I knew I was probably not done journaling in the public forum after my last chronicle (CPT Cancer) and this project is that prophecy coming to fruition. In fact, its arrival is largely inspired by my friend Rebecca resuming her blogging career (I highly recommend you give her a read, she’s a funny and insightful lady).
A lot has happened since I concluded CPT Cancer, and I’ll recount it in later posts because that timeline absolutely needs to be fleshed out to understand how your author got here, but this entry is meant to set the stage.
Bottom Line: My last assignment concluded, my relationship ended, and I took two children under ten on a 5,000 mile road trip from the state of Washington to Washington, D.C.
Oh, and I did all this right as I moved into a 38 foot long 5th wheel recreational vehicle (hereafter referred to as “trailer,” camper,” or “RV.”
Now I live in the D.C. area and navigate gentrified homelessness, graduate school, single life, and long distance parenting. The confluence of events that brought me to this point has barely receded from its high water mark, so these things are still happening to me now.
The goal of this journal will be somewhat different than CPT Cancer. In that project, I was most chronicling a thing that happened to me with sprinkles of things in the orbit of my personal life. This project is focused on something I did (moved into an RV as an active duty servicemember) and talking about the trials and tribulations of this new experience. Both were/are meant to provide insight to others on those/these respective paths, as well as entertain outsiders.
Why “Breaking Camp?” For the uninitiated, the phrase “breaking camp” is a colloquial military term that refers to the act of packing up your shit and marching to the next place. That’s essentially what I’ve done, I’ve placed my entire Earthly life into this camper, and on demand/command/whims I can be packed up inside of an hour and on the road to the next place. I became very proficient at this during the aforementioned road trip.
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Foreshadowing
“RV life” is a social media subculture of influencers living full time in their motorhomes, vans, travel trailers, and 5th wheel trailers; I first became aware of that sphere during COVID, when I was stuck in Kuwait while I awaited transit from Afghanistan back to my duty station in Texas. Like most of you, I went down some incredible YouTube rabbit holes during that time. Then, being married with three kids and three pets, it seemed inaccessible but it was neat to see the pioneering spirit still alive in that specific way and I kept a pulse on it.
In October of 2025 I had so many things that were new in my life: a promising new relationship with an incredible woman, the news I’d been reselected for an Army fellowship (I’d already been selected the year prior, but it was delayed due to my cancer diagnosis), and my finances were beginning to stabilize two years post-separation (one year post divorce). I was regaining healthy weight, reshaping my body, playing hockey again; things were looking up!
Living in campers was not something unfamiliar to me, but when I was younger I always saw it as a lifestyle of desperation and not of one’s own choosing. At a young age I grew up in a variety of single wide mobile homes; I knew of adults that lived in permanently placed campers to include my father at one point. That type of lifestyle did not appeal to me for reasons that would be obvious to most, “God I hope I’m never in that position… again.”
However, I had sort of crossed a Rubicon in October 2025 where I saw it as a life to pursue rather than one that should be dodged, “I bet I could do that” and “I’m never gonna get a better shot to do this and afford to fail.” Add to the mix a new encouraging “ride or die” girlfriend (we later chose die, but that’s a story for another day), the fact that I was really fucking tired of driving a Corolla Hybrid, and enter: my new truck.
Growing up I was never a “truck guy,” despite my dad being a F-250 loyalist almost my entire adolescence; I chased muscle cars and off road vehicles as my motor habits of choice. The Corolla was a bandaid to get me through the dire financial straits that divorce can put one into, it was never the permanent solution as much as I tried to convince myself, “oh, this is reliable and sips gas, I can drive this forever!” My recovering masculinity and ambitious life plans had different ideas from my fiscally responsible inner monologue.
See, I was always that dude making fun of the “bro-dozer” crowd and their F-1000 penis enhancers. Then, suddenly, I was browsing Ford and Ram ¾ and one-ton trucks on the internet. Nobody makes young you eat their words like old you.
I ended up settling* on a 2025 Ram 2500 (with the 6.7 liter turbo diesel) that I got for an excellent deal, in part because it was the end of the model year and in part because it had been sitting on the lot forever. Do your homework, kids, and you can save a few bucks on your insane high dollar purchases. After some brief negotiation (I almost rage-quit when they tried to low ball my trade in, but my then-girlfriend talked me off the ledge). This doesn’t seem like a big deal itself, but I was quietly setting the table for what was to come next: the RV.
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*A quick side note: Why “settling?” Well, Ford has, in this author’s opinion, the prettiest full size truck (that is ¾ ton and bigger trucks, think F250/350, Chevy-GM 2500/3500 and Dodge-Ram 2500/3500, plus a smattering of larger models mostly meant for commercial applications) with a good reputation on the market, but after test driving one, holy shit were they not for me. The brakes were weird, the interior was uncomfortable, the dash felt about four miles deep, and it had the goofiest shift pattern I’ve driven in almost any vehicle. Despite the aesthetics, it heartbreakingly was not the move. The Ram felt entirely different in all the opposite ways, while dark blue trimmed in chrome isn’t quite my vibe, everything that mattered to me felt correct: comfortable, functional cab, felt good to drive, and the pricing was excellent.
The views and opinions presented herein are those of the author and do not necessarily represent the views of the Department of War or the U.S. Army.
Breaking Camp 