Ingrid ZH | Fangruo’s Cereal — Writing, Food, Travel & Coaching

(For those who want to skip the story and go straight to the car bed tutorial, please scroll to the end.)

The last time I went on a long trip, I told myself: I’m never sleeping in my car again.

That night, I was in Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota. I lay in my car watching the sunset fade into a deep blue sky. I was reading a book that made me unbearably sad. I cried over and over again.

My body couldn’t fully stretch out in the car. It was uncomfortable.

Sleeping in my car wasn’t new to me. Back when I had a Civic, I used to sleep in it all the time. I tried many setups: at first, I folded down the back seats and used a yoga mat or blankets. Later, I bought a thin mattress and slept directly on it. When the back seats are folded down, there’s always a height difference between the seats and the trunk. In a sedan, it’s manageable—the mattress can absorb the gap. But three years ago, I switched to an SUV, and that height difference became much more pronounced.

That night in North Dakota, I couldn’t fall asleep. After that, I told Kevin I was going to throw the mattress away. I said I was done sleeping in the car.

On a deeper level, that mattress represented my years of traveling alone. It had been with me everywhere, through moments of pride and disappointment, heartbreak and joy. A quiet voice inside me said: you’re married now, maybe it’s time to let that part of your life go.

Kevin strongly disagreed. He had seen so many photos of me traveling with that mattress. He knew how much it meant to me. He told me not to throw it away. Besides, it counted as bulky waste—I’d have to find a proper disposal site.

After my last trip in October, the weather turned cold quickly, and I stopped sleeping in the car. Somewhere along the way, I simply forgot about getting rid of the mattress.

I had been planning a trip to Newfoundland and Labrador in northeastern Canada for a long time (yes, Labrador retrievers are originally from there). There would be a few days of camping along the way. This time, I wanted a more comfortable setup. On a whim, I thought: why not build a proper bed in the car?

So we went to the hardware store and bought wood for the platform and legs.

We started by cutting the wooden supports and attaching them to the platform. I thought we could finish everything in one morning and even test it out camping that afternoon. But we kept working until 3 p.m. For some reason, drilling holes was painfully slow: each hole took about twenty minutes. I felt exhausted and had to lie down for a nap. When I woke up, it was already 6 p.m. We decided to go camping anyway. The bed would have to wait for next weekend.

All week, I looked forward to finishing it.

Sunday morning, I was determined: today, we would finish the bed. I had slept well the night before. There were eight holes to drill, which felt like an eternity. I searched online why drilling was so slow and learned to start with a smaller drill bit. It helped a little, but not much. I kept drilling, until the drill’s fan blew air so hard it made my nose run, until the wood started to smoke.

I used the same mental trick I used when running marathons: just one more kilometer. I set a two-minute timer on my phone and told myself—just two more minutes.

Then my roommate Sylph woke up. She stepped outside in her pajamas, rubbing her eyes.

“Your drill bit isn’t moving,” she said. “Are you drilling in reverse?”

We froze. Then realized—she was right.

Each hole took fifteen seconds.

Earlier, while struggling, I had been thinking: maybe everything in life is just this slow. But it turned out, I had simply been forcing things the wrong way.

I laughed and leaned against Kevin’s shoulder.

After drilling the holes, we assembled the bed and thought we were done.

“Wait. Both of you lie down on it,” Sylph said.

She crouched by the trunk and examined how the board bent under our weight.

“No. This second section is too flexible. It will break eventually. You need two cross beams.”

We added them. She checked again.

“Better. But still not enough.”

So we added another vertical support between the beams.

At one point, she paused and asked, “Am I taking over? This is your project.”

I smiled and shook my head. I understood why she asked. She didn’t know the old me—the one who believed fiercely in doing everything alone. As if accepting help diminished something. As if it made me less worthy.

I smiled, thinking of that version of myself. Back then, I might have cried—not because I couldn’t do it, but because someone else helped and did it better.

But not anymore.

The bed was finished.

I laid a layer of carpet over the platform, then placed the mattress on top. I held my hammer and took a photo with the bed.

I used to take photos like that all the time—just me and my car, somewhere far away. I told countless stories about traveling alone. I believed deeply in individual heroism: I did this. I am good. I deserve recognition.

I often avoided kindness, intervention, help. I tied solo travel to that independence.

It was beautiful.

And it was lonely.

In a couple of weeks, I’ll be driving north again. This trip will mostly be solo—Kevin will fly in and join me in Newfoundland for a couple of days.

Getting married has shifted something in me. Not because of marriage itself, but because I’m starting to question the limits I once placed on identity and independence. Kevin reminds me that I can still be myself—without those constraints.

He isn’t particularly handy. He didn’t notice the drill issue either. But he sat beside me on a small stool, spending long minutes drilling tiny holes with me.

The people who love an explorer—they protect the explorer’s oversized dreams, quietly and carefully.

🛠️ What’s in this tutorial

• How I designed a 2-part car bed platform Materials + tools I used

• Mistakes I made (and what I’d do differently)

• How to keep your back seats usable

• Small details that made a big difference

🧰 Materials (adjust based on your car)

• 3/8 4×8 Plywood boards
• 2×4 10ft Wood for legs/support
• Hex bolts
• Hook and eye latch
• Carpet + carpet tape
• Mattress topper

🚗 Build goals

• Sleep comfortably in an SUV
• Fit 2 people
• Foldable / removable design
• Extra storage space underneath

💭 A small thought

I used to think doing everything alone made it more impressive. But this project wasn’t just me— someone taught me how to use a saw, someone showed me I was drilling the wrong way, and someone stayed with me while I made all those very dumb holes. Turns out, building things together is pretty great too. More videos like this coming soon Car camping, road trips, and stories from the road.

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