If My Dog Was on House Hunters

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August 24, 2017 By Jen Gabbard 4 Comments

Do you have any shows you just love to hate watch? Shows that you love to mock and criticize? For me it’s House Hunters. That show always provides plenty of cringe-worthy moments. (I am certainly not alone; read these fun examples here, here & here)

I was drawn into House Hunters because I love seeing the inside of different homes, but the way the people on that show focus on appearance versus practicality drives me insane. “Ewww, this carpet looks like it’s 10 years old.” Hey, you’re in your mid 20’s and about to buy a $350,000 home – trust me when I say things could be much worse.

If House Hunters has taught me anything it’s that apparently this is the standard wish we should have when looking for a home:

The home needs to be close to the ocean, a house in the city but without all that noise, it must have 6+ bedrooms, a fenced in yard, double sinks in every bathroom, 3 walk in closets with a seating area, all stainless steel appliances, a 5 minute commute to work, 2 offices, an olympic sized swimming pool, 2 kitchen islands, a big yard, a master bathroom with a separate shower & big ass tub, tons of extra space for entertaining, first floor laundry, a wine cellar, 4 working fireplaces, an open floor plan, a special room just for him, a fully furnished basement & wall to wall hardwood floors. And all for a budget of $29,000.

Like I said, the show offers plenty of cringe-worthy moments to those of us who consider ourselves lucky to be homeowners to begin with.

If My Dog Was on House Hunters

I consider myself a practical person, but what about Laika? She can be pretty demanding at times. (You should see what happens when I’m 10 minutes late for our walk…)

Would Laika consider a house with a small yard a deal breaker? Would she want a 3rd bedroom so she could make her own doggy office? I know she certainly wouldn’t mind 10 year old carpet; everyone knows that carpet is way more comfortable to puke on.

This is what would happen if my dog was on House Hunters; this would be her house buying wish list.

Home must have a custom bag-less garbage system. Garbage bags are loud, scary & completely outdated. All garbage must be left in a lid-less container for proper doggie inspection before disposal.

Yard needs to have at least 10 varieties of grass. Everyone knows how hard it is to find the right grass for the occasion.

All indoor bathing facilities must be switched to hoses. Baths are outdated, everyone knows an indoor hose system is the way to go. No baths will be taken unless they’re given with streams of water shot directly into the face.

All flooring must be replaced with plush carpet. Carpet makes it possible to crawl around on the floor when needed, and everyone knows how much fun carpet is to puke on.

Home must have a custom dog bed in each room of the house. You can’t put a price on comfort (and being able to spy on everything that’s going on from a comfy platform).

All counters should be lowered to 12 inches for proper inspection purposes. Dogs shouldn’t have to ‘sit pretty’ or jump to see what’s happening on the counters.

Each room must have no less than 4 wall length windows for maximum visibility. Necessary for monitoring outside threats (squirrels) & sunbathing.

Custom canine controlled television programming. Remotes should have paw print security installed so the humans can’t sit around and watch boring stuff all day long.

Automatic power down mode for 6 hours a day.All computers and devices should cease to work for 6 hours each day to maximize available play time.

Custom food dispensers. The kitchen should have 4 paw activated food dispensers (50% meat, 40% treats, 5% peanut butter, 5% cheese) that need to be refilled every day.

One doggie door in every room. For security purposes. Humans are slow and lazy when it comes to keeping the yard safe and clear of invaders (squirrels).

Dog sitter quarters on premises. Home must come with a full time dog sitter whose only job is to do whatever the dog wants at all times. Must be willing to play, cuddle and walk for at least 8 hours a day.

What Would Your Dog Want in a House?

Be crazy with me for a minute; what do you think your dog would want in a house? A big yard? An endless supply of food? Their very own room for toys?

Recommended Reading

Dream Camper Floor Plan Contest

Read article : Dream Camper Floor Plan Contest

Dream Camper Floor Plan Contest – Part 2 http://www.truckcampermagazine.com/news/dream-camper-floor-plan-contest-part-2/"> Dream Camper Floor Plan Contest – Part 2&BODY=I found this article interesting and thought of sharing it with you. Check it out: http://www.truckcampermagazine.com/news/dream-camper-floor-plan-contest-part-2/"> 12 more reader submitted dream floor plans including raw concepts, wild ideas, and subtle refinements.  And the winner of the first ever dream truck camper floor plan contest is… Just last week we visited a prominent truck camper manufacturer and the subject of our dream camper floor plan contest came up.  We talked with great excitement about the variety of ideas our readers were presenting, and encouraged them to study the plans when they debuted.  No, we didn’t give them a sneak peak.  It’s more fun to tease. None of the submitted designs, including mine, are anywhere near production ready.  That was never the intention or spirit of this contest, nor is it possible without delving into details like plumbing, electrical, and code compliance.

The true potential of this contest is to give truck camper users from around the United States, Canada, and the world the opportunity to directly inspire professional truck camper design teams.  You know, the folks responsible for the truck campers you see debut here on Truck Camper Magazine, at RV shows, and dealer lots?  This was your shot to show them your big idea, and possibly change the course of truck camper design history.

I know, crazy talk.  Then again, crazier things have happened.  I’m going to lobby the industry to take your designs and ideas seriously, as I do with our bi-annual truck camper survey coming up this fall.  Together, we will change the course of campers.

Far be it for us to determine who should win the best dream camper floor plan, except that’s exactly what we had to do.  This is, after all, a contest, and we are the big cheese, cheesette, and cheese-cat for this electron-only magazine.  After considerable review, and a tail gesture we interpreted as positive, we have a winner.

The winner of the first ever dream truck camper floor plan contest is…

Karl Pettitt, Elmhurst, Illinois – Winner

Above: Click to enlarge this floor plan and the others below to see them bigger.

Although I don’t currently own a truck camper, I would like to in the future.  I often think of what an ideal floor plan would be so this was a fun exercise.  I first did the layout in a program that was to scale.  The dimensions should be pretty accurate.

The floor length is 11-feet.  The total length is 19-feet, 9-inches.  The width is 8-feet.  It’s a single-slide, dry bath, flatbed model.

Although there are a few flatbed model campers on the market, I think there is a great deal of room for more.  Specifically, I think there is room for a larger model that takes full advantage of the ability to place the door anywhere.

To this end, I created a floor plan layout that places the door towards the front of the curb side of the camper.  This allows for greater flexibility in the placement of the bathroom, which I put across the entire rear of the camper.

The slide allows space for both a dinette and a small couch that can turn into a bed.  Placement of the kitchen towards the front, along with the heaviest components such as the fresh water tank, battery bank, and propane tanks, will help in keeping the center of gravity as close to the front as possible.

The placement of the entertainment center allows for viewing either on the main floor or the cabover.  There is overhead storage above the kitchen and couch that makes up for the lack of floor cabinets.  There is also ample windows allowing light in from either side of the camper as well as views.  I think this would make an ideal camper for a family with the potential to sleep up to six people without the use of a bunk.

#16 – David Miller, Branson, Missouri – Honorable Mention

My camper is designed with the premise that the most important things about a truck camper use are (1) the nice, soft, queen bed for sleeping, and (2) the nice bathroom for showering; not a wet bath.

The dining aspect needs less emphasis because, typically, the meals are simple and small.  In most cases, weather dependent, we eat outside at the picnic table.  Thus there is no need for a large dining table.

There is also no need to accommodate guests for sleeping.  If the grandkids are camping with us, they will sleep in a tent outside.  The concept of having the table convert to a bed is unnecessary, and a waste of space for us.

The attached drawing is for a non-slide design to fit a full-size short bed pickup.  I figure this camper will hang over the back of a 6’6” truck bed by approximately 27-inches.

Here are the wonderful features of my perfect truck camper:

It has a dry bath and shower.  This is extremely important.

The dining area has been reduced in size to only seat two adults.  The table is curved and the back of the seat cushion is curved to give the feeling and seating of a corner booth in a restaurant.  The only slight difficulty is that the person who sits down first will have to slide in and cannot get back out until the other person stands up, but, that is just like a corner booth in a restaurant and won’t be too much of a hassle.

There is a closet on both sides of the bed in addition to the foot lockers.  The television is mounted above the table, on the wall of the dry shower.

As you can see, the bed and the dry shower get the most emphasis, and the dining facilities are minimized.  It’s the perfect camper for two adults who want to shower every day after a good nights sleep.

#17 – Jake Schultz, Washington – Honorable Mention

A Folding Camper for the Ford Ranger

This camper is designed to be less than 780 pounds to work within the payload limit of a Ford Ranger.  It’s also designed to be 64-inches wide, with a maximum travel height of 82-inches.  These dimensions allow the camper to fit into a standard 84-inch garage in the folded configuration.

The camper features a full stand-up heigh interior of 76-inches, as shown.  A sun-dome could be added for an additional three-inches of interior height.

The camper has a double-pivot folding hard wall roof and sides with an open and panoramic cabin.

The camper can be used in one of four configurations:

1. Wide open with magnificent panoramic views to the aft sides and back.

2. Open to the aft sides and back, with screen netting in place.

3. Polycarbonate window panels in place (inboard of netting) for inclement weather.

4. Window panels in place and privacy curtains on the interior.

There would be comfortable seating for two at the dinette with the cushions angled slightly inward to account for the wheel well.

The camper would feature a modified full-size bed available at all times.  There would be a 24-inch cabinet for hanging clothes under the foot of the bed.

To save weight, the roof would be built for structure and snow loads only, not to stand on. The floor would be to stand on only if the camper is on the ground or in the bed of the truck, again to save weight.

There would be no jack stands.  The camper is suspended from the owner’s home garage root trusses to remove and store.

There would be an ice chest under one seat and Porta-Potti under the other.  There would be no refrigeration systems or black water tank.

All systems are in one four-foot module along the right side for minimum weight and system run lengths.  The module contains the propane tank, propane heater, two-burner stove, sink, fresh water tank, grey water tank, battery, converter, inverter, and small item storage.

#18 – Mark Larson, Phoenix, Arizona – Honorable Mention

This is my drawing for one of my dream campers.  Please excuse the poor scale on the toilet, lavatory, and kitchen sink.

I know this would be better as a flatbed model because of the side aisle going to the cabover and the location of the shower.  It could also be an above the bed rail model.  I’m with you wanting a camper with no slide outs.  You had a great design of your own.

#19 – Kari Miller, Branson, Missouri – Honorable Mention

My truck camper is the best design ever.  Here are the great features:

1. There is actually a solid wall between the over cab bedroom and the rest of the camper.  This creates total privacy, similar to a fifth wheel with an isolated separate bedroom.

2. The step to the bedroom is offset so there is not direct line of sight into the private bedroom.

3. There is room at the foot of the queen-size bed to access the closet and a real two-drawer dresser, which is what is needed for storing clothes in a camper.

4. A narrow, but deep and tall closet is behind the refrigerator is accessed from the step.

5. Instead of wasting room on a full table top and a table that converts to an unnecessary bed, this camper has a bar top for dining.  The seating consists of two bar stools which can be clamped down for traveling.  People spend many hours sitting on a bar stool so, obviously, these would be comfortable.  Plus, for most eating situations, people will either sit outside at the picnic table, or go out to eat at a restaurant.  There is a big window over the bar top so it would be pleasant sitting.

6. There is a slide-out pantry between the bar top and the range

7. The bathroom has a dry shower, which is important.

8. This camper should fit in a full-size short-bed pickup.  There are no slides, and it is
hard-sided.

#20 – Mike Cianci, Loveland, Colorado

Here’s my plan.  It’s fairly basic.  I chose a wet bath because it’s easier to clean.  Put it in the forward section near the wardrobe with a privacy curtain so nobody has to see your business.  And it’s easier to keep the bed/bath/dressing area cleaner.

I chose wardrobes with shelves or drawers which is more practical than hanging closets.  Who is bringing their tux and ball gown while truck camping?  There are overhead bins throughout where practical.

There would be LED lights, two batteries on a movable tray, and a small solar setup.  Only simple shades are necessary; no cornice, or valance boxes around the windows.

There would be 12-volt and 110 AC throughout, two Fantastic fans – one in the bedroom and kitchen – and an air conditioner   There would be a full-size skylight/dome in the bath with a side wall exhaust vent.

The sofa could be a jack knife-style, or have storage underneath.  And it would have two pull-out tray tables mounted in or adjacent to the armrest.  Plus it would pivot for easy egress from the sofa while eating or using computer, similar to tray tables on airliners in first class.

The television would be on standard pivot for bedroom and living room viewing, and would recess in a cabinet above the slide out pantry.  The rear exit door would have a platform deck for easy entry/egress.

#21 – Kevin Pinassi, New York, New York

#22 – John Wells, Hollidaysburg, Pennsylvania

My design is a modification of the Chalet Ascent S100F, a limited production model (six total!) that Chalet discontinued to pursue production of their more profitable double and triple-slide models.  We love ours because it is completely usable with the slide in or out.

It has huge floorspace when the slide is out for entertaining friends and for ladies to dress in Civil War hoops (don’t ask).  The front bath allows a full height pleated curtain immediately behind the dinette to be drawn across to create a dressing room with access to bath, bed, and wardrobe.

There are no appliances in the slide, minimizing slide-out weight, and wear and tear on electrical and gas connections while maximizing efficiency of the refrigerator.  While we love our camper, please allow me to debut … drum roll… The Wellspring S110F.

My modifications to Chalet’s original design are as follows:

There would be 10-inches of increased length in the main cabin.  On the slide-out side, this extra wall space at the junction of the overcab and cabin strengthens the exterior at the crucial front corner tie-down.  We have already noticed flexing at this point and have taken steps to greatly reinforce this important structural location.  On the kitchen side, this extra 10-inches allows an increase in much-needed counter space, as well as under and over cabinetry.

I would also add about four to five inches to the side-to-side width of the wet bath.  The wardrobe doors and bathroom door would still function even with the slide in.

Additionally, I’d add half-penguin cabinets to the night stands at either side of the bed in the nose of the overcab.  These units would be open-shelved on the sides, half-depth and about 3/4 height, with a small rail or lip on the shelves and top edge to keep books, phones, clock, etc from falling out during travel.

I’d also add a three drawer cabinet with open top shelf and top rail at the foot of the bed on the bathroom side.  I’ve avoided the side hampers as I feel they add significantly to the difficulty of changing the bedclothes, though they could be added quite easily as an option.

#23 – Bob Dold, Monson, Massachusetts

Attached is my submission for the dream floor plan contest.  It is based off an EarthRoamer layout modified with a fore/aft dinette and an undercover slide-out compressor refrigerator chest.  I chose the slide-out compressor fridge since they are more efficient than a three-way refrigerator, and it allows for additional counter space.

One of my favorite features of the EarthRoamer plan is how the closet and bathroom doors can be opened and secured to provide a changing area outside the wet bath with access to the closet.  The wet bath has a wooded floor grate to provide a cleaner surface for the bath when the shower isn’t being used.

Access to the toilet cassette is through the rear storage door which drops down and can be used as a counter when cooking outside.  Another door above the horizontal door to the left of the spare tire can be used to store chairs and other lighter items out of the weather.

I prefer the side entry design as it allows the entire back wall to be used for storage and it allows access to the camper from the curbside when parked without having to remove bikes/trailers from the back of the camper.

The pantry to the left of the closet would be a bank of drawers with a window air conditioner unit above to provide for cool air without the expense and height of a roof mounted unit.  The dinette would be a little under three feet wide and can convert to a single bed if needed.

Large awning windows on either side provide lots of light and views with storage cabinets above them (not shown).  The overcab queen bed runs north/south to allow for getting out of bed without having to climb over your significant other, and has windows on both sides along with a skylight/Fantastic fan for good ventilation while sleeping.

Another feature I don’t see included on many campers any more is a pass through.  I would like the ability to stealth camp and having the pass through allows one to enter and exit the camper without having to go outside.

#24 – Floyd Schotel, Williams Lake, British Columbia

I’ve been dreaming up my ideal truck camper for a little while now, so you’re design contest is a great opportunity to share my napkin sketches!

For fuel efficiency, handling, and stealthiness, my ideal truck camper would be a low profile pop-up design to fit a 6.5-foot bed, full-size pickup.

The camper body extends past the bumper, dropping down for a low step-in side door.  Inside steps lead to the floor height.  This way the back of the camper is open to mount bikes, fuel, spares etc.  Also, the side door is a natural access to the curb or side picnic area.

Most of the windows are in the soft sides of the pop-up.  That way the camper will be more secure when in the locked down position.  In fact, the camper may look more like a service truck than a camper when in travel mode.

I’d keep the camper as small and tight to the truck as possible.  To keep things simple, I can do without a toilet/black tank, but a collapsable shower would be nice.

This camper is designed for boondocking and overland excursions as well as urban stealth camping.  I love the idea of taking my bed and a hot shower with me in a compact camper for a road trip.  No need to stress about finding a hotel, and a meal can be fixed anywhere, pronto!

#25 – Glenn Yauney, Milwaukie, Oregon

Here is an idea of a dream truck camper floor plan.   We started with the floor plan of a 1140 Arctic Fox.   We added a rear slide-out and side entry.

We would prefer a camper with both a rear and a side slide-out.  When towing a trailer, a rear door entry is awkward, thus we prefer a side entry into the camper rather than a rear entry design.   We added a large closet in the rear slide-out opposite the entry door for boots, outdoor clothes, etc.

Storage space is also at a premium, so I propose one that has both ample wardrobe closets and storage space equipped with larger drawers.  You can’t have too much storage space.

Exterior storage isn’t shown, but basement and exterior storage are also a must.

#26 – TJ and Kelly Kretschmar, Kansas City, Kansas

I am a mechanical engineer and have the ability to convert .pdf’s to CAD.  The Unimog part of the drawing can be found in the technical manual from Mercedes Benz website.  I printed the drawing to .pdf, then converted it to CAD.  I then printed the drawing for the Pangea concept and converted the drawing to CAD.

The reason I choose to draw this concept in CAD was to see if it was physically possible to put a garage bay in an expedition vehicle, and to incorporate my own ideas into the same space that would fit on a Unimog chassis with a single rear axle.

I deleted the interior of the lower living area so I could insert my own concept.  The items that I used from the original GXV drawing are the exterior walls, entry door, cassette toilet, and spare tires.  The loft area and access stairway is also GXV’s design, only with one bed instead of the two indicated in their drawing.

I used the Unimog drawing to make sure the entry door, center of gravity, and departure angle were going to work with the design.

We like the Pangea Lifting roof on a Unimog concept, but wanted it to double as a toy hauler.  We put one bed in the loft area to give the dinette area a sense of a vaulted ceiling.  The unit can be used in the down position for extreme cold weather.  The garage door folds down allowing access to spare tires.  The ATV slide out is similar to a Tommy Lift gate.

The camper would be able to detach with its own hydraulic jacks and allow for the installation of a dump bed.

This, of course, is just a dream.  For now our 1994 Hallmark Ute and 2006 Nissan Titan will have to suffice.

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Driving in the U.S.'s Only All-Female Endurance Road Race

Read article : Driving in the U.S.'s Only All-Female Endurance Road Race

It was 4 p.m. and 90 degrees when we finally decided to give up. For hours, Jaclyn and I had been inching our Jeep Rubicon along a dusty unmarked road in the Mojave National Preserve, eventually finding ourselves trapped in a high-walled canyon. We had no idea how far off course we were: Two miles? Twenty? We hadn't seen another human all afternoon. Soon it would be dusk, then nightfall.

We were lost. Not Can you pull up Google Maps?lost, or Do we still have a road atlas somewhere?lost. No, we were Are we in California or Nevada?lost; Thank god we have emergency supplieslost; This landscape would be gorgeous if it weren't so apocalyptic lost. The Jeep's GPS system had been disabled, and our phones and laptops were turned off and sealed in envelopes. We had a collection of specialized large-scale topographical maps, but to figure out where you are on a topo map (a relief map that shows a region's geographical features), you have to know how to read it. I was supposed to be the better topo reader in our pair, and I could barely pick out the most prominent landmarks. If coyotes or unfriendly strangers appeared, we'd be completely, royally screwed.

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Is that the road?

Nicole Dreon

We sat in the Jeep with the air conditioning on high, eating sugary energy chews and gulping down coconut water.

We'd signed up for this. Willingly. For fun.

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That was day four of the inaugural Rebelle Rally, a female-only navigational road rally—the first of its kind. For seven days last fall, 72 women—36 teams of two—off-roaded over 1250 miles, through two national parks and five Bureau of Land Management areas (government-managed public lands). We started in Nevada's Lake Tahoe and ended in Glamis, California; in between, we rambled down dirt roads, clambered over dry riverbeds and mountain passes, and coasted over terrifyingly high sand dunes.

This all called for a set of navigation skills no one uses anymore—unless you're a sailor or a fifth grader prepping for a social studies test.

Throughout the course, 140 checkpoints were hidden behind broken-down mine shacks, just beyond hairpin turns, deep inside mountain crevices, and sometimes, blessedly, directly on the route. Large green flags marked the easiest-to-find checkpoints; smaller blue flags identified intermediate ones. Black checkpoints, the most difficult to find, weren't marked at all. Each was worth a certain number of points. The goal: Rack up as many as possible.

Every morning we were given a list of checkpoints to find that day (one day there'd be 12; another day, 22), defined solely by their latitudinal and longitudinal coordinates. We had to plot them on our topo maps, then use geometry to strategize how to get from one to the next. This all called for a set of navigation skills no one uses anymore—unless you're a sailor or a fifth grader prepping for a social studies test. We weren't allowed phones, GPS, or outside help. Kind of like an adult female Eagle Scouts on steroids, or Survivor meets The Amazing Race in the American West.

One of our topo maps; early morning plotting at camp.

Whitney Joiner; Nicole Dreon

The automotive world is notoriously male-dominated, making a women-only motorsports event revolutionary. (There are a few all-women rallies and races scattered across the globe, out of hundreds of annual motorsports events overall; the Rebelle is the only one in the U.S.) "I've been in races where I was the only woman driving," the Rebelle's founder, 50-year-old Emily Miller, told me. "I've had people recommend I wear a tight pink race suit."

Miller grew up between Arkansas and Colorado, skiing, biking, and reading her father's car magazines. In her 30s, she launched a sports marketing firm and started to race cars and teach at racing and off-roading schools. When creating the Rebelle—which took three years of planning, 40 Bureau of Land Management permits, and 60 staffers to pull off—Miller combined her favorite aspects of the rallies and races she'd participated in over the years.

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She was determined to create an event where women could test their mettle. "Most automotive events are designed from a man's perspective," Miller said, meaning that they're usually speed races, where the goal is to get from Point A to B as fast as possible. But the Rebelle isn't a race, she reminded us daily. It demanded endurance, accurate navigation, and communication. "Women excel in endurance events," she explained. "Women think about the rules and the challenge. They want to win, but they're not there to prove how fast they can go."

My team's combined experience was…limited. "Winning" never crossed our minds; we just hoped to finish without killing the Jeep—or one another. My teammate, Jaclyn Trop, is an auto reporter who reviews luxury cars, but we both quickly realized that her professional expertise didn't translate into real-world driving and car maintenance knowledge. While she knows her way around a racetrack, she didn't know how to read a map.

Naïve enthusiasm seemed like a perfectly legitimate qualification to enter a highly-detailed endurance event requiring a complex Venn diagram of skills I didn't possess.

Not that I know anything about cars. I can sort of drive a stick shift, and sort of change a tire. I'd signed up for the Rebelle Rally because tooling around isolated Southwestern back roads is one of my all-time favorite activities, something I discovered during the six years I lived in Far West Texas. (Aimless desert driving is terrible for the environment, but good for the soul.)

At first, my lack of experience didn't faze me. Naïve enthusiasm seemed like a perfectly legitimate qualification to enter a highly-detailed endurance event requiring a complex Venn diagram of skills I didn't possess. This blind optimism buoyed me for months: the Rebelle was just a crazy-sounding adventure, far off in the distance, something to think about later.

But six weeks before the rally, during a training weekend with a handful of other competitors in California's Borrego Springs, my optimism cratered into a black hole of fear and self-loathing. Surrounded by women far more experienced than me, all of whom could probably MacGuyver a tire blowout with a piece of gum, my lack of preparation smacked me in the face. Latitude and longitude felt like a maddening mathematical language I'd never master, and I didn't believe that Jaclyn or I would have the stamina and resilience to handle potential crises. (I live in Brooklyn! I don't even have a car!) Instead of bonding with the other participants, I disappeared into my tent, clutching my iPhone for comfort. Miller stopped by: "You okay?" she called from outside my tent. "Yeah," I squeaked. "Just tired." This is going to be a disaster, I told myself. You didn't think this through.

Mood for most of the week.

Rebelle Rally

I was certain the rally would bring out my worst self. I'd be a dehydrated raw bundle of neuroses, throwing my helmet in the dust and indulging in nonstop Carrie Mathison-like angry-crying. I spent the month before the rally nursing a never-ending migraine, holing up at home ruminating on my certain failure, and having bouts of ill-advised anxiety sex with a highly inappropriate partner I thought I'd successfully sworn off months before.

"It's only overwhelming because you've never done it before," my mother, always a voice of reason, said. "Once you're there, you'll get in the swing of it. You'll be fine. You always are."

---

The rally began on a Saturday morning in early October, but Jaclyn and I arrived in Lake Tahoe—bright and sunny and permeated with the smell of pine—on Tuesday night to prepare. Buying our required provisions took an entire day: We'd need a five-gallon jug of water, emergency blankets, a fire extinguisher, first aid kits, food to last at least five days (in case something went terribly awry), a laundry list of auto supplies, and helmets—required for safety's sake whenever we were on the Rebelle course—that squished our faces into chipmunk-cheek blobs. Thursday was "technical inspection," during which rally staffers ensured each vehicle was properly equipped. On Friday afternoon, all 36 teams caravanned out to our first base camp, a sprawling settlement a few hours east of Lake Tahoe, with a vehicle impound, a maintenance tent and gas refill area, a food truck manned by a Michelin-starred chef, and the main gathering space—a shelter filled with tables and butterfly chairs, decorated with gauzy curtains and wildflowers.

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Miller briefs competitors; a green checkpoint on the course; Rebelle cars on a dry lake bed in California.

Paolo Baraldi; Whitney Joiner; Nicole Dreon

I woke on Saturday at 4:30 a.m. and launched into what would become my daily routine: wiggling into my Rebelle uniform (sports bra, tank top, long-sleeved shirt, hiking pants, lace-up canvas boots), rushing to the portable bathrooms to brush my teeth and splash water on my face; running back to pack up camp. While I dragged our gear down to the Jeep, Jaclyn picked up the day's list of coordinates and started plotting. I joined her under the main tent, staring helplessly down at the table where she'd spread the coordinate list, colored pencils, and distance-measuring rulers.

We experienced the singular thrill of spotting a green checkpoint: a mix of relief, pride, and elation that never got old.

Jaclyn understood latitude and longitude in a way I didn't, so it was obvious that she'd be the navigator, while I'd drive. We crept up to the starting line, my heart beating wildly from nerves, and waited to be let loose into the desert. (To discourage blindly following other competitors, teams were given different sets of checkpoints, and cars set off at two-minute intervals.)

"Turn left," Jaclyn said once we set off. "Our first checkpoint should be in 13 miles." A few minutes later, we experienced the singular thrill of spotting a green checkpoint for the first time: a mix of relief, pride, and elation that never got old.

Jaclyn in a Nevada ghost town, planning our next move.

Nicole Dreon

Later that afternoon, after meandering through a maze of dirt roads, we turned into a wide canyon, shot through with dry washes (empty creek beds that can easily be mistaken for trails or roads). "Should we be in four-wheel drive?" Jaclyn asked. Four-wheel drive gives you extra traction; it's used for rougher, rockier terrain. I felt silly for still being in 2WD—the everyday, highway-driving gear—and jerked the gear shaft up. We slowly rambled through the canyon down to a lake, where we found our final green checkpoint of the day.

We hit our tracker—sending our coordinates to staff at base camp, who monitored each vehicle, just blinking blips, on a GPS system—then realized that we'd fallen behind the other competitors. We could only see one team, off in the distance in a huge pickup. We watched as they scaled an incline effortlessly, as if filming a car commercial.

"If they can do it, so can we," I said, hitting the accelerator and heading up the incline. Within 30 seconds, our tires started to spin. Day one, and we were already stuck. We grabbed shovels from the back of the Jeep and started clearing dirt from underneath the tires. Nearby, a rally staffer pulled up in a pickup.

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"Are you in four-wheel drive?" he asked.

"Of course," I answered.

"You sure?" he said. "I'm not supposed to help you, but…you might want to check."

We climbed back inside the Jeep: the gear shift looked likeit was in the right place. Jaclyn pulled the manual out of the glove compartment. "It says we should see a 4WD light on the dashboard. Do you see it?"

"Oh," I said. "No." Hours spent crawling over boulders and sharp rocks, and we'd been in the wrong gear the whole time, an embarrassingly amateur mistake. We pledged not to tell anyone back at base camp.

Day One: stuck. (I promise this was steep IRL.)

Paolo Baraldi

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By day four, we'd improved dramatically. We knew when we were and weren't in four-wheel drive. We knew that our odometer was off, making precise calculations nearly impossible—a significant drawback. And we knew that spotting a particular road on our topo map didn't mean we could match it to one on the ground. What looked like a road on the map could be a dry wash; what looked like a dry wash on the ground could be a road. We constantly scouted the horizon for dust clouds, knowing they'd be from Rebelle cars, a sign that we were on the right track.

Then came our accidental vision quest in the Mojave, when we'd drifted so far off-course that we hadn't seen a friendly dust cloud for hours.

After mainlining the energy chews, we got out of the Jeep to scout. Jaclyn jumped on the hood to survey our surroundings; I took off by foot. A railroad crossed in front of us, with a steep drop-off underneath. We were definitely stuck.

Then I saw it: a campsite, off in the distance, across a weedy wash. Trucks! People! A dog! Life!

I found Mojave River Campgroundin miniscule print in the lower left-hand corner of the map. So that's where we were. "If we can get to that campground, we could find our way to the highway," I said. It wasn't our designated route back to base camp, but the sun was dropping by the minute.

The weedy wash was actually the Mojave River, according to the map. It wasn't a river so much as a morass of swampy vegetation with a lone, murky crossing. Back home in Brooklyn, in my haste to somewhat prepare, I'd watched a YouTube video of a Jeep wading through water. I knew it was possible; I just didn't know if I could do it. "No way," Jaclyn said. "We're not going to drown here."

"What if it's easier than it looks?" I argued.

Jaclyn thought for a minute. "What would Emily do?" she asked. Miller is a 5'1" blond powerhouse who gave decidedly non-cheesy pep talks every night that sometimes brought me to tears. I'd never met anyone who inspired such devotion and admiration, who made you want to succeed just to tell her you had. "If this was easy, everyone would do it," she told us repeatedly, and we felt like intrepid, ground-breaking explorers.

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Miller encouraged calculated risks. "Emily would try it," I said. "But I think she'd check the depth first."

I stripped off my boots, socks, and pants. In just a tank top and underwear, I splashed into the crossing, mud squishing beneath my toes. The water quickly came up past my knees. I pictured the Jeep filling up with contaminated river sludge while Jaclyn and I popped Klonopin and prayed that the satellite phone actually worked.

"If this was easy, everyone would do it," the Rebelle's founder told us repeatedly, and we felt like intrepid, ground-breaking explorers.

Okay, so we weren't going to ford the mighty Mojave. But at least now we knew where we were. (Another favorite Emily saying: "You're never as lost as you think you are.") From the map, the highway back to base camp was vaguely northeast; if we headed that direction, we'd surely find a way onto the road.

Two interminable hours later, we saw what we'd been looking for all afternoon: the day's final green flag, and behind it, the entrance to the highway. Our euphoric shouts were especially hard-earned this time. As we approached the highway, a car pulled up alongside us. "Thank God!" Shelley, a rally staffer, yelled out from the passenger seat of a broken-down '80s Jeep. "We found you!" Apparently, the staff back at base camp monitoring our blinking blip had become concerned: Where are they going?

"We thought we'd have to rescue you," her husband, Big Rich, called from the driver's seat. "But look: You rescued yourselves."

On the face of it, the day was a complete throwaway. Zero points. But we'd found our way out of the canyon, completely on our own.

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My month-long pre-rally panic, while overblown and unsubstantiated in retrospect, served a purpose: It burned out all my anxiety, leaving none for the actual rally. The meltdowns never came. I never threw my helmet in frustration. I didn't angry-cry nonstop. Jaclyn and I each had one brief tearful moment after making a dumb mistake—hers on day five; mine on day six—but we immediately pulled it together.

Rebelle Rally

As usual, my mother was right. Once I was forced to practice my fledgling skills, my fear melted away, replaced by an unabashed excitement that at times bordered on euphoria. Every moment brought something new: a stunning vista, a mountain pass, an abandoned ghost town, an expansive mesa. The entire course was on government property; these same roads were open to anyone. But they're rarely used, and it felt like we were seeing an America many never do, one hidden in plain sight.

I started to trust the Jeep more, and Jaclyn, and myself. One day we were caravanning along a high ridge outside of Joshua Tree, with steep drop-offs and hairpin turns. Wait! I thought, halfway through. I should be scared. If I turn the steering wheel just slightly, we'll sail off.I felt my stomach drop and panic rise up in my chest. But just as quickly, I reeled it back in. Don't let fear take over, I coached myself. You can stop it."You're already way more confident," Jaclyn noted as we dipped and swerved. "If we'd been on this road the first day, you would've freaked out the whole time. Now you're just trucking along."

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We were too clueless to be embarrassed about how little we knew.

I'd been so intimidated by the other competitors' credentials before the rally began, but now our lack of experience felt almost freeing. The rally was so out of our league that I was constantly astonished we were doing it at all. How we looked to anyone else didn't matter. We'd ask other Rebelles basic car-maintenance questions, knowing our queries probably sounded elementary. (Only one woman looked at us in disdain after we'd asked for her help installing high neon flags required for dune driving: "You actually don't know how to do this?" she spat. "Why are you even here?") We were too clueless to be embarrassed about how little we knew.

Every night, when the scores for the day were posted, we'd land in the bottom four. But we thought we were champions.

All week, the experienced competitors were itching for the final day, when we'd be competing in sand dunes—notoriously difficult to navigate. We woke up that last morning in California's Imperial Sand Dunes (where Return of the Jedi was partially filmed) to a blazing sun, a high in the 90s, and a range of shimmering white sand mountains towering over base camp.

I didn't feel particularly ambitious about the dunes, but Jaclyn wanted to attempt some final point-collecting. We caravanned with a few competitors, helping each other find the safest routes, then ate lunch around a green checkpoint, sitting in the shade cast by our vehicles. It was our last green of the rally.

But when I stood up, I saw the top of a blue flag in the recess of a group of dunes to the south. I nudged Jaclyn: "Let's try it."

Dunes: gorgeous and terrifying.

Paolo Baraldi

We carefully coasted down into the dune's recess by circling the perimeter, as we'd been taught, and clicked our tracker for the last time. The incline we'd just descended looked much higher than I expected, but it was still the easiest way out. I backed up a few feet to give us a running start, then slammed down the accelerator. Halfway up the incline, we felt our wheels spin, digging us into the sand below. We frantically tried to dig out, but as soon as we cleared a space, new sand spilled in.

Two of the Rebelles we'd teamed up with, Sedona and Maria, flew down into the recess, clicked their tracker at the blue flag, and zipped up the incline past us with no trouble. They parked on the dune's crest, then ran down to help dig us out. Finally we had enough room behind our back tires to position our MaxTrax, a pair of ridged, snowshoe-shaped rescue tools, behind our back tires. Slowly, carefully, we eased off the sand and onto the MaxTrax.

Many of my pre-rally fears came true. But I found an intoxicating freedom in taking on a challenge just to take it on, without expecting conventional success.

Sedona pointed out the angle she'd taken: "Back up even more, then punch the accelerator harder," she suggested.

I'd driven for 90 percent of the rally, but I didn't want to attempt the incline again. "I'm scared," I told Jaclyn.

We switched places and she revved the accelerator. Miraculously, she caught enough power to follow Sedona's route. We landed on top of the dune, tumbled out of the Jeep, and grabbed Sedona and Maria for a hug, jumping up and down, triumphant.

In the end, we tied for 29th place, fourth-to-last. And many of my pre-rally fears came true: We made careless mistakes and incorrect calculations; we were lost more often than not; we didn't know what we were doing most of the time. I just didn't react the way I'd assumed I would. Instead, I found an intoxicating freedom in being a complete novice, taking on a challenge just to take it on, without expecting conventional success. I'd never been more exhilarated to fail.

Finish-line euphoria.

Nicole Dreon

The second annual Rebelle Rally will be held from October 12-21, 2017. If you're interested in competing, find more information here.