The Backing Dilemma

We ran into an interesting dilemma on a recent camping trip.

The campground was built on a hillside overlooking Lake Superior. The campsites were arranged in tiers so each row had a beautiful view of the lake. It was a great design because even though you could see the RVs below you, they didn’t block anyone’s view.

One afternoon, while we were sitting outside enjoying the scenery, a fifth wheel pulled into a site on the lower level.

Like many campgrounds, the sites required backing in.

The couple appeared to be about our age, maybe a few years older. The husband was outside acting as the spotter while his wife was behind the wheel.

They started backing into the site.

Then they pulled forward.

Then they backed up again.

Then they pulled forward again.

This continued for more than twenty minutes.

They never argued or showed frustration with each other. She would stop, get out of the truck, look at the angle, the two of them would quietly talk it over, and then she’d climb back in and try again.

Pat and I found ourselves smiling—not because they were struggling, but because we’ve all been there.

We store our fifth wheel in an RV storage lot, and there are days when I back it into our space perfectly on the first try.

Other days…

Not so much.

Sometimes it takes two or three attempts before I’m happy with it. Oddly enough, I often seem to do better when there are trailers parked on both sides of me.

Go figure.

As we watched, Pat asked the obvious question.

“Should you go down and help them?”

That was our dilemma.

From where we were sitting, it was easy to see some of the adjustments they could make.

But they weren’t arguing.

They weren’t asking for help.

They weren’t creating a traffic jam.

They were simply working through the problem together.

It reminded me of one of our first trips with our new fifth wheel.

We had a narrow back-in site on a busy weekend. Cars lined both sides of the campground road, leaving very little room to maneuver.

Everyone became an expert.

People stood nearby offering advice—whether we wanted it or not.

My son-in-law was helping guide me, and one particularly vocal spectator kept giving him directions as well. Before long, everyone seemed to have an opinion except the people actually parking the trailer.

We eventually got it into the site, but the unsolicited advice only made the situation more stressful.

As luck would have it, that same “expert” camper left the day before we did.

He had stayed hooked up to his trailer, so he had to back out of his campsite before pulling away.

Pat and I quietly watched from our campsite.

Let’s just say…

His departure wasn’t nearly as smooth as his advice had suggested it would be.

Sometimes a little humility is a good teacher.

Back at Lake Superior, the couple continued working on their campsite.

When we left to watch an ore ship enter the harbor, I drove by slowly with the window down, smiled, and said hello.

My thinking was simple.

If they responded with anything more than a greeting—or hinted they were struggling—I would gladly offer to help.

Instead, they smiled, waved, and went right back to discussing their next move.

A couple of hours later, we returned to find them completely set up.

They had figured it out.

Over the years, I’ve helped several campers with questions or problems. One gentleman knocked on our door one morning and admitted he was brand new to RVing. He asked if I would show him how to dump his holding tanks.

I was happy to help.

In that situation, he wanted assistance.

This one felt different.

Could we have walked down and offered?

Absolutely.

Would that have been the right thing to do?

Maybe.

In the end, I think we made the right choice.

They solved the problem together, probably learned something in the process, and never had to feel embarrassed or wonder if everyone in the campground was watching.

Sometimes the best way to help someone is to let them work through the challenge on their own—while quietly being available if they ask.