We staged the RV near Cortez, Colorado, for Mesa Verde—cliff dwellings by day, camp chairs by night. On Saturday I found a farmers market in the parking lot of a community center that looked unpromising and smelled like heaven: roasted chiles, honey, tomatoes that somehow still tasted like August at altitude.
I bought too much the way I once did in Florence near the Arno, except now I had a refrigerator that hums like a contented cat. I made pasta in the RV galley—tiny kitchen, full joy—and shared with the couple camped next to us who were biking the region and living on energy bars until I intervened.
Gateway towns are travel secrets. National parks get the glory. The market two miles away gets the tomatoes that make your post-hike meal feel like a party.
Ask at the visitor center where locals buy food. Skip the gift shop jerky unless you truly love jerky.