). The lot itself was a tight squeeze, chaotic, and gave off that “you’re about to regret this” vibe. We spotted another camper in the lot and prayed it wasn’t ours. It wasn’t. Small win. But the people returning it? Decided to unpack everything right then and there. The whole process dragged on, and by the time we finally got our RV and loaded everything in, it was noon. Already behind, already sweating.

The Water Bottle Incident

We pulled out of the lot and merged onto the frontage road—which, for some reason, had the speed limit of a highway despite requiring a full sprint from a dead stop. My dad floored it to merge and boom—my water tumbler flew off the RV table, hit the floor, burst open, and absolutely drenched the interior.

Cue my mom frantically yelling, “WHERE ARE THE TOWELS?!” like we were on The Titanic and water was rushing in. We hadn’t unpacked a single thing yet, so towels were a mythical concept at this point.

We pulled into Whataburger five minutes later so she could clean up while Dad and I got food. It was both chaotic and extremely Texan.

Jake Roams Free

After that, we made the brave (or foolish) decision to let Jake roam free in the camper. He started off okay—curled up on my lap in the front seat, swaddled in a blanket, dozing while I also tried to sneak a nap. For a brief stretch of road, it was almost… peaceful.

But then the RV started moving again. Jake stood up, tail twitching, and began pacing from front to back like a tiny, anxious lion in a very dumb, very loud zoo exhibit. Every bump and turn sent him swaying. The entire RV felt like it was held together with duct tape and regret. Jake couldn’t get comfortable—and neither could we.

Eventually, he found a hiding spot under the passenger seat. That became his go-to. From that point forward, every stop meant a new internal panic: Is the cat going to bolt the second someone opens the door? He never did, but the fear was real.

No A/C in June (Because… Sure)

As if things weren’t already “rustic,” the guy at the rental office told us we couldn’t run the generator while driving, which meant no air conditioning while the RV was in motion.

Yes, in June.

Yes, in Texas.

Yes, in a 30-foot heat trap full of vinyl and cat hair.

We melted for a few hours, powered by Whataburger fries and sheer will. Eventually, I checked Cruise America’s actual website—and lo and behold, it said you can run the generator while driving. So we flipped it on. It worked just fine.

So yes. We cooked ourselves alive for absolutely no reason. I have never sweat and resented a man so simultaneously in my life.

The KOA That Never Was

The plan was to stop near Memphis that night—some KOA my mom had picked out in advance. Around 6 PM, I took over driving. At some point, I asked my dad, “Do I need to put in a new stop, or just keep following the GPS to Patoka?” He replied, “Just follow it—it’s on the way.”

Spoiler: it was not.

Unbeknownst to us, he was using Google Maps, I was using Apple Maps, and our routes had quietly diverged. Later that night, my GPS took us on a winding backroad “highway” that twisted through some tiny town, all while the sun set and everyone started getting quiet and grumpy.

At around 10 PM, my mom finally looked up and asked, “Where are we?”

Me: “I have no idea. I’m just following the GPS.”

Her silence could’ve boiled pasta.

She checked her phone. The KOA? Nowhere near us. We had completely missed it. Already past it. And no one had thought to tell me when or where to turn off. My mom was beyond exhausted and reminded us all (firmly) that she can’t sleep while the RV is moving. Meanwhile, my dad was in the back, snoring away like he hadn’t missed a full-blown emotional crisis.

Eventually, I asked, “Do you want me to just stop wherever I can?”

Mom: “Yes. A truck stop. A Love’s. A rest area. Something.”

It still took another 45 minutes to find a rest area—a pull-off with a few picnic tables and some questionably clean bathrooms. We parked. We collapsed. It was somewhere between 11:30 PM and 1:30 AM. At that point, time had lost all meaning.

Rest Stop Reset

We all got maybe 5–6 hours of okay-ish sleep. The kind where you wake up not totally sure where you are. We stumbled into the bathroom the next morning to brush our teeth. Me and my mom just looked at each other like, “Did that really happen?” Neither of us had the energy to say it out loud.

The new mission: Just make it to Patoka.

Dad, fully recharged (somehow), jumped behind the wheel like he didn’t just sleep through The Great Meltdown. I found a spot on the RV couch and passed back out, no clue where Jake was anymore. Somewhere in the vehicle, probably plotting our doom.

Driving Lessons from Hell

And then my dad—why—decided to let my brother drive.

Now, my brother is almost 20. He has a learner’s permit. He doesn’t drive much. And yet… he was now behind the wheel of a 30-foot RV.

He pulled out of a gas station like he was drag racing. Gunned it. Took a turn so hard the whole RV leaned. Jake was now more scared than he had been the entire trip—and that is saying something.

We started hitting rumble strips. Over and over. I’m not sure my brother knew where the lane was. The side mirrors shook. The coffee trembled. Jake, in full terror mode, discovered he could now crawl under the driver’s seat. Yes, the one with the pedals.

Cue panic scream. Jake had entered the danger zone.

He didn’t go near the pedals, thank god—but we were still freaking out. And my brother?

He started yelling at us.

“Y’all should’ve had him in the crate! Someone should’ve been watching him!”

Sir. You took a 30-foot RV into a turn like you were in NASCAR and now my cat lives in the underworld. This is on you.

The Final Turn

Right before Dad finally took back over, my brother took one last turn—into a gas station—going what felt like 70 mph. Slammed on the brakes. We all lurched forward like rag dolls in a dryer.

Then he still took the turn at 40, like the gas station was the final boss in a racing game.

My soul briefly left my body.

Arrival at Last

Thankfully, that was the end of it. I napped. We stopped once more for lunch. And fifteen minutes later, we pulled into Patoka Lake.

Jake was still under the seat. Dad said, “He’s fine.”

And somehow… he kind of was.

We all were.

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Would I do it again? No, but I probably will anyway…

Am I glad I survived it? Absolutely.

Sometimes the most chaotic journeys still end in magic.