My visit to Great Basin National Park was one long lesson about going outside my comfort zone. First, the road was super challenging just to get to there. Seriously, the Park is extremely remote, and I had to drive all day on back roads and then cross several steep mountains via winding, narrow passes. I have crossed many passes with my RV over the years but I was now on minor roads (”Blue Highways” according to William Least Heat-Moon) that often lacked guard rails. Even out there, giant 18-wheelers zoomed by in both directions, adding to my stress. I was exhausted when I got to the visitor center around an hour before dark. Then, I had to drive another 20 miles, first on the pavement, then on dirt roads to get to a campground. The sites were primitive and not level. In fact, the whole campground seemed perched on the hillside.

By then the sun had set behind the mountains,  darkness was falling fast into the canyon and, at 7000 feet, it was freezing cold. I turned into an unlevel pull-through site for the night with a plan to move first thing in the morning. It was too dark by then to do any kind of leveling or even to unhitch, so I just parked. When I got into bed a short time later, I realized I was at quite a downward angle. I kept envisioning the slanted RV, which was still connected to the van, pushing on the van and causing it to roll downhill. Even though I knew that the emergency brake was on in the van and that I had “chocked” the wheels on the RV so that it would would not roll, I was terrified. I also replayed in my mind the anxiety I felt about traveling over the challenging passes. I was just physically and emotionally exhausted, I think, and was having a hard time chilling out. Finally, I did some meditation and got my breathing back to normal. That calmed the anxiety and I slept a bit.

The next morning, Tango and I bundled up and walked the entire, mostly deserted campground. I picked out a spot at the bottom of the hill that looked somewhat level and had a view east across the valley and into the next mountain range. We moved, unhitched, leveled out, set up the solar panel for the first time this trip, and settled in for another three nights. That first day I just hung out at the campground, tinkering around, getting settled, and resting after a sleepless night.

That night, however, was worse than the night before. A wicked wind whipped up and enormous gusts rocked the van. Tango hates wind noise and he was restless. The noise also woke me up and I was terrified again. Would the wind roll us down the mountainside? “Yes, yes, yes. We are doomed,” I told Tango. Yet I also knew that I was crazy to worry because I have been in NM during fierce windstorms and nothing ever happened. Yes, the RV sways but it has never been a problem. I think it was being on the hillside in the dark, bitter cold that allowed my fears to ratchet to such a high level.

I decided during those fearful hours that I was done with Great Basin National Park and would leave in the morning. Then, a new fear invaded my rational mind. I realized I was at the bottom of a steep hill and that in order to leave I would have to travel back up the hill. Would the van make it pulling the RV on a steep dirt road? It was one-lane. What if I made it halfway up and met another vehicle head-on? If I stopped, could I get going uphill again? In my mind, I had pictured the road at about a 45-degree angle. Another restless night.

In the morning, I decided to walk  the roads again with Tango and carefully assess the uphill before pulling out. I saw that the road was not so steep after all and reasoned that other, even much bigger RVs, had made it safely out of the campground for decades. I thought about all the other steep roads I have traversed and convinced myself to calm down and stay. “You came a long way to get here, you may as well stay put,” I scolded myself. Tango and I then drove up the hill in the unhitched van and ventured out for some hiking. After wandering around, stretching my legs, and confronting my fears, the third night was calm and pleasant. I slept well.

The next day I took a cave tour – Lehman Cave is one of the attractions in the park. That required me to move outside another comfort zone. Normally I enjoy caves; however, I have been in an earthquake-prone area for a year. Public officials are warning people to be prepared for a 9.0 quake in the near future. I had stocked up the van and made it into a survival pod, complete with extra medications and lots of survival stuff. Even though I am gone from there now, I had some residual earthquake paranoia. Before the tour, I started to wonder, “What if a quake hits while I am in the cave?” That thought made me a bit claustrophobic for the first time ever. I told myself to just go and enjoy. I tried not to think about earthquakes but the ranger informed us, after we were deep into the cave, that NV is the third most active state in terms of earthquakes. “La, la, la, la” I chanted to myself in an effort to drown out his yammering about earthquakes. It worked.

The dark night skies are another attraction at the Park, so on the fourth night, I attended a ranger talk about astronomy and was able to view Saturn and other celestial bodies through a powerful telescope. The skies were dark enough to also see the Milky Way! Later that night I started to feel a bit of anxiety about pulling out in the morning, especially the fear about meeting someone coming down while I was going up. I decided to reason my way out of the fear.

Step one. I asked myself a sensible, logical question: “What can I do to make sure I don’t meet someone?”

Step two. I thought about different options, including posting a sign at the top of the hill asking anyone coming down
to wait until I got up.

Step 3. It all seemed complicated, if not ridiculous, so I answered: “What if you get up really early and leave right after the sun comes up and before anyone else is awake?”

Step four. I concluded: “Sounds like a good plan. Then you can go slow and steady, without worrying about anyone coming
down.”

And so, I did just that. I set my alarm for 5 AM. The next morning I hitched up and drank coffee until the sun illuminated the canyon. I loaded up Tango, hopped in the driver’s seat, and took a deep breath as I put the van in Drive. And then, the trip uphill was nothing at all. The van crawled slowly and powerfully up that hill and onto the more level access road. Voila, done. Fears gone. Except that I had to drive down washboard dirt roads and over scary passes to get out of there.

By then, however, I was well-rested and full of confidence. In those four days, I had a new gold standard in terms of going outside my comfort zone. I stopped at the visitor center on the way out and bought several Great Basin postcards to post inside the RV. Whenever I feel fear and uncertainty I can look over at the postcards and remind myself, “ Great Basin. I can do it. I can do anything if I really want to.”

Note: I have never been so afraid while handling and/or towing the RV. I don’t know if I lost confidence after staying in one area for a year.  Maybe it was residual stress from the nasty weather I had just driven through during the previous days and the ultra-remote setting at Great Basin National Park. Or, maybe a combination? Also, I had a touch of stomach flu after partying with a roomful of 2-year olds and that made me feel a bit unsettled. Anyway, in retrospect, I can say it is always a good thing to stretch outside one’s comfort zone and to conquer fear. The feeling while passing through it is unnerving but on the other side, it is awesome!