RV camping is a lot like living on a boat

No fewer than six RVs were on Alligator Alley recently as I drove to Miami, and three of them were rented.

Their logos and slogans — "Camping World RV Rentals" and "RV-4-Rent" — are becoming more familiar to motorists in part because Americans willing to vacation in an RV can save 27 percent to 61 percent on their family excursions, even when factoring in fuel costs, according to a 2008 study by PKF Consulting.

I'd read this as part of the Go RVing campaign, which has been rolling across the country since the 1990s and meeting success via ads and other efforts to show the benefits of RV travel. Marine industry leaders have frequently cited the campaign's success as a model for how they could draw people to boating.

But as I drove the Alley, I realized I'd never camped in an RV. I always suspected they were for those not industrious enough to tent it and those who wanted to take everything as well as the kitchen sink. I smugly considered the crowd who apparently considered an air mattress not cushiony enough or who couldn't do without sports television for a weekend.

Then I stayed in my friend's RV.

Now I know better.

RVing it, in fact, is not like camping at all. It seems to me, it's more like living aboard a boat.

Let me count the ways:

. The generator: With the push of a button, the power comes. With another push, the power goes off — reliably, without fail. And so simply it makes the pull-start kind we used after Hurricane Charley seem like an entirely different species. When my friend explained this, the simplicity of it miffed me. I expected so much more instruction.

. The shower: How naive was I? When I packed for my RV overnight, I hesitated to even bring shampoo because I wasn't sure if the Winnebago would have a suitable shower. The tidy space was like some I've seen on yachts — fully accommodating, well lit, easy to use. Just a bit smaller than one at home.

. The cabinets and cubbies: Any boater knows the key to a successful overnight trip is to bring as much food, drink and stuff to last you double the number of days you'll be gone. No one wants to run out of adult beverages, for example. No self-respecting boater would want to discover she was without a necessary gadget that she owned but had left at home.

So, you stow it. The concept clearly carries over to RVs. The number of storage spots on this 24-foot Minnie Winnie, as his model is known, was impressive. No space went unused. Even the tiny fridge was accommodating, holding a tall bottle of Iceberg vodka, a 12-pack of Miller High Life and a 64-ounce container of Welch's juice. All that and there was still space for food. Boaters and RVers apparently share the same reverence for efficient stowage.

. The motion: This 2004 RV swayed. Not just in the wind, but even if someone from outside was coming aboard. Oh wait. That's probably not RV-speak. But you get the idea. The RV's innards may appear to be home-like but the structure itself clearly was not anchored to the ground. I loved how it gently moved as if it were a boat at the dock. My friend said it doesn't feel so comforting to be in the Minnie Winnie during a windstorm, but for my one night the point was valid.

Had I stayed more than just 24 hours, I think I would have found more in common between RV living and life on the hook. But my sample motorhome stay ended and I returned to the world of living on land and going out in boats.

And tents.

No, my family is not ready to ditch its roughing-it style of camping. But my days of dissing RVs are long gone.

— Betsy Clayton is a freelancer based on Pine Island and also is Lee County Parks & Recreation's waterways coordinator. Contact her at boatingbybetsy@ yahoo.com.