Last week Jack and I took a long-needed mini-vacation, pulling along our 12-foot-something vintage travel trailer behind our Subaru.

We left late Wednesday after finishing some chores at work.

Our friends asked where we were headed? To the river? To the beach? To a lake or campground in the mountains? You know, they assumed our destination was somewhere where most people go to camp.

None of those. We headed to Indio. What?

The whole idea started out because we hardly celebrated our 25th wedding anniversary in September due to this crazy summer and other unexpected interruptions. It felt as if summer never came this year to me because our lives were filled with so many Cranston Fire current and post events, as well as numerous management deadlines here at the office.

Then I saw an announcement that my favorite band was coming for one night to an Indio casino. That only other time I saw this band live was in about 1974 or 1975 when I was 16 or 17.

I’ve threatened to go see them again over the years and my good husband, who knew very little about this band except my crazy passion for their music, agreed that if they ever performed near here again, he would go.

So, we made Oct. 6 at Fantasy Springs Casino our date to see Chicago.

I booked a spot at the Indian Waters RV Resort where we pulled in after dark and set up.

The next morning, we awoke to a sparse assortment of RVs, most of which took up their entire concrete footage while our little girl only filled about half our space. No one dwelled in a vintage camper like ours with portable fan to keep us cool. Generators and A/Cs kept these people happy in the desert — most of them long-term summer residents who probably came down from Oregon and Washington like our neighbors.

One rig literally had a patio that pulled out of the side with a barbecue.

We rarely saw anyone there outside during our entire stay. In fact, we sat outside in the shade most of our time there as it was cooler than indoors for us so we felt rather alone. I’m sure those folk inside their cool rigs were looking out the window at the strange little set-up of ours.

Russ, the neighbor (and I’m sure others there), found our little rig curious and offered that he was sure we would be upgrading to a bigger trailer.

“No,” we said in unison. I love to camp. We just don’t like setting up a tent and sleeping on the ground anymore. We agreed that this was the way we would camp.

Our little rig sleeps three adults, has storage and contains a little kitchen complete with three-burner, oven, sink and small fridge/freezer.

Unlike our neighbors there, we are not RVers. We are “glampers.” We camp — in a bit of a retro style.

But we just chose to do so at a kind of a luxury RV resort this time because it was close to the casino. It offered A/C restrooms and showers, which works great because we only have a port-a-potty type thing in the closet for nighttime.

And we saw Chicago Saturday night and even had a quick photo op with the group after the show. I got to shake Robert Lamm’s hand. Jack really enjoyed the show but the poor guy couldn’t sleep for about an hour after we got back because his wife couldn’t shut up about the experience of shaking the hand of one of her favorite musicians.

We really had a blast and also got some needed rest but next time, we’ll go somewhere near a lake or a beach or a river — where people camp and glamp.

Becky Clark, Editor

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