Negative 31 Degrees Fahrenheit

According to the National Weather Service, my location hit negative 31 degrees Fahrenheit for the low during a cold snap. It was negative 31 for only a couple hours in the early morning, but then the highs the following day were not even above zero. The days surrounding had similar lows in the negative 24 to negative 28 degree range. Trailers in my neighborhood were flooding the streets from frozen and cracked pipes. University buildings were suffering frozen pipes. And many other houses in the town had frozen pipes. I didn’t! 

My winterizing work really got tested during this cold snap and it all turned out to be a smashing success. My remake of my heated water hose turned out to be great. It should be good down below negative 40, but hot water came out of my faucet after negative 30, so that’s a major win.

Because of the ultra-cold temps, I did drain my tanks before the snap and pour RV antifreeze into the waste tanks. The purpose of this was to keep the pipes and valves from freezing and splitting. Since the water closet compartment is heated by both the furnace and an electric heater, I wasn’t worried, but wanted to cover all bases. Whether it was necessary to add RV antifreeze, I’m not sure, but my guess is that it didn’t hurt. 

Inside the coach, I was able to keep it at 59 degrees F even during the coldest moments in the night because of the good insulation that this model has and because of my use of both a propane furnace and electric heaters to supplement the propane furnace. My electric heaters were set to their lowest setting and I only use them to spread heat and to keep the furnace from running constantly. At their lowest setting, the two electric heaters consume 725 W. That’s more energy than I would care to admit is needed, but in the grand scheme it’s a tiny amount of energy to heat a house in negative 30 degree F temperatures.  

I made it through the first major cold snap with ease. The problem is that winter had not even arrived when these temps arrived – it was still fall. So, as winter begins and then progresses, we’ll see how many more of those ultra-cold days are still in store. The condition that has me concerned is the possibility of the power going out during a major cold snap. If the power goes out, I have an emergency plan in place, but it will require me to be home for the outage and to recognize the outage in time. In double-digit negative temperatures and a power outage, my heated water hose has about 15 minutes before ice crystals will start forming in the pipe.

Tiny Houses Make the News, RV's Don't

Browsing Facebook, I came across an NPR story, "Architect's Dream House: Less Than 200 Square Feet." The story is about an architect who lost her house to foreclosure and couldn't get another mortgage. She decided to build a "tiny house" by herself and spend only $11,000 on it. Her house is now under 200 square feet. Great idea!

The thing that caught my ear was that she lives in Idaho and said that she didn't live in an RV because RV's aren't built for the climate. I beg to differ.

The tiny house movement is great and it's a step in the right direction for bucking big banks, life-long mortgages, and rent-market ripoffs, but why all the new materials? There are RV's bigger than this lady's tiny house sitting on lots, rotting, all over the country. With a few nifty inventions, the right RV is good down to at least negative 31 Fahrenheit by my experience.

My gripe here is that when people build something resembling a house on a flatbed trailer, it makes NPR. When someone repurposes a Winnebago, people get dismissed as redneck, trailer trash. Is it because people have been re-purposing RV's for decades in situations of individual poverty? Is it because it's now stylish to try to buck the system by living in a tiny house? It seems that there are some class issues and stereotypes at work for how these sorts of lifestyles are covered.

My RV-dwelling choice is rooted directly from the tiny house movement -- I just chose to repurpose something that already existed and was going to just go to waste, rather than building something new with new building materials. Gladly, I won't be making the news, but it sure is odd that the well-to-do build a house on a flatbed and it makes news, but those of us recycling and doing the exact same thing for the same reasons get no such attention -- instead we just get assigned a stereotype.

Here's the article, it's well worth checking out:

http://www.npr.org/2013/12/27/257560971/architects-dream-house-less-than-200-square-feet

Routine Maintenance on my House's Engine

Over the summer, I did some maintenance on the ole beast. I changed the transmission fluid, which I believe will greatly increase the longevity of my little home. The transmission has only 37,000 miles on it, which includes all of the pervious owner’s driving and all of mine. The fluid, conceivably, is as old as the vehicle, though. That means it was due for a change.

Changing transmission fluid on an automatic transmission was new to me, as of this summer. All of my other vehicles are manual, so the procedure is quite different. Manual transmissions have a drain plug and a fill hole and it’s easier to change than the motor oil. The auto trans is a little more involved, but I learned a ton of invaluable details about the history of my transmission, which will help me to project its future.

First, the transmission fluid had never been changed and the transmission is original, which is great. It’s also the heaviest-duty model that comes with the Chevy 454 engine. That could make for expensive repairs in the future, or better longevity with infrequent use.

Second, I learned that auto-part stores sell garbage parts that you should NOT put in your auto transmission. For example, the OEM Chevy gasket is heavy duty, reusable, with metal grommets to prevent smashing, and a well-sealing rubber inlay in some kind of hard core plastic. The ones that come with filters at the auto parts stores are either rubber or cork. They are horrendous and are why so many American transmissions leak endlessly. The OEM one won’t leak a drop if installed properly. The filters available are also sketchy – some are not the same quality as the AC Delco (OEM). So, I had to scrounge through numerous filters until I found one that was likely made by the same people as the AC Delco (many auto parts are reboxed). The filter in a Chevy auto trans is on the INSIDE and it’s there for many miles or years before replacement, so this isn’t a part I wanted to mess around with.

Lastly, I learned that my transmission has been well cared for. Upon pulling the pan off to clean it and the magnet that catches metallic clutch slurry material, I learned that the clutches are likely in good shape. There was not excessive sludge on the bottom of the pan or on the magnet. That is a beautiful thing.

To insure a strong future, I changed the fluid over to a full-synthetic Valvoline product that is GM-Approved, which should exceed the factory fluid specs. That’s a great way to make a vehicle last. The icing on the cake was knowing that I torqued the bolts of the drain pan in the proper order and to the exact recommended torque setting and cleaned everything up. Cheap insurance for a multi-thousand dollar transmission, which I hope to never put enough miles on to worry about it. I just want to save myself, or the next owner, from ridiculous failures brought on by careless maintenance. I spent about $150 all said and done and hopefully saved thousands over the course of years. Win.

Winter Is Here

The snow is flying, though it’s only October 3^rd. My winter preparations went a lot faster this year than last, largely because I already have everything made and fit the way I need for a long, cold winter. Winter here is eight months out of the year, so I don’t have much room for error on my inventions. This year, I can reflect on my last winter’s lessons and hopefully improve for the coming year.

My skirt job has proven versatile, durable, and fit to the weather here. Considering that I pieced together a skirt from modified canvas tarps and stainless steel screw snaps and made it through last winter without issue, I’d say the job is a total win. However, I have learned something about water proof canvas tarps… they shrink when they get wet. This year has been exceptionally rainy, which has caused the tarps to shrink more than they did last year. If I were to do the skirt job again, I would actually build it with a little more slack. No serious problems caused by the shrinkage, but a lesson learned.

My windshield insulation job is solid. Using two cheap quilts from Wal-Mart made for an excellent windshield insulation that even looks good. Using black in this climate was even better because they pick up heat during the day. If I were to improve this design, I would line the folded, safety-pinned quilts with another quilt – perhaps old ones, or other cheap ones. The point is: This insulation can be built up to have additional loft. A pro job would be to set snaps, instead of using safety-pins. The safety pins aren’t visible, but snaps would be sah-weet.

My heated water hose design from last year was good, but I dissected it this year to see just how good it was. I had taken a water-grade hose, wrapped it with Easy-Heat wire, then wrapped with foil-backed fiberglass insulation, then wrapped polyurethane foam around that. Well, turns out there’s not enough heat conduction in the water hose to allow the heat wire to self-regulate. Long story short, the water hose was heating too much, so the plastic was swelling – I knew this, luckily, and so avoided poisoning myself with plasticizers and other nasty chemicals by running water through the [short] line last winter.

I fixed the above issue by redoing the heated water hose design this year. First, I shortened the hose, so it wasn’t 10’ where I needed 4.5’; the new hose has been shortened to ~6’, which is much more reasonable. Then, I wrapped the hose with heavy-duty aluminum foil and made sure it fit tightly around the hose. I wound the foil-wrapped hose with Easy-Heat self-regulating wire, with coil spacing that will protect down to -40 deg F; then wrapped with a couple layers of fiberglass batting insulation. To make the hose entirely portable, this time, I heated the spigot and the hose independently. So, to make the hose modular, I wrapped each end from the base of the threads to about 4” up the insulated hose with electrical tape, making it so that the hose can be removed without skin:fiberglass contact. On top of the fiberglass insulation, I wrapped the plastic wrap that came with it in a spiral wrap with 50% overlap in the direction that water will not make into the fiberglass, should the polyurethane foam be compromised. I banded this material on with electrical tape every 4-6” or so. Then, I covered the whole thing with polyurethane foam with duct-tape bands and a seam down the split spine. I formed each end, so it would insulate the angles present at the base and the RV-threads.

Details, details.

In the end, I think I’m ready for Winter and hopefully slightly better than last year. What I am going to work on this year is better moisture management and perhaps some clever window insulation for the rest of the windows. I’m thinking some greenhouse wall material might be good for the smaller windows. Design ideas will likely show up here as I come up with something. However, since I’m heating a 26’ x 8’ x 7’ box insulated with polystyrene, I’m not extremely worried about retaining heat. There are houses in this college town that have no insulation, they have single pane windows, and they’re over 1000 square feet… they’re likely using 10x as much energy as I am for heating.

Back to School : Tethering the RV

Back to school is coming fast. That means that my lofty summer of rolling without a landlord is over. It has been a great summer and I have learned a lot about how to full-time RV with grace. Mostly, I've learned why it's great to have contrast in life and to live with daily variety and that how we define "home" is deeply cultural.

Over the course of this summer, I have occupied about four distinct locations that I started to call home. Since I don't have the money to just bounce around wherever, I have kept the RV in place as long as possible. Since my particular RV is totally self contained, my only regular utility has been electricity via an extension cord to friends' houses.

When I started out, I was a little afraid of what this would all entail -- I was worried that I would get in trouble for parking on streets in front of friends' houses, and I was worried about things like showers. As I quickly learned, my worries didn't take into account my adaptability and resourcefulness.

Even though I ended up on the road for work for a month and a half of the summer, I quickly found that my life was little different than it was before. I was still being efficient with water and electricity and I still had a roof over my head. The only real oddity was finding showers, which as a graduate student on summer break really wasn't a problem.

Looking back, one of my biggest roadblocks and causes of worry were from not knowing just what the next step would bring. Paranoia about what awaited me without a stable pad for my house to occupy was likely born from an entirely non-nomadic culture. As it turns out, being nomadic is actually great fun and there is little to worry about -- especially when you own the roof over your head outright and can be anywhere you want to be.

My sense of "home" was pretty deeply rattled with this summer's experiment. I never felt "homeless" or lost, even though I moved the RV to different locations, which is strange if you think about it. Most people seem to associate "home" with a house on a foundation -- one location that they come home to every night for a minimum of a year at a time (with 12 months being the standard lease period and all).

With the frequent changing of setting, I started to realize that "home" isn't as static as most people might think. For me, it became my shelter -- the RV. And not just the thing itself, but the familiarity of the interior -- my things and the arrangement of those things that are inside it. Home became the place where my tools to survive and exist well were.

Since all of my things and my sense of home were on wheels and no longer rooted in a foundation, I encountered major implications of my sense of identity and my sense of roots in a place. In essence, the world around be became my home, regardless of where it was that my home happened to be parked. In that, my sense of home became much bigger -- it is no longer rooted in a foundation and a house or place -- home became wherever I was at the time and the environment that I occupied.

I spent much of the summer living out of my truck for work, but because of my experience with the RV, this transition was invisible to me. My sense of home had nothing to do with the RV, rather home became my truck, tent, and wherever I happened to be. It seems that this would count as evidence for a full-bore transition to being nomadic.

While on the road, I never really longed for being home because home was wherever I was. It's an odd thing to go from thinking that home was a structure and a foundation to realizing that home is actually survival tools and social networks. Of all of this, I realized that whatever home is to me, it isn't lawns, garden gnomes, and porcelain toilets -- it's my environment, my tools for living, and the people around me.

All in all, the summer has been great, but it is time to reintroduce that traditional stability for the coming winter and the school semester ahead. It's a funny thing to have to come full circle, but the knowledge of what's out there and that home is anything I want it to be has been invaluable. Even though I'm sad to not be as free as I was this summer, that's okay, because now home will be the library, the department, and RV again. Come next summer, home could be the mountains or the desert, or even the arctic. While I'm afraid the experience has pushed me further into becoming a true nomad, it has also taught me the value of stability when stability is needed. Knowing when stability is needed and when it is not is the key -- along with the ability to shift gears quickly and confidently when opportunities present themselves to float freely and not be chained to a foundation.

The Death of the Class A

I moved the ole rolling house to the mountains for a fishing weekend, which was a grand time. Moving this 26 foot long beast of a vehicle was quite the chore, though. I was only able to estimate gas mileage, but I was able to do so with reasonable accuracy. It appears that my rig gets somewhere in the 8-10 MPG range. With today's gas prices, this tells me the Class A is dead.

I don't mean to pound the nail in the coffin of an entire class of RV, but let's face it -- $50 per 100 miles isn't sustainable for anything but prolonged "stay-cations." The fuel economy alone is enough to push me away from any thought of using this beast in a recreational capacity, but there's more that make the biggest RV's undesirable to an active audience.

My first time away from town using the RV nearer to its intended purpose showed me just what I had expected -- that big, house-like RV's are lumbering gas hogs. Strangely, my relatively modest 26 foot Class A is tiny by many standards, but coming from a truck and tent and backpacking background, the thing is cumbersome. It's cumbersome to drive. And it's cumbersome to try to find solitude when parking.

The bottom line is that I cannot imagine traveling in a Class A and putting on any significant miles. When I bought the RV, I knew the market for them was dead and so re-purposed one as a house during grad school. In effect, I simply chose to benefit from the dwindling market by finding a viable use for a totally unsustainable device.

If I were to live in an RV year around and was planning to really be on the move, I would definitely get a medium-sized fiberglass travel trailer, or even an Airstream-type trailer, and a moderately powerful, but capable truck to pull it. Think, Toyota Tacoma plus 17' Casita travel trailer. It's the only way I can even remotely envision actually RV'ing and still having money left over for something other than gas.

I'm afraid the days of sub-$4/gallon gas have made the Class A RV an impossibility for most of us, except as a re-purposed house for those of us crazy enough to live in one. It's great for moving relatively short distances, but as the miles add up, so do the $$. I find it perfect for my uses, but I just can't imagine moving very frequently with such poor gas mileage.

Little Repairs Here and There

Part of living in an RV full-time in a harsh environment is being highly cognizant of the condition of your house/vehicle systems and an ability to preempt repairs. Waiting for something to fail on an RV is a recipe or major problems that can be very expensive.

I recently replaced the bladder valve on my black-water tank due to a likely future failure of this critical and nasty valve. Whenever I would drain the tank, I noticed that the valve was very stiff to pull. Knowing that the valve was stiff, I foresaw the handle eventually pulling off, or the valve itself separating from the pull rod. So, I decided to replace it on my terms, rather than its terms.

I replaced the valve in under an hour and replaced it with an improved model from what came on the rig. I chose this route because of all the things that can go wrong on an RV, I don't want my shit tank to have a stuck valve. That would be an awful and potentially expensive failure. Imagine a broken valve with a full tank. Not gonna do it.

Replacement of this valve is just an example of foresight and having a feel for vehicle systems and their condition. It takes a meticulous sense of mechanical health of these sorts of systems to prevent failures, rather than wait for them. It is kind of like car maintenance -- some listen for ticks and squeaks and then work to understand and eliminate them before a failure happens. Same goes for full-time RV living. It saves time and money in the long run to repair things before they break on your watch rather than chaos's watch.

Catching Showers on the Road

When not tethered to utilities at a lot or campground lot, finding a shower can be somewhat of a challenge. After spending more than a month on the road, I have learned that not all showers are created equal. Part of the lesson has also been that cost is no indicator of facility quality. Learning how to get reliable showers on the road is key to a happy roaming life. I have learned [the hard way] how to find showers and what the right questions to ask are for finding the right facility. I have also learned that if a shower is critical on a particular day and location, you may just have to suck it up and take the best you can get. Here’s what I have learned:

1.    Meticulous Packing

You must be able to anticipate what you need for your shower and make sure that all core items are with you. For instance, can’t forget clean underwear in the truck or RV unless you like wearing dirty ones back out after the shower. You also must have a complete shower kit that is actually usable and is regularly replenished.

2.    A Good Shower Bag

The shower bag is like an onion. The bigger bag must easily contain all items you need for your shower, including clean clothes, towel, shower bag, and shower shoes. I have found that reusable grocery bags are really nice for this because they happen to hold exactly as much as I need them to. The way you organize this bag every time you use it is an essential detail for cleanliness and usability. My shower bag is a reusable grocery bag made with semi-rigid materials (some are more cloth like). I always put my shower sandals at the very bottom, then place my shower bag on top of them, then pack other items in the remaining space. I lay my towel over the top, semi-folded, so it will dry in the vehicle. Hence the onion metaphor: You don’t want your shower bag smelling like one – only packed like one.

3.    Good Shower Shoes

Wal-Mart. They sell rubbery, injection-molded, Croc-like pool sandals that are simple and PERFECT for public showers. I got them for $6 and are essential for personal health and peace of mind in showers that aren’t my own. These are a seasonal item, so I was glad to pick them up after winter. They just have a simple band that goes over the main part of the foot – slip in and out easily, even when wet. They have great traction on wet tile and they aren’t flip-flops, so they go on easily and come off easily when wet. They also are entirely rubberized, so drying is instant and complete – no moisture retention.

4.    The Shower Kit

The shower kit is a really key item. I have seen some that appear to be designed more for hotel rooms than fast, campground showers. My criteria for a shower bag was that it must be able to hang up or sit on a counter top and it must hold basically my entire set of hygiene chemicals, grooming devices, and my Sonicare toothbrush. My choice kit bag is REI-brand and it has been excellent. The kit bag must make it so it is easy to identify the item  you need and then use it without other items falling out during showering. Nothing worse than a glass jar falling on a tile floor from 5 feet up in a public shower facility. So, it must have a hook that it can hang from, must contain the entire bathroom-worth of stuff, and it has to travel well. I found nothing better than REI’s offering.

5.    Throwaway Your Modesty

Let’s face it – if you NEED a shower on the road, you might be faced with a public facility like a municipal recreation center as your only option. I never found the public shower to be a viable option until recently, at least in part because it was basically written out of my generation’s gym-class duties to shower after class. Given that, it was extremely difficult for me to consider taking a shower in a public place. There are a couple of really important tricks to know of to overcome this. First, you don’t have to stroll through the place swinging hammer. You can wear your underwear and/or a towel into the shower room, bring your clean pair along, and only be in the bare while showering. Second, angle is critical. Don’t want people checking out the jewels? Take the shower in the corner of the room and only turn outward when you absolutely have to. Last, go EARLY. The closer you go to the opening of a facility, especially in less populated areas, the fewer people will be there. If modesty is an issue, become an early bird to hide your…. Nevermind. It’s an odd point, but for those not wanting to show the town what they’re packin’, it’s valuable to know that you can use a public facility and not be *that guy (or lady)*.

6.    Call Ahead

Given the above points, it may be important to call ahead. I’m picky as hell about where I shower and germs, so I’ve found that it’s great to know how to find a good shower place and what to ask when I find one. Here are the main points:

     a)    Do you sell showers only?
I ask this question because some campgrounds, even KOA’s, don’t sell showers only – usually if they don’t have shower facilities at all. This is #1.
     b)    Are your showers public, stalls, or entirely private rooms?
This one is key if #5 is a problem for you (it is for me). There is a HUGE spectrum of options out there. Rec centers often have entirely open shower rooms, like a Roman bath house. Most RV parks at least offer private stalls, but these stalls are very similar to crapper stalls with a ¾ length door. The best places out there offer private bathrooms – meaning, toilet, sink, and shower are all to yourself.
      c)    How would you rate the condition of your facilities on a scale of 1-10?
This might seem like bullshit, but let me tell you about the time I had to shower in the women’s facility because the men’s was being remodeled and the walls of the entire room were inching upwards from recurrent standing water and fungus. Or maybe I won’t. There is a HUGE spectrum of quality of facilities out there. So, believe me when I say: Ask the condition of the facility. The cost of the shower is almost NEVER an indicator of what you receive.

7.    Prepare for Wildly Varying Costs

I’ve had the best showers cost $2 and the worst cost $10. However, that’s the range that I have encountered. For cheaper, generally better shower facilities, municipal rec centers often charge the least and have the highest cleaning standards. That is my experience so far, at least. KOA’s are often priced a little higher, but I’ve found KOA’s to have generally reasonable facilities. They aren’t great, but also nothing so horrifying that I was worried about it.

8.    Finding Showers in the First Place

This is a funny one, but it’s really important. The most effective way to locate showers now is on a smart phone – perhaps that’s a generational opinion, but it has revolutionized how I find things while out and about. The way you want to search is: [town name] [state abbreviation] [RV Park or Rec Center]. So, for example:  Santa Rosa CA RV Park. Alternately: Santa Rosa CA recreation center. The web is very helpful in locating these resources. I have yet to have this method fail. There are times, however, where neither of these types of facilities will exist in a town. Generally, that’s only true of really small towns or ones that do not have any tourist industry.

Hopefully the nuance of the process came across. It’s a process that I found arduous at first, but it’s all about forming a system. Once the system is developed and practiced, it becomes second nature. It made living out of my truck for weeks at a time possible in a way that I was comfortable, clean, and therefore happy. Since I was traveling for business, sans hotels, I was also entirely presentable at each meeting stop. People are stunned when they learn that I’ve been out in the field for weeks and spending most of my time deep in the sticks, away from civilization.
Who knew that showering could be viewed as a “skill”?

The latest on rent dodging and new daily routines

In my last post, I complained about a new set of difficulties involved with living sans a stable location and full-time utilities. I ended up finding that it is not nearly as bad as I originally thought it might be. Not only that, but I'm saving money and have found new ways to live simply.

There are a couple of oddities associated with living in front of friends houses and boondocking on public land. The first is that water is scarce -- the water in the tank goes toward cleaning dishes, brushing teeth, and flushing the toilet. The second is that my only regular utility is electricity, but only a 12 Amp connection. The third is that, well... I'm not showering in the RV.

To reduce the amount of time I spend dumping tanks, I have learned to do dishes as minimally as possible. Not only have I reduced the amount of water I use to do dishes, I have actually reduced the number of dishes that I use. Instead of pulling every plate and utensil out of my cabinets then clean them all in a big tub of water, I use a dish then I clean it. What this means is that I am only utilizing one set of dishes. The rinsing of dishes can be easily and effectively done with little water. This technique alone has doubled my time between tank drops -- I have been able to make it two to four weeks between tank dumps.

The change in electricity actually isn't an inconvenience at all. Instead of the 30 Amp connection I had at the dastardly trailer park, I have only a 12 Amp connection at my friends' house. The connection is now limited by the size and length of my extension cord, which is about 12 Amps. Luckily, during the summer not much electricity is needed at the higher elevation that I am at since I am not running things like furnace or air conditioner. The only thing that really runs on electricity right now is the fridge and water pump. I also regularly charge my low-amperage laptop. Less electricity hasn't been a problem at all.

The biggest oddity is showers. Even though the RV has a comfortable shower stall, it's not really reasonable to use it without a stable location because of the amount of water involved. I can usually shower in under 10 gallons, but with a 40 gallon gray water tank, that would be 4 days of showering before a tank dump. That's not really practical without a more stable location with a sewer line hooked up. So, what do I do? I shower at the gym. This sounds pretty awful, or at least it would have to me a few years ago. The beautiful thing is, college campuses empty out in the Summer and the earlier you get to the gym, the fewer people are there. I tend to have the shower all to myself.

The main trick to overcoming these issues has just been to learn and come up with new ways to make it work. Is it working? I would say yes, but certainly not in a way that would suit everyone. It takes a pretty dedicated spirit to keep reinventing daily routines in order to save water and electricity. Right now, I find it easy, fun, and it never leaves me bored.

When time is more abundant than money

The cost of not paying rent might actually be quite high. Today, I had to do RV chores: draining tanks, refilling water, cleaning house, and I even repaired a drawer. In addition to all of the little things that are different and more time consuming than living in a foundation house, these things consumed a good portion of my day.

The first step was to unplug the RV from my friends' house. No problem, just unplug the extension cord and coil it up. Then, I had to prep the interior for travel. When you're driving a house down the road, you can't just leave your laptop out on the kitchen table. One turn and it would be on the floor.

After some cleanup, I drove to my sewer drain and watering hole location. Only 3 miles across town - no problem, but I probably burned a gallon of gas off in doing so.

Upon arrival, I have to open multiple compartments -- getting supplies, access to the water closet, etc. I also have to jack up the front of the RV, so the tanks drain properly. Don't want any cat turds rolling into the front of the tank and preventing a full drain.

Gloves, hoses, sewer hose, tank sprayer: Check. Now to put it all together in a way that won't make a mess. Connect the sewer line, level it out, connect the "black water hose" to the tank sprayer and the spigot and run it into the RV to the toilet. Ready to clean the tanks.

Drain the tanks, black water then gray; Crank up the H2O. Whoops, the hose is kinked under the RV. Fix the kink, start again on cleaning the tanks.

Once drained and rinsed, run out the rest of the water along the entire length of the sewer hose. Disconnect it from the RV drain and make sure not to get any poo water on you. Shrink up the hose, so it will fit in the compartment, drain any remaining water on the ground. Yeah, the ground.

Remove the black water hose, coil it up, disconnect it from the spigot.

Connect the fresh water hose to the spigot, fill up the drinking water jug (5 gallon, portable), then fill up the RV water tank for toilet flushing and dish washing.

Clean up everything, put it all away, close and lock all compartments.

Is this all worth it? Well, that's a sticky question. I now have more time than money, so right now: Yes. It is time consuming, though. The thing is, I'm not paying rent, but I'm working harder for my day-to-day existence. Regrettably, I'm not sure if I the utility that I am getting out of the money saved is nearing the value I would get from the convenience of being in a stable location. Sure, I don't have a landlord, but if I stay where I am for much longer, I'm pretty sure the town Police are going to start acting like my landlord. Time will tell, but this part of the plan certainly comes with some time consuming additional activities and some additional worries. Still, I'm having fun, which counts for a lot.

Rent Dodging Progress

I have now been rent free for two weeks. Sounds great and it is. However, there's work involved and there are drawbacks. Luckily, the RV is a fully self-contained house, so I have all that a house has on a smaller scale, but that means everything -- water, electricity, and a stable interior temperature. I currently enjoy the uncertainties and the ability to drive away as soon as I'm ready.

The work involved is primarily centered around keeping the system working optimally. It comes in the form of tiny actions here and there that determine how frequently the beast has to be moved. Hand washing, dishes, toilet flushing, and any other water activity have to be done efficiently and with as little water as possible to prevent one or the other waste tank from filling quickly. Full tanks are a trigger for having to dump them, which means moving the RV.

Not having a beefy 30 Amp electrical connection, I also have to pay attention to how many devices I use at once and how much electricity they use. Now that I'm on a 12 Amp extension cord, I can't exceed 12 Amps while plugged in to my friends' house. Not only would it be rude to blow their breaker, but I don't want to overtax the cord, melt it, or cause a fire.

Since it is now warmer, I am also not running the furnace. Since I am no longer hooked up to a 120 gallon propane tank, I am at the mercy of the built in 15 gallon tank. 15 gallons is more than enough for the entire summer of cooking and baking, but it will go somewhat quickly as the refrigerator will be on propane as soon as I no longer have a wired electrical line at houses of friends.

Luckily I'm in a college town, so everyone is really accepting of this -- having friends who are not only willing, but who think it is awesome to have me park at their houses is a major benefit to my situation. I'm sure some of the neighbors aren't crazy about it, but it is only temporary.

The work involved in rent dodging might not be totally worth the modest rent that I am trying to dodge due to the work involved, but so far, it is allowing me a freedom that I find unmatched. The little things I'm learning along the way and the potential to head out to state land for months at a time is quite liberating. How the rest of the summer goes will be the real test of the feasibility of this strange little lifestyle.

It's a movement

I was recently alerted to two pretty high-profile "van-dwellers" in the news and in pop culture. The first is a guy doing exactly what I am doing, but in a slightly more extreme way. He was a graduate student who chose to live in a Ford Econoline during his Master's degree at Duke University to avoid debt. The second is the writer of the book that led to the movie, "Warm Bodies." It was a pretty high profile movie, and even after the cash influx, the author still chooses to live in his remodeled RV.

The first article was published in the New York Times -- not exactly a no-name-blog on the interwebs. That's a pretty high profile source and article for a simple grad student who chose to live in a van for a couple years. The likely reason for the publication is the book that the van-dweller wrote about living in his van to avoid debt.

Interestingly, it appears that this may be the pinnacle of a phenomenon. Relating these fellows to myself, we have a whole spectrum of van-dwelling, debt and rent dodgers. At the extreme end, the grad student living in the Ford Econoline did his experiment without utilities and in a vehicle that he couldn't even stand up in. In the middle, the author of the Warm Bodies book, in a small, older RV that has been remodeled. At the luxury end, there's me: The guy living in a small Class-A Winnebago in a high-plains town, year around.

What is this cultural moment that is bringing these individuals to light? Why is it now New York Times-grade news to live in a van year around to avoid debt? It appears that we have a social, economic, and political mix that is leading young people to deny and combat debt in unique and extreme ways. It was only the early 1990's when Chris Farley was warning against the dangers of "living in a van, down by the river," yet here we are, 20 years later, and it is written in mainstream news in such a way that highlights it as the pinnacle of responsibility.

It is articles, such as these, that make me wonder if I should be focusing my studies on this phenomenon, rather than the plain ole' changing West:

New York Times: Ken Ilgunas Lives in a Van While a Graduate Student at Duke University
http://www.nytimes.com/2013/04/14/education/edlife/ken-ilgunas-lives-in-a-van-while-a-graduate-student-at-duke-university.html?pagewanted=1&_r=3&smid=fb-share&

The Daily: Isaac Marion channels his religious past into ‘Warm Bodies,’ a novel about zombies — and love
http://www.thedaily.com/page/2011/08/14/081411-arts-isaac-marion-1-4/ 

Too bad Ken Ilgunas beat me to the book, too...

The day I drove my house to school

Not too many people can say, "I drove my house to school." I can. Because I just did it. To get the 'bago away from the rough around the storage unit, I drove it to the big, empty, free parking lot used for sporting events. I did it because I needed a place to park.

While this won't be my location for long, it will make for a good day parking spot. Luckily my fridge runs on electricity OR propane, so my fridge works away while I'm not plugged in. It seems like a decent system for now.

This whole scene is made all the nuttier by the fact that my cats like to sit in the windshield. Let's pile this up into one sentence: I drove my house to school today because I'm no longer paying rent, so I parked in the athletic events lot with my toilet-trained cats sitting on the dash.

Even though I'm questioning my own sanity, there is value in what I'm doing. I'm trying to find a way of living that doesn't require chains. Sure, I'm chained to vehicle registrations, auto parts, and gas, but I am doing some 'life science' to see what is more costly and more beneficial. So far, I'm finding the logistics intensive, but I'm also trying something that very few have. I'm also trying to do it all well, so I don't just look like a run of the mill nutcase. There is merit in trying to pave a new path if it opens new doors.

The insanity continues...

Panic sets in.

I am out of my RV space as of tomorrow. I have the RV all packed up, some gas in the tank, and have it free from its shackles. But it's not that easy. What's next is terrifying and logistically intensive. For the first time, I think I may have pushed the limits a little too far.

I suppose part of my worry about this situation stems from the fact that I am also in finals right now. I am also maxed out on energy and number of minutes in a day.

I have places I can take the RV to park it -- friends houses or even public land, but there's still snow on the ground here. Nights are still getting down in the low 30's. Without electricity, other than what my generator can provide (using gasoline), I'm basically in a really large, heavy tent.

While I think I would be fine with this in the Summer, I still have obligations at school, so the uncertainty this introduces into my daily routines is really difficult to work with.

I have no problem living minimally for a while, but this is becoming a major lesson in truly appreciating the infrastructure that makes our lives easier and better. Also, the idea of having a true 'home base.' I set out on this experiment wondering how this would all work out and how important the home base really is, but right now I'm really feeling it.

Since I'm a little overwhelmed right now, part of me wants to sell the 'bago and just become a normal person, paying rent and living in a house. My time in the RV has actually been great -- little different than living in a tiny house. But unhook all the utilities, including water, sewer, and electricity, and suddenly, the wold looks much different.

Hopefully my misgivings pass once finals are over. This is just the wrong time to be continuing to invent a wheel that first-world humans abandoned quite some time ago -- perhaps the foundation house with a landlord really is the way to go? I guess time will tell. I intend to stick it out for at least another year.

Leaving Spacedock

After almost nine months parked in the great, white, frozen north, I am pulling my utilities to roam. While I won't be touring national parks or living the grand life on the road, I won't be paying rent.

The plan is more of an experiment to see what it will entail to spend the summer free of a landlord. The benefit will likely be modest amounts of money saved and different views every 14-21 days or so, but it will certainly come with some pitfalls. First, I won't have a a constant source of electricity. That's a big problem. Second, I water will come from a tank, not a spigot. Last, I'll be paying for gas from location to location.

What's worse, living slightly closer to native or chained to a landlord? I don't know? I can guess, but the goal here is to find out. We'll see how long it lasts.

I'm hoping that my biggest problems this summer will be, "Where'd I park my house, again?" I'll be updating my findings as regularly as possible.

I am the 0.4%

I just stumbled on an article that said that 1.3 million Americans are full-time RV'ers. While I'm not really an "RV'er" per say, I do live in an RV full-time. With ~314 million people in the U.S., that means I'm part of the 0.4% of the population living in an RV full-time, either by choice or necessity.

The difference between me and the likely majority that comprise the statistic is that I'm probably about half of the age of most "RV'ers." I'm also not using my RV for "Recreation" -- I'm not spending my days in national parks or living on a pension. I'm parked in a shitty dirt lot behind the office building of the trailer park I'm currently living in. I've been at that location since August and I'll likely only be there until April 30th.

So, as inglorious as it might sound, living in an RV behind an office building for 8-9 months a year, the fact that it's only for that duration is actually quite glorious. Though, that's really the saving grace --- the fact that I get to move my RV a couple times a year for a job somewhere... else.

So, while the 0.4% of the country who are living in RV's year-around probably aren't doing it the way I am, I suppose I'm now part of a strange club of nomads -- a tiny minority of American citizens. Instead of being chained to a landlord or a mortgage company, I'm chained to school and then the fear of utter poverty when school is out. It seems freer, at least for the moment.