Now that we're up and running again, I hope to get out for some van camping around Bass Lake this week. The summer crowds are gone and the weather is perfect.
For now, here's a picture of the inside and five reasons why I dig living out of it...
5. Less stuff! Unless you're a hoarder, it's always a good feeling to get rid of the unnecessary stuff that piles up in our homes over time. When I decided to give up apartment living and make my van my home, it took lots of spring cleaning. At first, I kept boxes of belongings in the garages of family and friends... extra clothes, books and cd's that might be nice to line a shelf with someday, and lots of keepsakes spanning sixteen years of Catholic school and team sports. Over time, I pared it down to what was essential, and shed most of what wasn't. Clothing went to Goodwill, books were replaced by a library card, and my cd's were burned to my iPhone. Now, with the exception of a box of records and a spare guitar, I am completely self-contained!
I think George Carlin said it best: "That's all you need in life, a little place for your stuff. That's all your house is: a place to keep your stuff. If you didn't have so much stuff, you wouldn't need a house. You could just walk around all the time."
3. The art of travel. On this topic, I know of no more shining examples than my grandparents. I didn't know it at the time, but a childhood's worth of after-school conversations with them, hours spent in high-back chairs, drinking Hires root beer or Vernor's ginger ale and listening to stories of how weeks turned into months traveling in distant places, made a profound impact on me.
Over the course of their seventy-six year marriage, my grandparents made numerous trips to the Mercedes-Benz factory in Stuttgart, Germany to buy a new sedan and follow it through every step of manufacturing. (My grandfather was an engineer and loved watching anything being built from scratch.) Afterward, they would spend several months touring Europe, visiting family and friends, and taking advantage of the freedom to accept invitations for all sorts of side-adventures and extended-stays along the way. By the end of each trip, they racked up enough miles on the diesel engine to import it back into the U.S. as a used vehicle. A transatlantic ferry took them to New York, whereby they'd finish up with some variation on the cross-country roadtrip, again taking the time to visit old friends and explore new places along the way. On their fiftieth wedding anniversary, they capped off the tradition by making their final trip to the factory, this time for a gold 300D. The car was a beauty, but it was only the means to an ongoing journey for a them. The journey itself was the real celebration.
For me, the art of travel comes is akin to the art of allowing. It involves the right balance of planning and non-planning, a nose for adventure, a knack for finding kindred spirits, and a willingness to go with the flow. Somehow the van, like that 300D, seems well suited to all those things.
2. The song. For me and for most, there is a special connection between music and driving. I'll never forget putting Houses of the Holy into the stereo of a '72 Chevy Blazer and taking my first drive alone on a brand new license. Music has rarely sounded so good! But as it became more and more a part of my livelihood, I naturally became more and more obsessed with vans. Outside every good show, there was a van. In every tour documentary, there was a van. Then I went to South by Southwest, and there were hundreds and hundreds of vans! I understood why. It just made sense, at least to me: I needed to buy a van and start touring immediately! What ensued was one of the most formative periods of my life, and one of the funnest too. And I learned that musicians, although flaky and irresponsible with cash, do in fact know what they're doing when it comes to choosing vehicles. Just don't trust them to keep them maintained.
Beyond touring, the van has also been the perfect companion for one of my favorite summer pasttimes: music festivals. I'm all for roughing it in the mountains, but there is something about a bit of luxury for festival camping. At most of my favorite ones, you are allowed to camp right next to your car, which means that means that I'm close to a comfy bed, cold beer, a guitar and games. (One rule of vanning is that you must be able to provide some sort of entertainment when groups of two or more gather, so I never travel without a frisbee, smashball, or washer toss. Keeping Yahtzee and a deck of cards on hand for stormy weather isn't a bad idea either.)
1. The story. There is no shortage of curiosity out there about the practical details of the van lifestyle, particularly when it comes to how one takes care of certain business within the confines of a van. Currently, I am lucky enough to park on a friend's property where I can sneak inside when I need to use the facilities. When I originally bought the van, however, there was a porta potti in the back, which I removed and replaced with storage. One night at a bar, I was describing the renovation and had to explain the mechanics of a porta potti to a curious friend, specifically how the tank seals up, locks, and pops out "like a briefcase" so you can carry it somewhere to empty. Slightly uncultured bar chat I know, but I didn't bring it up, okay? A girl standing behind me had been eavesdropping and approached me later to ask if it was true that I "shit in a briefcase." At the time, I was able to think of at least two or three other rumors that I would have preferred to hear floating around about myself!
The point is that I find it really fun to do something that people find interesting and feel compelled to ask about. Like most things I like, I like to talk about vans. I also like to talk about travel, music, mountains, food, beer, people, and the many interesting things that people do. This blog seemed like the perfect way to share the story, whatever it is and however it unfolds.
I think George Carlin said it best: "That's all you need in life, a little place for your stuff. That's all your house is: a place to keep your stuff. If you didn't have so much stuff, you wouldn't need a house. You could just walk around all the time."
4. Van cuisine. Staying on the move means that I get to enjoy my favorite restaurants in different cities more often than most. Best breakfast? Willow Wood Market Cafe, Sebastopol. Best sandwich? Cheese'N'Stuff, Phoenix. Best Mexican? Cafe Poca Cosa, Tucson. Best Thai? Khan Toke, San Francisco. Leftovers go in the mini-fridge, especially if it's the catch of the day. I like to eat, got it?
But I'm not tring to eat my way on to a Segway. Although I'm set up with a well-appointed galley, there are lots of healthy ways to eat on the road while keeping it simple. Farmers' markets are one of my favorite stops when I travel and are an easy way to put a finger on the pulse of a new town. Seek out advice on the best local picnic spot and get some local goodies in your belly ASAP! I always carry a groundsheet, enough utensils to entertain guests, and a campstove for those times when I can't plug in or don't want to use the generator. Water is always a necessity, and a portable spice rack can really take things to the next level. If you do have an ice chest or refrigerator, salad veggies can be washed, cut and stored in tupperware all at once to keep prep quick and easy for several days at a time.
3. The art of travel. On this topic, I know of no more shining examples than my grandparents. I didn't know it at the time, but a childhood's worth of after-school conversations with them, hours spent in high-back chairs, drinking Hires root beer or Vernor's ginger ale and listening to stories of how weeks turned into months traveling in distant places, made a profound impact on me.
Over the course of their seventy-six year marriage, my grandparents made numerous trips to the Mercedes-Benz factory in Stuttgart, Germany to buy a new sedan and follow it through every step of manufacturing. (My grandfather was an engineer and loved watching anything being built from scratch.) Afterward, they would spend several months touring Europe, visiting family and friends, and taking advantage of the freedom to accept invitations for all sorts of side-adventures and extended-stays along the way. By the end of each trip, they racked up enough miles on the diesel engine to import it back into the U.S. as a used vehicle. A transatlantic ferry took them to New York, whereby they'd finish up with some variation on the cross-country roadtrip, again taking the time to visit old friends and explore new places along the way. On their fiftieth wedding anniversary, they capped off the tradition by making their final trip to the factory, this time for a gold 300D. The car was a beauty, but it was only the means to an ongoing journey for a them. The journey itself was the real celebration.
For me, the art of travel comes is akin to the art of allowing. It involves the right balance of planning and non-planning, a nose for adventure, a knack for finding kindred spirits, and a willingness to go with the flow. Somehow the van, like that 300D, seems well suited to all those things.
2. The song. For me and for most, there is a special connection between music and driving. I'll never forget putting Houses of the Holy into the stereo of a '72 Chevy Blazer and taking my first drive alone on a brand new license. Music has rarely sounded so good! But as it became more and more a part of my livelihood, I naturally became more and more obsessed with vans. Outside every good show, there was a van. In every tour documentary, there was a van. Then I went to South by Southwest, and there were hundreds and hundreds of vans! I understood why. It just made sense, at least to me: I needed to buy a van and start touring immediately! What ensued was one of the most formative periods of my life, and one of the funnest too. And I learned that musicians, although flaky and irresponsible with cash, do in fact know what they're doing when it comes to choosing vehicles. Just don't trust them to keep them maintained.
Beyond touring, the van has also been the perfect companion for one of my favorite summer pasttimes: music festivals. I'm all for roughing it in the mountains, but there is something about a bit of luxury for festival camping. At most of my favorite ones, you are allowed to camp right next to your car, which means that means that I'm close to a comfy bed, cold beer, a guitar and games. (One rule of vanning is that you must be able to provide some sort of entertainment when groups of two or more gather, so I never travel without a frisbee, smashball, or washer toss. Keeping Yahtzee and a deck of cards on hand for stormy weather isn't a bad idea either.)
1. The story. There is no shortage of curiosity out there about the practical details of the van lifestyle, particularly when it comes to how one takes care of certain business within the confines of a van. Currently, I am lucky enough to park on a friend's property where I can sneak inside when I need to use the facilities. When I originally bought the van, however, there was a porta potti in the back, which I removed and replaced with storage. One night at a bar, I was describing the renovation and had to explain the mechanics of a porta potti to a curious friend, specifically how the tank seals up, locks, and pops out "like a briefcase" so you can carry it somewhere to empty. Slightly uncultured bar chat I know, but I didn't bring it up, okay? A girl standing behind me had been eavesdropping and approached me later to ask if it was true that I "shit in a briefcase." At the time, I was able to think of at least two or three other rumors that I would have preferred to hear floating around about myself!
The point is that I find it really fun to do something that people find interesting and feel compelled to ask about. Like most things I like, I like to talk about vans. I also like to talk about travel, music, mountains, food, beer, people, and the many interesting things that people do. This blog seemed like the perfect way to share the story, whatever it is and however it unfolds.
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