Along the way people often ask us questions like: “Hey Nomadic Nudists, why is your motorhome rocking and you guys are standing outside?” Or, “Hey Nomadic Nudists, why are you driving on the sidewalk.”
The question people ask the least, as in never, is: “Hey Nomadic Nudists, what was your first road trip to nudist places?” So to satisfy our loyal readers’ curiosity, I’ll tell you how our love for naked nomadism began.
RVing to escape responsibility.
We had purchased a used Class C motorhome that we would take to Burning Man and other events, plus use to spend weekends at Mira Vista, our home nudist resort in Tucson, Arizona.
Mira Vista was our escape from our eastside Tucson house. We loved setting up our little home on wheels, ripping off our clothes, plopping into our camp chairs and enjoying nature as it was intended: Sitting on concrete while staring at condominiums.
We would go to Mira Vista early on Friday, and I would bring my laptop and work until the weekend officially started, which was about the time we fired up the blender to make Mudslides.
Now you may think that we were simply being irresponsible homeowners, ignoring the duties of maintaining a home on the weekends like all good followers of the American Dream. And you’d be right. It was obvious that we shouldn’t be allowed to own a home. But what we were really doing was proving the concept that we could work on the road.
On the road to California nudist resorts.
In the summer of 2013, we put the concept to the test and planned a two week road trip to southern California. We would stay at Deanza Springs Resort in Jacumba, and Glen Eden Sun Club in Corona.
From Tucson, we took Interstate 8 east across Arizona, intending to spend the night in Yuma. It was 117 F in Yuma and the air conditioner in our motorhome was overwhelmed. Deanza Springs sits at a higher elevation at the edge of Anza-Borrego Desert State Park where it was almost 20 degrees cooler. So we called them and they told us we could come in that night.
We arrived at dark and checked in with the bartender and the lively crowd of three other nudists. We then went and soaked in their hot tub. Another couple there told us to be careful because there was a camera pointed at the hot tub. I don’t know why they felt they needed to tell us that. What did we look like, Ron Jeremy and Traci Lords? (In case you didn’t know, those are famous porn stars. Because of my squeaky-clean life, I certainly didn’t know who they were and had to Google “Famous porn stars” in order to come up with some names. Believe me.)
We really enjoyed Deanza Springs. The RV site was spacious, and we could look up at rocky desert hills that surrounded one side of the resort. One day I took off hiking in those hills, naked! The trail led back into the Anza-Borrego park and I didn’t see anyone.
It was the 4th of July holiday and I wasn’t working. Which was a good thing because Verizon cell service was non-existent and I needed that to work. Instead, we lounged in the pool, made new friends and even ran into old friends from Arizona.
Working naked at Glen Eden.
From Deanza Springs we drove east on I-8 to I-15, then north to Corona and Glen Eden Sun Club. Checking in they told us we’d need to take a tour first, and we would have to take the tour nude. “Well, forget it then!” I said, indignantly. Ok, I didn’t say that, and we had our clothes off before they could say “Meet us at the golf cart.”
They gave us a shady site between a large RV and a mobile home. Back at Deanza Springs, a few people had warned us that Glen Eden members were “cliquish” and wouldn’t talk to us. But here’s the funny thing: Within an hour of setting up our site, the neighbors on both sides of us came over and introduced themselves. Then a few other members walking by stopped to say hello.
I’ve written about the cliquish claim in a NUSA Sun column, arguing that a lot of times it’s not so much that people are being unfriendly as it’s hard to break out of your comfort zone. People in a clique are comfortable with each other, and people outside of the clique are often socially uncomfortable, waiting to be invited into a clique rather than try to break into it. Sometimes, though, there are people who are assholes.
But not during our week-long stay at Glen Eden. We were recovering from the holiday partying we mastered at Deanza Springs, so we laid low. I worked, sitting outside and taking phone calls stark naked. We went to the pool. It was Nude Recreation Week, with the highlight being the World Record Skinny Dip, where they try to fill the pool with as many nudists as possible. Of course we were in!
The resort sits in a narrow valley near the freeway, and I walked everywhere naked, checking out the eclectic mobile homes that members owned. There was a trail on the hill above the resort, but I was told you had to be clothed to hike it because of the freeway. I wasn’t sure that people driving 80 mph a half mile away would be able to tell I was naked, but I’m no scofflaw so I dressed and hiked the hill.
Since we didn’t tow a car, and we didn’t want to unhook everything to drive to the store, I walked down De Palma Road outside the club to Vons, hauling back needed supplies including a twelve pack of beer.
When our week was up, we drove back on I-10 to Tucson. We had proved the concept. As long as we could get cell service and an Internet connection, we could work on the road and become Nomadic Nudists.