I married a man whose middle name is “go.” He loves to drive and has built-in mental radar, which usually outthinks our GPS. He is fearless, and the more unfamiliar the territory, the more alluring it is to him. One afternoon he came home with a surprise. “Come see what I got!” he said. He had excitedly brought home a used, 17-foot RV he had purchased on the spur of the moment without consulting me. My response was, “Guess what you are going to get? A divorce!” I was a city girl who had never thought of camping or been inside an RV, but once our 6- and 8-year-old children had happily explored the “playhouse,” I could see I was outnumbered. We set off for Central America with two children and a 3-month-old baby whose bed took up all of the floor space. We also managed to squeeze in the …