Pt 31 Choosing the right RV Park--did we?
From empty guard shacks to jungle-inspired campsites this is Silver Springs Florida.
We were finally back behind the wheel and rolling toward our next destination. Sometimes, you just need a change of scenery and not the kind you can hear roaring down the highway at all hours. I wanted something quieter. Tucked away. A place with just enough mystery to make me curious and just enough peace to make me exhale. And what we found? Well, it wasn’t quite what we expected—but it came with its own charm, a few surprises, and just enough quirk to keep things interesting.
Need to catch up?
Pt 30 Singing Frogs, Fiery Sunsets & The Art of Mapping Adventure
Pt 29 "You can check-out any time you like, But you can never leave.”
Or, Start from the beginning
Now that I’ve shared my secret weapon with you, we’ve officially broken free from the lay days and are back on the road—off to our next destination just a mere two hours away. We needed something close to Ocala for business, but I was craving a place that felt tucked away, where traffic only occasionally whispered through like a distant hum during rush hour. Not the daily chaos. Just once in a while. A little hidden gem. We landed at The Springs RV Resort in Silver Springs, Florida.
Sure, there were plenty of other RV parks in the area like Ocala RV Camp Resort (there’s that word again… resort), right off Highway 75. Way too close to the road for my liking. Same with Holiday Trav-L Park and Southern Springs Resort. There’s also something called the Ocala RV Community… but I wasn’t exactly sure what that was, and frankly, I wasn’t in the mood to find out.
Of course, Silver Springs State Park tempted me. I would have loved being nestled under those trees, but like all state parks, it’s a strict “14 days and get out!” rule. Too much pressure.
We pulled off I-75 North to Florida-40 East/West Silver and merged onto Springs Boulevard, passing through the busy Ocala strip with buzzing cars zipping past us, people hurrying to and fro like extras in a movie montage. We turned onto NE 52nd Court, wondering what might lie beyond.
As we passed by the Ocala RV Community, I gave a silent little sigh of gratitude to the Universe for steering me away from it. At the end of the road, we saw a parking lot and a big oval sign that read “The Springs RV Resort.” We made it. Tall palms stood just beyond the sign, giving us a hopeful glimpse of what might feel like a true resort.
A little guard shack sat empty. We parked. I wandered over to the brown building that looked like a mix between a log cabin and a summer camp clubhouse, with cheerful flags flapping every few feet in the breeze. I climbed the stairs to the wraparound porch and felt a tiny spark of “home” seeing the hanging ferns and potted plants decorating the front.
It was… quiet. Almost eerily so.
One person inside. Minimal conversation. I paid, received a map, and headed back to the coach. Ernie looked at me: “Do we just go?” I shrugged. There weren’t really any instructions—so, I guessed we’d figure it out. Just as we were about to start our own personal adventure of —how many wrong turns can one coach take in an RV park— a man in a golf cart appeared out of nowhere and motioned for us to follow him.
The roads were narrow, winding between mobile homes and RVs. We came to a spot where the coach needed to make a tight left turn—and I mean the tightest of tightest tight turns you have ever seen. But there was a stop sign in the way. Like, literally in the way. There was absolutely no way we could make that challenging tight turn (did I mention how tight it was?) without taking the stop sign out. Our coach would have ate it whole.
The man in the golf cart drove past the corner, parked, got out, and walked back to the stop sign. We watched, curious. He pulled the entire sign, pole and all, out of the ground like it was a broomstick and placed it gently into his cart.
We looked at each other, wide-eyed, amused, and honestly impressed. “Genius,” I thought, grinning. We made the turn and the man in the cart neatly put the stop sign back. We continued to the very back of the RV park. The land opened up and he parked us right next to the only two mobile homes back there. We’d just driven past plenty of open land, but apparently, this was the spot. I’m sure the folks in the mobile homes were just as thrilled about their new neighbors. We settled in and chilled for the rest of the evening.
This RV park is part of the Wilder 55+ community for active adults, found throughout Florida and Texas. This resort has a modest-sized pool, which of course was closed (probably because COVID didn’t know how to swim). The tennis court looked worn, cracked, courts with weeds slowly overtaking. But the Friendship Pavilion, a big covered area, seemed like it had seen some legendary shindigs in its day. I could almost smell the BBQ, hear the music, and picture neighbors catching up over drinks, laughter swirling with the smoke.
But now, it sat quiet. Waiting. Holding onto memories of parties past, hoping for life to spring back to life. Green benches outside sat in a circle, patiently awaiting conversation. Next to the pavilion were the bathhouse and restrooms, outdated, but clean. That’s always a win.
I was happy to be in a larger park where I could walk in the mornings and soak in the creativity of each site. I love seeing how people express their personality in their little slice of park heaven. Some were minimalistic, with plastic white chairs and overflowing coffee cans full of cigarette butts. Others were lush jungles of potted plants. Those were my favorite. I’d slow my pace, drink it in with my eyes, and tuck the inspiration away.
Some were like tiny tropical oases, complete with bubbling water features. I imagined myself waking up in the still, early hours, before the shuffle of daily life, grounded in my gazebo, surrounded by greenery and the soothing trickle of water. A few mobile homes were pristine while others made me wonder if anyone actually lived there. And, if they did, were they still alive?
Back at the coach, I was ready for a good meal. It hadn’t been a hard day, just full. And it felt good to be somewhere new. I spent the evening diving into Google Maps and Atlas Obscura, searching for quirky adventures nearby.
And lucky me, most of them were outdoors. That tickled me green. We were parked right at the entrance to Silver Springs Forest Conservation Area and the Ocala Wildlife Management Area. Tons of little lakes, hidden springs, and nature trails just waiting to be explored.
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Need to catch up?
Pt 30 Singing Frogs, Fiery Sunsets & The Art of Mapping Adventure
Pt 29 "You can check-out any time you like, But you can never leave.”
Or, start from the beginning
Thank you for tuning in and reading this. I super appreciate you.
~Karen