They say you can’t script a perfect milestone, but Mother Nature certainly tried her best for our 100th video. As we crossed the border from northern Spain into France, the universe alignment settled into a brutal, triple-digit rhythm: Video #100, a blistering 100°F (37.8°C) heatwave, and over €100 in highway tolls.
We had originally planned this stretch of the journey as what our old motorcycle buddies call “blue collar miles.” The goal was simple, lean, and purely logistical: grind out the highway tarmac, find a local French vet to stamp our Golden Doodle Salsa’s paperwork, and catch Le Shuttle under the English Channel to begin our grand tour of the United Kingdom. We had exceptionally low expectations for our transit through France—and yet, France still found a way to leave us hilariously disappointed.

The 100-Degree Meltdown & The “Protein” Buffet
Traveling long-term in an older rig like our 2004 Hymer Tramp GT (affectionately named Holly) is an absolute dream—until you find yourself stuck in a massive European heatwave with absolutely zero air conditioning. Not in the back, and not even in the front cab while driving. As the temperatures climbed to the century mark, our search for shade became a full-time priority.
After a desperate hour baking in an office parking lot where we felt ourselves literally cooking, we threw in the towel and hunted for a local hotel in Leverne.
What followed was a sequence straight out of a travel comedy. The hotel was entirely automated, with an online booking engine that steadfastly refused to render in English.
Thankfully, we found a familiar Name on a hotel down the road. Once inside our tiny room, we cranked the thermostat down to its absolute minimum—a setting that boldly claimed it would reach 5°C (41°F). Spoiler alert: it didn’t. We traded an evening in the van for concrete tile floors where Salsa slid herself completely under the bed frame to lay out flat on her stomach, trying to pull any residual coolness from the floor.

“I had the lowest of expectations for our time rolling through France, and I was still
profoundly disappointed.” — Rodney

The next morning brought the great breakfast debacle. Relieved that we wouldn’t have to fire up the stove and heat up the camper to make bacon and eggs, Rodney proudly brought back a plate from the typical hotel buffet. Right in the center of the scrambled eggs sat a massive black spot—a giant fly adding some unsolicited “extra protein” to the meal. When we pointed it out to the staff, they met us with a shrug of utter indifference. To make matters worse, the next four plates and forks Rodney pulled from the clean stacks were caked in dried egg residue. Defeated, we ended up eating plain bread and butter with our fingers, knowing at least that our hands were
clean!

The Cost of Transit: France’s Toll Road Sting
If the heat wasn’t enough to drain our reserves, France’s toll system certainly finished the job. Unlike moving between states in the US, or crossing between many other Schengen countries where borders blend seamlessly, arriving in France means meeting a toll booth. Every time we
stopped, the machine demanded €6, €7, or €15. The final sting came just outside a town called Gaillac, where a single toll booth demanded a jaw-dropping €45.
By the time we finalized our route north, we had easily paid out over €100 just for the privilege of driving on roads that honestly weren’t in spectacular condition. We quickly made a executive decision: stay off the French tollways, stick to the secondary two-lane roads, enjoy the tree-lined avenues that offered brief pockets of shaded relief, and navigate the endless sea of roundabouts instead.

The Rule of Three: To survive peak European camping season, we always practice our “Rule of Three.”
We aim to arrive at our destination campground or municipal spot no later than 3:00 PM. Time and again, this strategy has saved us. We would pull into a pristine Camping-Car Park with only four spaces left, and watch
as the entire lot completely filled to capacity by 9:00 PM with sweating, exhausted travelers.

The Calais Crisis: Four Vets and a Post-Brexit Loopholes
While the heatwave and the highway tolls were exhausting, the real climax of our French odyssey unfolded when we reached Calais. This was supposed to be our smooth final checkpoint before driving Holly onto Le Shuttle. Instead, it became a high-stakes race against an escalating administrative clock.
At Vet Number One, we received a devastating piece of news. When we had originally executed our international USDA paperwork back home in North Carolina, the forms were processed specifying entry into the European Union. However, post-Brexit, Great Britain is strictly considered a separate “third country.” Our paperwork got Salsa into the Netherlands, but it was
legally worthless for crossing the channel. To make matters worse, the vet, seemingly out of sheer frustration, sent us on an hour-long wild goose chase to a French government agency called the DDP.
Because nobody on the government phone lines spoke English, we drove Holly straight to theoffice. Kasey went inside, only to be stopped dead at the front desk because we didn’t have anofficial appointment. They handed us a slip of paper in English, telling us to log onto a website and submit our passports online, promising a response within 24 to 48 hours.
We retreated to a nearby campground and waited. Forty-eight hours ticked by with no word. We visited Vet Number Two further inland, who was incredibly kind but admitted they rarely dealt with Eurotunnel crossings. They called the government offices on their internal lines, only for the DDP to finally email us back days later with a bureaucratic nightmare: They were forwarding our file to Paris because they didn’t know how to handle us.
With our travel dates slipping away and less than five days left on our authorization windows, we raced back to Calais in a panic. The DDP officially filed their final response: “We cannot help you. You must coordinate with Great Britain.”

Chloe to the Rescue
Down to less than four days, we pulled into Vet Number Three. He confidently administered the mandatory tapeworm treatment, which strictly opens a five-day legal window to cross the border, meaning our clock was now moving in real-time hours. Acting on a brilliant tip from our AI assistant, we decided to bypass the traditional channels and drive straight up to the
Eurotunnel Pet Pre-Check lanes to see if our papers would pass muster.
That is where we met Chloe—our absolute Eurotunnel angel. She took one look at our convoluted mountain of paperwork and told us honestly, “This is not going to get your dog across.” But instead of turning us away, Chloe went to bat for us. She picked up the phone, coordinated in rapid French with a specialized local clinic (Vet Number Four), and meticulously hand-wrote a detailed instruction note in French for the clinician. She handed the packet back to us and said, “Go straight to this address. They are waiting for you.”
Thanks to Chloe’s precise directions, Vet Number Four generated the exact French health certificate equivalent required by the UK, updated Salsa’s rabies boosters to keep her protected for our upcoming run into Ireland, and officially saved our journey.
We are now sitting with exactly three days left on our tapeworm clock, waiting out the mandatory 24-hour post-treatment hold before we can legally drive into the tunnel. Did we finally make it under the sea without a massive fine, or did another twist await us at the gate?
You’ll have to tune into Episode 101 to find out!