My first long road trip was in a Volkswagen Bug. I had just turned 27 and drove across the continent to take a job as a newspaper reporter in Ketchikan, Alaska. Although excitement sustained me for days on the journey, fatigue and homesickness gradually dampened my spirit. By the time I reached the end of the road in Prince Rupert, British Columbia, where I was to take a ferry up the coast to Ketchikan, second thoughts about the job were tormenting me. Maybe I should just turn around and drive back to Connecticut.

I went into a restaurant to make up my mind over a cup of coffee. When the waitress asked where I was headed, I mumbled my now uncertain destination. "Oh, Ketchikan's a neat town," she said. "It looks just like Dodge City in 'Gunsmoke'."

"Gunsmoke" happened to be my favorite TV program. Any town that brought the show to mind was worth a try. So I caught the ferry after all and spent seven wonderful years in Alaska, years that led to a new career and the woman who became my wife.

Giving something a try, such as boondocking, is usually satisfying.

I often think about that trip in my RVing when doubt or laziness complicates a choice: whether to drive to a new place I fear might be too crowded, whether to attend a talk by a ranger when watching TV would be easier, whether to approach that surly looking guy in the travel trailer to ask about his satellite internet system. Like catching that ferry, in most cases taking the positive step--giving something a try--has proven worthwhile. The place was less crowded than I thought; the talk turned out to be more interesting than the TV movie would have been; the guy in the travel trailer was friendly and talkative.

Even when going forth brought some disappointment, the effort, in retrospect, was valuable for the lessons it taught. Two years ago we took a trip to the Great Plains in mid-April, knowing from research that the weather there could vary greatly. The weather didn’t vary; it was consistently cold, windy and showery. Yet we're glad we tried, and now we know to avoid the Great Plains until late spring.

Of course, some aspects of RVing deserve legitimate caution. Deciding to buy a new fifth-wheel, for instance, is foolish unless you can afford the payments. Venturing down a steep, winding road in the dark risks an accident. Common sense and safety should always take priority. But if reluctance to proceed is due solely to pessimism, RVing experiences and discoveries will be needlessly sacrificed, just as reluctance to ask a pretty girl for a date out of fear of rejection limits the possibility of a relationship.

One morning in the laundry room of an RV park in Utah, a man admitted he had never boondocked because he was afraid he might get into trouble. So he restricted his camping to RV parks. I tried to assure him that boondocking is easy, safe and enjoyable, that thousands of RVers do it every day. Another man, a nonRVer acquaintance, once told me he liked the idea of RVing but was convinced he lacked the ability to "handle a bus." (He thought all RVs were large Winnebago motorhomes.) I told him about the variety of RVs and the availability of instruction books.

I don't know if either man ever gained enough confidence to take action.

For several years I've been thinking about going full-time. Having an enjoyable job with health insurance held me back at

Most destinations make the effort to get there worthwhile.

first. Why not just stick with the comfort and security of the status quo, I kept asking myself. Nonetheless, full-timing was a goal, a dream, and my wife and I recently devised a belt-tightening plan to make it work. All that remained was the decision to do it. Because taking action in the past has usually paid off, even for little things like stopping to read a roadside historical marker, I've finally made that decision.

The ferry is leaving for a new adventure.