I awoke to the sound of noisy seagulls, squawking at the bubbling surf and chasing the tides for their morning breakfast. The waves crashed along the oceanfront, rhythmically tumbling onto the shore and then retreating back to the sea. Low on the horizon the sun blazed bright and clear, casting a glow on the water that reflected the sky until it melted into the distant haze. A group of pelicans soared lazily above the water, passing by with hardly a beat of wing, and just beyond the waves the dorsal fins of two dolphins gracefully broke the surface in a flowing arc.
I stepped from my beach house and walked to the picnic patio. A gentle wind of exotic, ocean fragrance rolled over me. The temperature was perfect, warm but cool in the morning breeze. I walked to the beach and gazed up and down the dunes, endlessly stretching for miles in both directions. All around me was million-dollar landscape. A paradise of property that would beckon the desires of the rich and famous was ironically mine for $3 a day.
A few weeks later, I sat on my front lawn and watched the sun set over the distant hills. From my mountain top chalet, I could see for a hundred miles in every direction. A panorama of color and shape, valleys of meadows and forests, silhouetted by craggy peaks of distant mountains. It was a place where many dream of having a home. At that moment, it was my home for $3 a day.
Of course, I was not living in a beach house or mountain top chalet. I don’t own expensive oceanfront property or actually have deed to land in the mountains. The land I’m talking about is public. It belongs to all of us. It is the National Parks, National Seashores, National Forests, and National Historic places. My home was a twelve year-old van, converted into a makeshift RV.
For over six months I traveled the highways across America, accumulating almost 10,000 miles on an old Ford Econoline van. It started out as an experiment. I wasn’t sure if I should drive a car or motorcycle and camp in a tent, or drive my old truck and sleep in the back, or just stay in motels and rely on relatives for lodging. I’m the end, I decided that my old work van, converted into a primitive recreational vehicle, would be the best option. What could be a better way to see America than with my very own RV (Rusty Van).
The van provided me with almost everything I needed for my experimental adventure. I built a bed along one side, added closets and totes for storage, and made drop-down tables for cooking and organizing. I had a propane stove for cooking and a cooler for a refrigerator. For privacy, I used dark curtains and drapes. For nighttime entertainment, I had my laptop, dvd player, and Netflix/Kindle enabled iPhone. The only item I omitted and sometimes missed was a portable toilet. In the confined space of the van I didn’t want to deal with odor and the mess of finding places for waste disposal. I figured I could find and use public toilets when the need arose.
The list of places where I spent the nights include, but are not limited to: parking lots, rest areas, town parks, State and National park campgrounds, and Bureau of Land Management campgrounds (BLM). Not once did I stay in a RV park; it didn’t seem like I fit there. I enjoyed staying at BLM campgrounds the most. They were usually inexpensive and situated in nice, quiet National Forests. Rest areas were usually noisy with interstate traffic all hours of the night, and I spent a couple of sleepless nights there. The only time I was awakened by authorities happened to be in a town park. The police knocked on my door and wanted to know what I was doing. They were quite OK with me after I explained to them that I just wanted a few hours of rest. Although you are always susceptible to mischief, I never felt insecure in a parking lot; my old van is not a prime target for valuables, and most people don’t even know you are sleeping in it. If you are stealthy and park undetected, it looks like you are a store worker or just late-night shopping.
Besides upscale RV complexes, the nicest places to camp are usually State parks. Many of them have showers and flush toilets, understandably a treat after several days of hiking, biking, and traveling. I always promised myself that I would never sink into squalor and uncleanness, and I devised ways to bath in almost every situation. Even though I never felt beyond a little grubby (it’s not quite as important when your traveling alone), it was always nice to take a hot, steamy shower. The downside of State parks is the cost. They are usually $20 – $30/per night all across the US, and as much as $40 in California. You would think this price would include electric hookups but that’s not always the case.
As I reflect back on the trip, I keep focusing on one underlying thread — Don’t plan too much. It’s not to say you should go off unprepared or ill advised, but I found I was the happiest when I could take enjoyment in the moment, worry less where I was and where I thought I ought to be. Sometimes a traveler can put too much emphasis on travel plans, transportation, dining, lodging, and entertainment. After years of conditioning to two-week vacations, I often had to slow down and remind myself to take it easy. I would often get the itch to push on, see what was in the next state, visit someplace new, but if I just stayed where I was and looked around, some little piece of serendipity would always come my way.
Probably the most worrisome aspect of traveling in a camper is finding a site for the night. I have to admit that this occupied my mind quite often as I roamed across the land. If you travel without a definite destination for the night, it conjures up thoughts of ending up on a lonely abandoned road, far from civilization and normalcy, with inebriated, deranged hillbillies lurking about the hills. I would spend considerable time during the day pouring over maps and guides, looking for campgrounds. There were a few times when I would deviate miles from my route only to find a campground closed. What I needed was an escape clause that would almost guarantee a relative safe place to park, never be closed, and be located everywhere along my route. That’s where Walmart comes in.
Although the RV parks in town don’t like it, most Walmarts welcome RVs in their parking lots. The campers are well behaved, don’t make a mess, and buy stuff in their store. There is usually plenty of space to park and security is very good. A lot of the time, security personnel patrol the lot all night. It worked great for me – parking, security, restrooms, supplies, and fresh groceries at hand. Even though it was not my first choice for the night, once I learned the trick of googling nearby Walmarts, it took the worry out of finding campgrounds.
In my next post I will tell of the new van I just bought. Although it is new to me, it is certainly not new. With respectable mileage, beautiful interior, a high top, and – best of all – NO RUST, my plan is to modify it into a camper-van of sorts. I’m usually not looking to make myself more work, but this should be fun. For me, van camping is the way to travel. The gas mileage, the camping places I want to get into, and the stealth quality of parking undetected, outweigh the convenience and luxury of a large camper. Hey, it’s quite a step up from a tent!
