Van Life Eight Months In

In April of 2020 I bought a minivan and everything needed to live out of it. I bought lumber and built a floor, bed, and storage platform. A month later, I left Portland Oregon on what has become an eight month, 32,000 mile journey through eight states. My experiences have included blown tires, a dead battery, all sorts of insects, threatening militia dudes, ghosts, and, of course, the Covid pandemic. For each negative experience, though, I experienced dozens of beautiful locations and the peace being out in nature can bring. I have been challenged like never before in my life and the experience has opened me up in ways I could have never imagined.

Vanlife guru Bob Wells tells the story of crying the first few nights in his van. I never cried but certainly felt overwhelmed and doubtful my first few days on the road as I dealt with the realities of living out of a van. My mantra that first week was “Can I actually do this? Is this the life I want?” Eventually experiences defang fears and routines establish themselves. Things you were not comfortable with---(like defecating out in the open)---become routine. Flaws become apparent in your set up and you move things around, get rid of things you aren’t using, and acquire things you didn’t realize you would need. These adjustments never end: After eight months on the road I am still tinkering, still working on ways of making my van---and consequently my day to day life---better.

This story does not begin eight months ago, it begins ten years ago. Recently divorced and out of work I became aware of Bob Wells and his website. The life he was extolling made sense to me: Buy a van. Outfit it. Travel to where the work is and as a bonus spend more time in nature. By the time I was able to acquire a van, I had met the woman that would become my wife. Sofia liked elements of vanlife but mostly wanted security. She enjoyed Portland and saw the benefit of having good credit and a real house and career. I didn’t, but I loved her and wanted her to feel secure. The thing is, I was just playing along, I was just going along with the sort of life I do not want. The times I was in nature sleeping in the back of a vehicle just reinforced my feeling that van life was for me. When two people want very different things, there is stress and there are arguments. My (currently unpublished) book The American Outback is about the struggle of knowing what you need and how that can conflict with what your partner needs. Sadly, there are some things love simply cannot transcend.

By the beginning of 2020 my marriage was over. In May I hit the road and wrote my next non-fiction book--(also currently unpublished)---No Signal about my experiences as a nomad and how it changes your perceptions about life, changes you, and leads to a different sort of awareness. One awareness I’ve developed is an even deeper appreciation for public land: All these wild, beautiful places that we can camp on for free---we are so fortunate to have all this open space in the United States. If I had to pay $20 (plus) dollars a night at an established campground this would not have been possible. I am a boondocker, someone who is self contained; I do not need the amenities of a campground and prefer being in more remote places.

Boondockers dispersed camp. The concept is this: You can camp in national forests and on Bureau of Land Management property outside of established campgrounds. You are responsible for hauling your trash out, dealing with bodily waste, and furnishing yourself with water and power.

I have two four gallon cubes for water. I just drained one of them after six days on a road. I clean my plates and cups with vinegar in a spray bottle and paper towels. I go to the bathroom out in nature, (in eight months I have used a bucket in my van once; I am one of the nomads who hates using a bucket or chem toilet). I do not have a propane heater in the van but here in Quartzsite it never gets below freezing; my blankets and sleeping bag keep me cozy and the sun rises quickly in the desert and warms things up. My fridge is an ice chest: Ice lasts up to five days in winter, about three in summer. If I continue doing this full time I may look into a 12 volt fridge and more solar panels to run it. I have a small Jackery power source to charge my phone and laptop and the Jackery, in turn, is charged with a solar panel (or the alternator of the van when I am driving). My stove is a Coleman two burner propane camp stove.

The challenge of living out of a minivan, as opposed to an RV or trailer, is what I call “life in a parking lot.” All my “kitchen stuff” is in the back of the van, I have to carry it around to the sliding door when cooking and I usually eat on my little “porch” with the sliding door open. On sunny days with little wind like today it is pleasant, when it is windy and/or rainy isn’t.

his experience is not for everyone. I am very comfortable with van life but after a couple of weeks I need a “spa day”: I get an inexpensive hotel room, cut my hair, and take a long bath. It’s funny how even a modest hotel room becomes luxurious: Central heat and air? A toilet? Running water? A microwave and fridge? I will never take those things for granted ever again.

If you have ever contemplated this life I recommend renting a van for at least a week, two weeks if you can swing it. The first few days are a huge adjustment, trying to cook and staying comfortable and take care of your “sanitary requirements.” That first week in May I contemplated quitting a couple dozen times; for every time I was cold or frustrated finding a place to camp or relieve myself, however, there were dozens of experiences of astonishing natural beauty or the reward of personal growth. If you can lead this life it opens you up in many ways, you look at our modern life of haste and materialism differently---and you become a stronger, more resourceful person in the bargain.

I welcome any questions you may have, please feel free to put them in the comments of this blog.

Izk

#vanlife

#nomad

#nomadland