Kicking Off Boondocking Season in True Sol Wanderer Style (Coffee First, Crisis Second)

A full week boondocking in Medicine Bow National Forest, a brand new power system, and a list of things that went sideways. Spoiler: you can figure almost anything out. Eventually.

We got a taste of this in March.

One quick trip. Cold and windy enough to keep us close to camp, short enough to leave us wanting more. But it was enough. Enough to spend the next several weeks checking the Medicine Bow forest opening dates like I was waiting for concert tickets. I knew exactly where we were going. I just had to wait. So I packed and repacked everything in my head at least ten times, and then finally — finally — I was doing it for real.

A full week this time. Maybe longer.

First morning. Worth every mile.

We hitched up the Dawn on a Sunday afternoon, loaded the girls, and headed to our happy place. Our first smart move was to park the Dawn on the entrance road so we wouldn't be bouncing everything around while we scouted. Good thing too — the Mother's Day crowd was still out, and the prime spots were full. We drove around for close to an hour looking for just the right place. And then we found it. Ironically, on the same road where we had left the Dawn at the start. The meadow we pulled into was already doing what Medicine Bow does in May. Indian paintbrush pushing up through the rocks. White wildflowers scattered through the sage. That smell that hits your whole chest the moment you step outside. Penny and Luna took one look and took off. I stood there for a minute just watching them and thought: yes. This is it. This is what we were waiting for.

I had some fun trying my hand at macro photography.

Our Sunday arrival left me with no buffer day to work out all the kinks. This wasn't a vacation week — I had a full work schedule waiting, which meant laptops, Starlink, all the things that make remote work possible from the middle of a national forest. The power system wasn't optional. But I know this rig. I've done this before. I was confident I'd be plugged in and running by 7 am Monday morning. Boondocking season, officially open!

Monday morning, I started with my favorite ritual: making coffee on the gas stove. There's something about the whole process, the kettle, the waiting, the quiet, that sets the tone for the day. My trusty Aeropress didn't let me down. I carried my cup outside, sat in the quiet, watched the light come through the pines, and thought: I could do this all summer.

Non-negotiable. Every single morning.

Then I went to set up my solar panels.

Three 200w panels — and if you've never wrestled three large, awkward, heavier-than-they-look solar panels into position by yourself, just know there is nothing graceful about it. I've thought about a rooftop install more times than I can count. Every single time I talk myself out of it because I don't want to lose the flexibility to park anywhere I want, sun angle be damned. So instead I do this: twenty minutes of maneuvering, positioning, and connecting, every single time.

I had also made the executive decision to leave my fourth panel at home. I wouldn't need it, I told myself. Three would be plenty.

When the overvoltage error hit, I found myself standing there squinting at my phone, scrolling through my camera roll looking for the wiring diagrams I had saved from last season. Which were not in a folder. Because I was absolutely going to organize those and then did not. Noted. Also noted: always bring the fourth panel.

What troubleshooting looks like from the outside.

Here's what I learned: my new power station has a 60 volt solar input ceiling. My older unit accepts up to 145v, so I'd never had to think about voltage limits. Wire three panels in series and you stack the voltage — straight past 60v and right into an error message. Two hours of deep diving later, I had a plan. The fix is to wire all four panels in series-parallel, which keeps voltage in range while combining the wattage. The fourth panel I left at home will make that possible as soon as I go back for it.

One thing I'll add for anyone breaking in a new system: bring the old one too. Until you've worked out all the kinks, your tried and true backup is worth every inch of cargo space it takes up. I wished I had mine.

You can figure almost anything out when you're boondocking. It just might take a couple of hours and a very long scroll through your camera roll.

What actually saved the day was a combination of past Rachel's foresight and a legend stepping up. Because I had geniusly ordered the parallel connectors ahead of time, I'll be able to wire up the full series-parallel setup as soon as I'm back with that fourth panel. But the biggest struggle in the meantime was not being able to charge the new station via AC. Enter the legend herself: my original power station, quietly riding in the Dawn the whole time, ready to pick up the job until the kinks with the new one could be worked out. Just glad I had a backup to my backup.

The solar situation was the main event, but the supporting cast showed up too.

The propane connector for the generator was somewhere safe — my husband had put it there. I'll let that one speak for itself. The door keypad needed lithium AAs specifically, which I didn't have on hand, so that had to wait until the next run to town. And before we went to bed I noticed the fire alarm light wasn't blinking, which meant those batteries got changed stat. Some things you just don't wait on.

Oh, and the Starlink cable. Broken. Again. Not the first time and probably not the last — if you have a Starlink and you haven't broken a cable yet, just wait. It's coming. I thank my lucky stars I keep a spare. But still - those suckas are not cheap!!!!

And my keyboard. I left my keyboard for my work computer at home. I have since ordered a spare to keep with my mobile office setup permanently, so that particular lesson only needs to be learned once. The things you learn on the first real trip out of the season.

Through all of it, the old girl held her own. The AC200L kept us powered up all week without a single complaint. Sometimes the legend earns her title all over again.

Then there was the water situation. I had flushed my lines dewinterizing before the trip but completely forgot that the hot water tank had quietly claimed six gallons for itself in the process. Day three morning I found myself needing to refill the fresh water tank with no tap anywhere nearby. If you've ever tried to lift a five gallon water jug over your head and pour it into a fill port through a funnel, you understand why I keep a transfer pump in the Dawn. Fast, clean, no overhead lifting required. My only note for next time: I'll be upgrading to a rechargeable version. Battery powered works, but it's 2026! This little champion has also earned her keep over and over and is a good add to the boondocking aresenal.

The sink turned out to be a waterless p-trap with what I'm pretty sure is a missing or degraded o-ring — a quick dive into the inTech Sol Dawn Facebook group pointed me in the right direction. Easy fix. Just not one I'm doing in the woods. In the meantime, we catch all our gray water in a washtub out here anyway and use it to put out the campfire, so nothing is going to waste. The sink and I have reached a perfectly reasonable truce.

By mid-morning I had a list, a plan, and a second cup of coffee. None of it was insurmountable. All of it was fixable. That's the thing about a full week out here versus a weekend: you have time to actually solve the problems instead of just getting home and forgetting about them until next time.

In the midst of all of it there have been beautiful sunrises, peaceful still evenings with not a breath of wind, an excuse to play with macro photography, and many, many perfect cups of coffee. The chaos and the beauty, right alongside each other. That's Medicine Bow in May.

She runs a tight ship. Mostly.

And that's the thing about year two. It's not about starting over — it's about refinement. Dressing the sails. Tightening things up. Honing in on what peak performance actually looks like in a space this small.

Last summer I was still figuring out where everything lived, still rearranging, still discovering what worked and what just took up space. This summer the Dawn feels dialed in. Comfort and function in a space this small turns out to be its own kind of art form. The systems are established. Everything has a place. I know this rig the way you know a well-worn trail.

Don't get me wrong, there are still areas that need work. Yes, underbed storage, I'm talking to you. And there are a few other corners I'm not ready to defend publicly. Where the Weimaraners fit best for the most comfortable night of sleep is an entirely different story! But for the most part? So much better. You don't really know a small space until you've lived in it through a full season and come back for another.

Some of the things that made the biggest difference aren't the big gear. They're the small stuff. The under-cabinet lights I added this season, rechargeable and motion-activated, change how the Dawn feels after dark and make midnight battery missions significantly less miserable. The little trash can that hangs under the sink keeps waste contained without taking up any floor space. The collapsible kettle that tucks away to almost nothing but heats water perfectly on the propane stove. None of these make headlines. All of them make the space work. And let's not forget the cocktail shaker that holds two cups and a juicer inside.

Sometimes it IS the little things!

Not everyone shared my concerns. Not even a little bit.

Penny and Luna have no opinions about voltage limits or propane connectors or slow sink leaks. What they do have opinions about is who gets to be closest to me on the bed while I'm working. It is a daily negotiation. Nobody wins gracefully. They usually end up in a heap together anyway.

'Are you done? We have a meadow to patrol.'

The post-patrol crash.

Watching them out here resets something. The list of things that felt urgent at 7am looks different by 10am when the sage is doing its thing and the light is coming through the pines and neither of those two has a single concern in the world.

In the evenings we've been cooking over the campfire, watching the light fade over the pines, and just being here. No agenda. No troubleshooting list. Just the fire and the food and two very content Weimaraners.

The snow on the horizon has made the decision for us — we're cutting this trip a little shorter than we'd planned. That stings a little. But here's the thing: it's May. We have all summer. Medicine Bow isn't going anywhere and neither are we. The Rockies in spring. You love it and you shake your fist at it in equal measure.

Medicine Bow: We'll be back before the season knows what hit it.

We're back. Finally, properly back. And the gear, most of it anyway, is ready for whatever the Wyoming summer has to dish out!

Here's to a great start to camping season 2026 - officially, on the books!

Keep Moving.

Rachel

Gear Mentioned in This Post

Affiliate links below. I only recommend gear I personally use and love.

⚡ BLUETTI AC200L Power Station  — the hero of the trip  https://amzn.to/4rLemVC

☀️ BLUETTI 200w Solar Panels  https://amzn.to/4flRBEh

🔗 BougeRV Solar Parallel Connectors  https://amzn.to/4u3jpBY

🔌 FlexSolar Solar Charge Cable  https://amzn.to/4dHQc9W

☕ AeroPress XL  https://amzn.to/4daYhDS

🫖 Portable Collapsible Camping Kettle 1.5L  https://amzn.to/4wuerja

💧 SKYJDM Portable Fluid Transfer Pump  https://amzn.to/4tACaM7

🗑️ MONGTINGLU Under-Sink Trash Can  https://amzn.to/4fkekRa

💡 MCGOR Under Cabinet Lighting  https://amzn.to/4fkekRa

Affiliate Disclosure: This post contains affiliate links. If you purchase through my link, I may earn a small commission at no extra cost to you. I only recommend gear I personally use and love.