A little over a year ago, when Laura and I traveled to Kansas to attend a wedding, we agreed to split rental car fees with four of Laura's friends who were also flying in town for the wedding. It was a smart plan, but it had a catch: our flight arrived late at night; their flights all arrived the next morning.
Where do we sleep?
How about in the airport?
Is that allowed?
I think it is. But we'll find a secluded spot in case it isn't.
I enjoy sleeping in airports and in pullouts off unpaved forest roads and just about anywhere that's free. After doing so, I awake the next morning pleased with having saved $50 or so by avoiding hotels and motels.
In addition to saving money, sleeping out gives me the thrill of meeting a challenge, of making myself safe even though I go unconscious for the night and am my most vulnerable. Even before falling asleep in that airport a year ago, on the second floor in front of some administration offices, Laura and I scouted the airport and decided upon the least probable spot we'd be disturbed. All night the PA system blared messages for the cleanup and maintenance crews, and not until we awoke the next morning to the sounds of early morning travelers did we know how it would turn out. (By the way, always pack earplugs when you travel.) I'm lucky that Laura mostly agrees with me on my affinity for sleeping out. Mostly agrees.
I like having a bed and a pillow.
You have a blanket in your backpack and your stuff sack of clothes functions as a pillow.
On our recent California trip, we avoided the hotels and motels altogether, splurging only twice by spending the night at paid-for campgrounds. We free-camped the other nights—in the barren Nevada desert; at the commune in Northern California; in Death Valley National Park; and in a Wal-Mart parking lot, waiting for the next morning to replace a blown-out tire. It wasn't glamorous, but it was adventurous. (By the way, don't leave on a road trip with bald tires.)
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