Our first serious RV run was Badlands National Park in late spring—wind honest enough to rewrite your hair and your humility. I had read three forums about leveling blocks and still managed to park slightly crooked like a person who failed geometry on purpose. A neighbor from Minnesota walked over without being asked, showed me the bubble, lent me a block, and said welcome to the club.
That sunset turned the buttes the color of a good apricot jam. Biscuit sat in the doorway and judged my backing skills with the serenity of a monk. I thought about Lisbon at twenty-two, eating pasteis on a bench, equally broke and equally rich. Different continent, same lesson: show up, accept help, feed someone when you can.
Badlands is not the park on the poster wall— which is partly why I love it. Fewer lines, more silence, bighorn sheep acting like they own the place because they do.
If you are new to RV life, go somewhere that forgives beginners. Bring snacks. Introduce yourself to the person next door. The community is the hidden campground amenity.