The campground is a little place about five miles off the highway, surrounded by trees. It's like a sardine tin of RVs, but we're lucky enough to have an empty spot beside ours.
Of course, it isn't empty anymore—Andrew's taken it. Apparently, he has a tent, too.
With all the slides extended, Lyre's camper transforms from cramped travel mode to something that could rival a small apartment. The living area in the back boasts two plush couches and a daybed, arranged in a U-shape around a TV that looks absurdly large when you consider we are technically camping. The Wi-Fi signal from the campground is surprisingly strong, and once Lyre leaves for her mysterious errand, I spend hours browsing through her streaming accounts.
