Confessions of a Van Dweller, Act 1

Any poor soul who has been following along knows that I'm in my early 30's. They  also know that I abandoned a successful career at the age of 28 to attend graduate school. They may also know that I left a luxury townhome in a nice community along Colorado's highly-coveted Front Range to get my master's degree and to save money by living more minimally while still young and single. Why would anyone in their right mind do such a thing? One answer might be very surprising. 

When I abandoned my old life, I was looking to find knowledge and to reset my career with more education in my line of work. I was looking to better myself and to set a new career potential for myself with more education. My hypothesis was that I would start about where I left off once I finished school and would then have fewer impenetrable ceilings above me preventing my ascent into even better jobs. 

A dirty secret is that I don't really care for "jobs" -- a place you go to do tasks for someone else's vision for money so you can eat food, have a roof over your head, and drive a car. Jobs, in the rawest form don't interest me. But I don't have a choice, really. I wasn't born into money, so my post-child life has been largely dominated by... jobs.

In contemplating jobs, I realized that when you look at the system of the American life, we work jobs to pay off debts that we had no real choice in taking on, and the debt becomes the motivation to keep working. Hobson's Choice is where you are offered two options and one option isn't viable at all, meaning that you have been offered only one choice. For example, you can either choose to work and pay off the debt, or you can be homeless and/or die. Yikes. 

This line of thinking permeated my 20's. I realized that the house I lived in made it so I had no chance of escaping debt. Rent prices made me realize that rents are just unpayable debts. Then I realized that I couldn't bear to continue the organismic lifecycle of humanity by bringing another me into the world. I couldn't bring myself to consider bringing a new consciousness into a system where we are all enslaved by default of our existence. 

Like a captive panda, I couldn't bear the thought of having kids. Other panda's might handle the system better -- of course they are more successful. But then I realized that I could establish myself in this system even better, but it would require extreme action. I realized that if I could shift my financial system and potential, maybe I could live in a stable system where I did not feel enslaved by debt. 

The confession is that one of my reasons for abandoing my old life to live in an RV is so I could potentially have a family someday. Having a family is a relatively easy task, but since I can't seem to ignore debt and especially of the three-decade variety, I wanted to have a family on terms where I wasn't a slave to debt and neither were they.

It may be counterintuitive that one would live in an RV in order to eventually have a family. And it's not that I want a family or just any family; I want to have a family where I am not living day to day under complete financial oppression and having to work so much that I can't be there for my imaginary kids and imaginary wife. I set out to abandon everything and reset my system so I could provide something better, safer, and more complete. I was seeking liberation from captivity. 

A Thought I Keep Quiet

Of all the strange responses I run into when I reveal my living situation to someone, some of them bother me and others don't. Regardless of the response, one thing I keep close and relatively quiet is how much I like my house and my freedom. The ridiculous stereotypes and bold-faced discrimination that I've encountered doesn't change my feeling about my rolling home -- I love living in it.

The most difficult thing about living in the RV is overcoming social stereotypes. It wears on me sometimes. People who live in vehicles, RV's, or mobile homes are often lumped in with those with criminal intent, or self-induced poverty, or homelessness. The reason I do it is because I knew I was entering a rough, transitory period of my life by going into grad school and cutting my yearly pay my more than 60%.

My life plan changed significantly two years ago when I decided to abandon a decade-long career with a paycheck that exceeded that of the average American household and a luxury townhome in suburbia. I went from an image of "success" to something else, which has revealed some interesting things about society and the American mind.

The dissonance I experience exists between the fact that I have only become more educated and have greater potential to excel in the workplace, yet I am treated and viewed differently than I was before. Even though I was unhappy in my past life, my happiness and contentment with living in an RV is irrelevant to external eyes. Those looking in don't care how good a person is, how happy they are, and how much potential they have --- they care about how someone appears to fit their mold for how the world should work.

Regardless, I go home at night and even when things are broken (say, frozen pipes), I thoroughly enjoy the simplicity and peace my lifestyle brings. I own the roof over my head and can move wherever I want at the drop of a hat -- I don't have a lease that locks me down. Maybe that's what scares some people? But as a post-grad-graduate, this plan couldn't have been better. I have no idea where my next full-time job will be, but I know that when it happens, I can pickup and move there quickly with only a few steps between me and the new place.

The thought I keep quiet is that I love the way I live and I don't plan to change it until it comes time to change it.

Evolving Propane Strategy

In a previous post, I outlined my new propane strategy. That strategy was just a start and the system is actively evolving. When I decided to revamp this system for better mobility, I knew I was going to have one problem: When I was getting my new 40# tank filled, there would be no propane attached to the RV. That's a problem that I knew I was going to have to overcome and I have found a way.

It's not so much that I have found a way as it is completion of the system that was destined for evolution. Instead of having one tank, I need two 40# tanks and a system for ensuring that I can switch out tanks as a tank empties.

In short, the system requires that when a tank empties, I switch to the next full tank, and go get the empty tank refilled. All that means is that when the switch happens, the empty tank goes in the car to be filled the next time I go into town (which happens to be every day).

This system is a pain in the ass, but I knew it would be. It means I'm hauling propane tanks a couple times a week to town and transporting a 70 Lb bomb in my tiny, disintegrating car. Life on the fringe, amiright?! haha.

But seriously, this system allows me to pick up and leave at any moment without having to call anyone to come pick up my tank and eliminates moving costs. While I will undoubtedly spend the money lost for moving costs in the form of time and inconvenience, is it that inconvenient to get a propane tank filled once or twice a month?

The system will soon evolve further. I am currently trying to figure out how to put a T-junction in the vehicle's propane line safely, so I can leave the vehicle tank attached while the exterior grill tank (40# tanks) line is attached. In non-van-dweller English, it means I can simply disconnect the exterior tank, coil up the hose, hang it in the propane compartment, and drive away without having to use tools to disconnect and reconnect propane flare fittings. In English-English, it will be vastly more convenient.

That's the latest, but I think I'm onto something. Even better, the two 40# external tanks will fit into my basement storage, so I can transport them anywhere. Life is good and getting better.

First Failures and Lessons Learned

Strangely, I am living in a warmer place than I did through grad school, yet I had my first frozen pipes last week. I have since learned why my pipes froze and it reminds me just how right I happened to get everything my first time around in the RV. It also reminds me how fragile our life and housing systems are.

My pipes froze because the RV is parked with the utility-side of the vehicle to the north. The water and sewer compartments now point north and receive no solar exposure all day every day. Turns out, that's a big problem.

The reason I was able to get away with no frozen pipes, even in -32F weather a year ago was solar exposure. It's amazing how much heat a surface can pick up and retain just from the dim, winter sun. Mostly, it's amazing how much of that solar energy gets transferred to standing water in RV tanks and how long that water can retain heat.

Another reason for my pipes freezing is the fact that power kept going out at the RV park. Strangely, I'm in a more habitable, more infrastructure-heavy place, yet power is less reliable. That's crazy stupid. But it's the way it is.

Luckily, now that I have my propane system working, and have figured out that my backup batteries can be on while the main power is on, I have furnace heat even when the grid goes down. It's great and will help to keep my tanks and pipes from freezing.

New place, new systems, new lessons. It's great and the challenges keep it interesting. When my pipes froze for the first time in two years, I wanted to throw in the towel and run for a traditional lifestyle. Then I realized, it's a minor issue that I can adapt to and incorporate into my toolkit. Now I know how to make this work even better and I can continue doing it until I find some reason not to.

Until I find that reason, I'm still living the tiny-house dream, paying less for the entirety of my living expenses than anyone I know, including those with roommates. Sometimes, I wonder if I'm doing it right, then I realize that this is the best way for me to do it and that there is no 'right'. I'm still flying and it's enough.

A New Propane Strategy

RV furnaces, water heaters, stoves, and even refrigerators run on propane. My ’98 Winnebago Brave has a built-in tank that fills to about 15 gallons, which is enough to meet my needs from the 1^st of May until the 1^st of November. That’s fantastic, but needs in the winter months change dramatically. At my last more permanent location, I had a 120 gallon tank delivered, which served my needs for the better part of the winter. Since I am so transient with work and location right now, I want to be anchored, but not –too- anchored. Being anchored, but not too anchored requires a different strategy for propane.

At my last location, I had a 120 gallon tank delivered, which was great for long periods. However, it cost $100 for delivery and $100 for removal. That’s $200 every time I move, which isn’t sustainable. In my new location, I got numerous quotes and all came in around $240 for the same service. Some places even charge a yearly tank rent of around $70, so the cost of having a tank present is costly. Making things worse, every propane delivery to a rented tank comes with a $18 haz-mat fee.

To solve some of these problems, I decided to create all new ones this year. Since the cost of moving is so high, the price of propane delivery adds up, and the price of propane is ridiculous this year, I am changing my energy strategy. First, instead of heating the house primarily with propane, I will be using electric heaters. Electricity is $0.15/kilowatt-hour at my park, whereas propane is currently around $3/gallon. Second, I will be using the install/removal fees as my budget to buy my own tanks.

The $0.15/kWh vs. $3/gallon figure above is almost useless. Except that on the coldest days, I will use approximately 20 kWh for the 24 hour period, which is $3/day for all electricity needs. On that same day, I would use about 1.5 gallons of propane, which is $4.50. Though these figures are preposterous since I’m heating a breadbox, they’re accurate.

My new strategy comes with some pitfalls. I now have to get my personal propane tanks filled on my own, which means transporting them in my car. I had to buy a bunch of brass knickknacks and hoses to connect the tanks to my RV. Yeah, they don’t just screw on and poof, done. Nothing with RV’s is. So, I had to choose tanks that I could lift, but that wouldn’t run out too quickly. The biggest tank I am comfortable transporting and moving on my own is a 40# tank. The “#” there is “pound,” but is not a direct indicator of weight. For instance, the 40# tank holds 9.4 gallons and weighs 70 pounds (Lbs) when full.

So, propane and gas lines are ridiculously convoluted. It isn’t possible to just go to the hardware store and buy a connection kit. Nope. The first step is figuring out where you want to hook the tank into the RV; before or after the vehicle’s regulator. Well, let me tell you; this isn’t an easy choice to make.

To make a long story short, I chose to connect the new tank directly to the RV’s main propane inlet and to regulate pressure at the new tank. What this required was figuring out what kind and size of fitting the RV inlet was. It ended up being a ½” flare fitting. Easy, right? Nope.

With propane fittings, you have to know thread direction (some are reversed), type of connection (flare or pipe) and you have to know these details about every single junction and what types of fittings are possible to obtain for fitting to the next piece. Since I knew what the inlet was, I built from there. Here’s the list of parts I ended up with to attach the new tank to the ‘bago:

RV Inlet: ½” normal-thread male flare

NEW PARTS

Swivel Union (1/2” flare nut to 3/8” flare nut)

Flare to Pipe-Thread Adapter (3/8” normal-thread male flare to 3/8” normal-thread male pipe-thread)

5’ Hose Assembly (3/8” normal-thread female pipe-thread to 3/8” normal-thread male pipe-thread)

Pressure Regulator with ACME Nut (3/8” normal-thread female pipe-thread)

40#, 9.4 gallon propane tank with ACME male connector/valve

Doesn’t sound that bad. It’s not. But I found the simplest solution possible for connecting my own propane tank to the ‘bago. Regrettably, it has taken me too much time and too many trips to the hardware store to finally figure it all out. Many hardware stores don’t have all the connections needed to make this possible.

Many hardware store trips, questions, and frustrations later, I’m up and running. I’m now more mobile than ever before. What’s the value of that? Well, I’m not sure. But since I don’t have a permanent job, it seems that minimizing these $240 propane tank moves might be worth it. In the end, I’ll have a couple nifty 40# propane tanks that will act as year-long barbeque tanks at my future permanent home. The $240 I would have spent to have a tank delivered and removed just turned into a one-time cost of about $100, $170 if I want a second big tank, and I never have to pay that again if I don’t want to. In the last two years, I have lost $480 to propane tank delivery and removal and in total, $600 to propane tank machinations. I’ve learned my lesson. I just wish I learned it sooner.

A Brief 2 Year Review

Living in an RV for just over two years now sounds nuts. The reason it sounds nuts is because it is. The RV is 26x8.5 feet; it's a rolling house with a 221 square foot footprint. The smallest apartment I have ever seen is just under 400 square feet. The only common American living spaces smaller than my domicile are dorm rooms, but even then, the dorm room doesn't house bathroom, kitchen, bedroom, and the moving truck. After two  years in my RV, I have learned a lot, lived even more, and have changed so many of my perspectives.

One of the things I have learned by living in an RV is that RV's are the most fragile, non-durable, and most poorly designed devices in existence. There is a reason a $100,000 RV sells for only $10,000 only 10-15 years later. The reason is that all of the systems will be degraded, in need of repair, and will be expensive to fix. I have had to repair the furnace, water heater, refrigerator, waste tank valves, toilet, and electrical systems. Sure, I've been full-timing in the beast for two years, but it was barely used for the first 12 years of its life. Being handy and all-seasons-durable has been a requirement of full-timing in an RV.

Another thing I have learned about RV'ing full time is that it is not as cheap as one might think. Rents are slightly cheaper than apartment dwelling and there are no leases involved. That's great and worth its weight in gold as a post-graduate graduate looking for work and doing contract work. But rent is still needed and it is still based on the value of the place being rented from. If an RV park is in a desirable location, the rent will be based upon the economic potential of the park to sell its land to a developer to put apartments on. What that means is that an RV park will rent you a parking space with a water spigot, open sewer hole, and an outdoor electrical plug for about the price of a super-cheap apartment. In a short: RV rent is a colossal ripoff.

Before I moved into the RV, I believed that owning is always better than renting. Bullshit. As a landlord on the side, I can tell you that owning is almost always the ripoff. As a homeowner renting out my property, I can tell you that my tenants have it great; They pay exactly what I pay in mortgage, insurance, and HOA, yet they don't have to worry at all when something goes wrong. If the water heater breaks, their cost is a phone call and a little time; My cost is a new water heater, time, installation, and removal of the water heater (aka. $1,000 down the shitter). Sure, they don't get the deed to the property in 30  years, but chances are pretty good that I won't either. Owning is better than renting? Nope. Not if time, flexibility, and lack of responsibility are qualities of life one wants.

Another important lesson that has come out of RV-dwelling is that nothing in America is free. I mean "free" and free and free. Nothing. The homeless of this country are frowned and crapped upon for their situation. "Why not get a job and an apartment," we all say. Well, here's the thing, you first have to get the job, then keep it without having the apartment. That's hard. As someone living in a tiny house, I'm nowhere near the homeless, but after floating from curb to curb for a summer, I can tell you with expert experience that... nothing is free. There is no socially acceptable way to live in a van on a street; the cops will hassle you and neighbors will call them out of fear if discovered. There is no way to exist without paying for your existence. Every square inch of land belongs to someone, or everyone in the case of public lands, and our social system does not kindly allow exceptions. Every parking space, forested acre, and structure is owned and financially quantified.

While I have received nothing but support for my decision from friends and family, every new person I meet and explain my living situation to results in an uphill battle to prove that I am not a non-productive derelict and that I am not dangerous with a shoddy past (because only a criminal would live in an RV at 30-something, right?). Another uphill battle is proving that I am a productive member of society. You cannot experience a culture until you approach its fringes and find out the tolerances that bind all of us through expectation and hierarchy.

Despite some of these oddities, I still love it. After grad school, my work has been temporary research gigs with huge national research programs, but I am still not "gainfully" and traditionally employed. I am still super happy with the decision to be in an RV and very thankful that I have many years of tinkering with mechanical and electrical systems so I can fix every piece of junk the RV company built into this rig.

One of my perspectives that has remained constant is that living in an RV has changed my economic potential. While those living in apartments think I'm living on the edge, others think I must be poor, and yet others think I'm extreme, my economic position is fundamentally different from those living under traditional housing rents or mortgages. One fundamental difference exists that gives me a great advantage: I own the roof over my head outright. It's a glorified van, an RV, or a tiny house, but I own it outright. When the income stops, the roof over my head doesn't go poof. I have done what others thought impossible and that makes me mighty.

After two years in the RV, I plan to continue doing it for as long as I can, but I can see the day when I won't. It has been the perfect young-man's adventure --- one I wish I had realized much sooner and far younger. Despite the system's imperfections, it is still economical and saves me money on living expenses. Some day, the RV will either be sold for lint or it will make a great summer cabin in a new community each summer. Of all the repairs, new inventions, and details that have needed tending to, the RV has granted me the mental space to find out what I want in life and most importantly, how little I actually need. After two years, I can think of few better ways to have done grad school and come out ahead and safe on the other side.