From the bloggers at Post Gazette.
I was a lucky kid during my elementary and middle school years in the 1970s. I saw more of the United States than just about any other child, and I owe it all to an 18-foot travel trailer.
No one would have ever called me or anyone else in my family outdoorsy, but we crisscrossed the country camping in those days. Ours wasn’t a luxo-condo on wheels like the ones today; it was a basic camper, and not everything about it went smoothly.
In 1970, we towed the thing through New England and Canada. First stop: New York City.
Who goes camping in New York City? We did. The campground (ha!) somewhere near Newark offered perhaps the worst camping experience ever. It was charmingly located hard against a Penn Central switching yard, and its amenities consisted of a gravel surface and a chain-link fence to keep curious campers from venturing onto the adjacent tracks. Suffice to say there was no miniature golf course.
To read the full story by Post Gazette, click here.