Sometimes, RV life serves up surprises that leave you laughing—or crying—but our stop at Encino RV Park in Ozona somehow managed to do both.

First impressions? We thought we were lost. This “park” is basically a glorified gravel lot cozied up to a storage facility. But hey, it had hookups, and after hours of driving through Texas brush and desert, you learn to embrace the little things. Plus, it came with a bonus neighbour named Gina, whose story deserves its own Netflix mini-series.

We set up shop outside to work, and Gina strolled over from her gorgeous diesel pusher, walking her very proper, very disapproving small dog. After introductions, she launched into her tale of woe. Turns out, a few days earlier, her rig overheated on the interstate and refused to shut off. The only advice her mechanic friend could give over the phone? “Start yanking fuses until it quits.” Spoiler: it worked, but not before Gina imagined her RV going full “Final Destination” and spontaneously combusting on the roadside.

The adventure didn’t end there. After several hours of sweating bullets and playing Frogger with semis in the dark, she managed to get towed to Ozona—because what’s a few hundred dollars and a mild heart attack when you’re living the dream, right? The local mechanic patched a leak but left her with the ominous warning: “This might not hold until Arizona.” So, now Gina is just rolling through the desert, one prayer at a time. Legend.

After wishing Gina luck (and maybe saying a little prayer ourselves), we decided to walk the Chihuahuas—because even August the boss, Finnegan the instigator, and Casey the grouchy old man need their exercise. Walking into town gave us our first real taste of Ozona, and honestly? It was charming.

The main street had that small-town Texas vibe, complete with a park and an actual running fountain. Yes, water! In Texas! I might’ve gotten a little misty-eyed—though that could’ve been the dust in the air. After endless miles of desert and tumbleweeds, seeing something lush and green felt like stumbling into Narnia.

Of course, this peaceful moment was interrupted by John the Rockstar Husband declaring that it was still my turn to cook. Why? Because of “the pizza fiasco.” I won’t rehash that disaster, but let’s just say my quick fixes are getting old.

Reluctantly, I ducked into the Family Dollar, grabbed whatever looked edible, and called it a win. On the way back to the RV, I noticed some tracks in the mud near the park. They looked suspiciously familiar, but I couldn’t be sure. A quick text to Keegan confirmed my suspicion: wild boar. Because nothing says welcome to Texas like the possibility of being charged by feral pigs.

Luckily, we didn’t meet any hogs on the way back, but we did survive my cooking, which is arguably more impressive. By the next morning, we were back on the road, heading toward Texas Wine Country, ready for more adventures—or at least a glass of wine large enough to forget about wild boars and fuses.

Until next time, remember: paws and breathe… and maybe pack a wild boar defense kit.