Ahead of my four-month Scotland road trip last year, I took my Eriba caravan to get new tyres at my local fitter. It was rush hour on an industrial estate, with lorries thundering about, workers arriving at their warehouses and several blokes standing around outside the garage having their coffees and cigarettes before beginning the day’s work. It was not the sort of place where you want to mess-up parking your caravan.
With only a slight spike of anxiety and a whole bucketload of determination, I pulled alongside the front of the workshop next door, put my tow car into reverse, and set about backing up into the forecourt.
Two sets of customers in their own vehicles paused to watch, and every single one of the mechanics stood staring as I put the Eriba exactly where they needed her. It was, without doubt, one of the most satisfying and pride-inducing moments of my life. A single woman (and her dutiful dog in the boot), reversing a caravan in front of a crowd of onlookers.
“These things aren’t as easy to manoeuvre as they look, are they?”, the mechanic said to me as I got out of the car. “It’s not that hard,” I replied with unabashed smugness.
With a little practice, towing isn’t that hard
It’s safe to say, I have never felt more powerful and independent than when I am towing a caravan. No adrenaline-fuelled experience will be able to match the exhilaration of parking the Eriba in a tight spot, be it on my driveway when my neighbours have parked in inconvenient places or, as I did when caravanning in Scotland last year, inside the confines of an enclosed camping pitch made for those who are caravanning with a dog prone to wandering.
There’s a rhetoric around women and driving – my friends at school used to say “women drivers, no survivors”, a particularly grotesque, sexist slur that has always irked me greatly. Historical social exclusion has led to several stereotypes surrounding women and driving, including the idea that we don’t understand cars or that we can’t park. But statistics say otherwise: data from Carwow suggests that if only women were allowed to drive, we’d see an 80% reduction in death by dangerous or careless driving.
And so why aren’t more of us towing caravans? It seems to be a confidence thing. As I travelled through Scotland last year, the question that came up the most from women I met on the road was, “You tow that on your own?!” Always tinged with a little surprise. The second most common question was, “How do you park it?”
The truth is, it’s really not that hard. With a little practice – I employed a friend with a yard and a handful of trailers of varying sizes to help me get my head around it – and some serious patience (the slower you go, the easier it is to correct any mistakes), anyone of any age can tow a caravan.
In fact, I’d say I’m a better caravanner than some of the men in my life – my dad’s dismal attempts at reversing the Eriba in Europe in 2024 were a case in point. After one particularly infuriating episode, he had to get out of the car and let me take over on our campsite just outside Barcelona. I almost felt like taking a bow after I’d put her in position in front of our neighbours.
We can, and should
There are, of course, many women who do tow. I am not alone, and there are entire Facebook groups dedicated to those of us with caravans on our cars – I’m a member of the Eriba Women group, for example. I have met women towing on my travels, too.
In one particularly serendipitous meeting on a bench in Glasgow, where I sat waiting to meet a friend after dropping the van on a campsite nearby, I got talking to a woman called Anni who remembered fondly towing her own mini caravan around Scotland during her 30s and 40s. It’s now parked up on the Kintyre Peninsula, enjoying a retirement on a permanent pitch where she can visit for a few weeks’ respite from her lecturing job at Glasgow University.
I’ve connected with younger women who tow on social media, too, who say they get the same feelings of independence and power from towing alone. So whether you’re coupled up with a capable male counterpart who prefers to take the wheel, or you’re a solo would-be caravanner if only you had the confidence to hitch up a caravan and hit the road, my message is simple: if men, who are responsible for the vast majority of driving offences, can do it, why can’t you?
We got the vote in 1916, were allowed to open a bank account in 1975, and we’ve been growing human beings inside our bodies for millennia. Women can absolutely tow caravans. And we should. Our campsites would probably be better for it, too.
For those of you who are also touring with a four-legged friend, don’t miss my seven must-have accessories when you’re caravanning with a dog.
Follow Lottie on Instagram at @lottiegross
Images: Lottie Gross
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