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.
Friday, August 23, 2013
Monday, August 12, 2013
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 $$. I find it perfect for my uses, but I just can't imagine moving very frequently with such poor gas mileage.
I don't mean to pound the nail in the coffin of an entire class of RV, but let's face it -- $50 per 100 miles isn't sustainable for anything but prolonged "stay-cations." The fuel economy alone is enough to push me away from any thought of using this beast in a recreational capacity, but there's more that make the biggest RV's undesirable to an active audience.
My first time away from town using the RV nearer to its intended purpose showed me just what I had expected -- that big, house-like RV's are lumbering gas hogs. Strangely, my relatively modest 26 foot Class A is tiny by many standards, but coming from a truck and tent and backpacking background, the thing is cumbersome. It's cumbersome to drive. And it's cumbersome to try to find solitude when parking.
The bottom line is that I cannot imagine traveling in a Class A and putting on any significant miles. When I bought the RV, I knew the market for them was dead and so re-purposed one as a house during grad school. In effect, I simply chose to benefit from the dwindling market by finding a viable use for a totally unsustainable device.
If I were to live in an RV year around and was planning to really be on the move, I would definitely get a medium-sized fiberglass travel trailer, or even an Airstream-type trailer, and a moderately powerful, but capable truck to pull it. Think, Toyota Tacoma plus 17' Casita travel trailer. It's the only way I can even remotely envision actually RV'ing and still having money left over for something other than gas.
I'm afraid the days of sub-$4/gallon gas have made the Class A RV an impossibility for most of us, except as a re-purposed house for those of us crazy enough to live in one. It's great for moving relatively short distances, but as the miles add up, so do the $$. I find it perfect for my uses, but I just can't imagine moving very frequently with such poor gas mileage.
Friday, August 9, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, August 4, 2013
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”?
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”?
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