It was my birthday. I wanted to drink a few beers and have a nice dinner and not have to hunt around for a place to sleep. I didn't know how far up the road beyond Ketchum I'd have to go to find a campground, and I didn't really want to be doing it in the dark. So I called the RV campground down in Bellevue, the town a few miles to the south. I asked the nice woman who answered the phone if it would be a problem if I came in late, around 10pm or so.
"Hmm," she said. "How big is your rig?"
Rig, I thought to myself.
See, this is why we travel: to get exposed to cultures foreign to our own. To those of us outside RV culture, it's just an RV. Inside: it's a rig.