Day 25: From Car Camping Nerves to Cheese Curds and Coastal Roads
It was just past midnight and I was three hours into trying to sleep in the back of my Honda Passport. My first attempt at “car camping” wasn’t going smoothly. The night was hot, the little fan I brought pointed at Max, and I lay restless, thoughts swirling: What if Max barks? What if I get caught? What would I do if someone notices?
Around 1 a.m., a white SUV pulled up beside me. Two men got out, slamming their doors, talking loudly. My heart raced. I had window covers on the front and shades pulled down in the back, but I still wondered if they could see me. Thankfully, they moved on without noticing. I exhaled, counting the hours until I might cave and check into a hotel.
At some point exhaustion won. By 4 a.m., I was awake again, Googling coffee shop opening times and wondering where early risers go at dawn. I waited until 5:30 before moving, finally pulling into the lot of a natural foods market. By 6 a.m., I was reorganizing my chaotic trunk space when suddenly—bees. At least three of them buzzing furiously around me, chasing me in circles. I’ve never been stung, and with a cousin who once needed an injection after a sting, I panicked at the thought. Luckily, I escaped untouched.
By 7 a.m., I was inside the market, grateful for two croissants and a breakfast burrito. Max, ever the little champ, took the rough night in stride as we walked around outside. The forecast promised nearly 100 degrees again, so I knew I had to head somewhere cooler.
The Detour to Tillamook
Originally, I hadn’t planned to stop at the Tillamook Creamery—dogs aren’t allowed inside, and it was a detour. But the pull of cheese (and air-conditioning) was too strong. The drive was winding, slow, and dramatic, hugging cliffs and curves that kept me hyper-aware of my speed. At one point, I realized I was leading a trail of 20 cars, “grandma driving” as I took in the scenery.
By the time we arrived, just 15 minutes after opening, the parking lot was already packed. I dashed inside, leaving Max in the car with his fan. I sampled a few cheeses, skipped the long ice cream line, grabbed a cheeseburger and fries, and hurried back. Eating on the road isn’t my habit, but hunger won—I broke my “no eating in the car” rule that day.
The Price of Comfort in Newport
On the way south, I searched for a place to stay along the Oregon Coast. The only option I found was a poorly rated hotel in Newport, nearly $450 after taxes. I texted my sister, who is always my sounding board when decisions feel heavy. Her advice was simple: book it, so you don’t have to worry about not having a place tonight.
Not long after, she sent me a link to another hotel nearby—a beautiful property, about $100 cheaper. I called immediately, hope in my voice, only to hear the words: no vacancy tonight, but we have openings tomorrow. Painful, but after the stress of car camping, I couldn’t face another night in the SUV.
Exhausted from the night before, I decided to swallow the cost and check into the Newport hotel. The first room they gave me had ripped carpet, stained floors, and water damage around the doorframe. For that price, I couldn’t bring myself to settle. I went back to the desk and asked if they had another option. Thankfully, the clerk understood and moved me to a better room.
That night, I walked the small Newport embarcadero, ordered dinner to go, and finally—finally—took the hottest, most satisfying shower. Sliding into a real bed, clean and cool, felt like the greatest luxury. It wasn’t the dream coastal stay my sister had found, but after car camping stress and a 100-degree day, even an imperfect room with a hot shower felt like rescue.
Some days on the road test your patience, your wallet, and your resilience. But even in the frustration—bees, bad rooms, restless nights—you find relief in simple comforts: a meal, a shower, and the chance to try again tomorrow.
