It was a typical North Yorks Moors day, cloudy, with some sunshine, but with the threat of real rain.
We parked our Ford Transit Advantura up on the moor road by Rosedale, and set out with the dogs for a stroll round this enchanting, history packed dale. As the clouds darkened, we decided discretion to be the better part of valour, and headed back to the van. Some ten minutes away, Jill looked behind us to see a real monster of a black cloud rapidly overtaking. Putting on some speed, we reached the van just as the first heavy drops began to fall, and were inside as the storm burst and torrential rain lashed the windows.
Kettle on, Sunday papers to hand, we relaxed in comfort and smugly inspected those other unfortunates caught in the downpour.
We could have been sat in a car with a thermos - it wouldn't have been the same. We could have been sat in a caravan - it wouldn't have been the same. There is something about a motorhome that makes the experience special, and different.
This memory for me crystallises my ongoing love of motorhomes - don't ask me to explain, I can't, but there was something about the experience that has stayed with me all these years, and has led to the recent purchase of our second motorhome, with the hope and expectation of many more such magic moments to come.
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