Seattle Met S hortly after sunset, in a campsite just above an Olympic Peninsula beach, I flip a switch to engage the RV generator and think, âIâm that person now.â The person Iâve long scorned, who breaks the silence of a national park campground with a mechanical rumble to run my water pump. This lifelong tent camper always considered âgeneratorâ a bad word. But on a chilly off-season night like this, analog camping would demand my hardiest expedition gear for even moderate comfortâor this propane-heated mobile studio apartment. I hurry through the dinner dishes so I can silence the generator and retreat to a queen-size bed that, though it folds in two for storage, beats my home mattress by a mile.