Van Life Two Years in

I have been living out of my van since May 17, 2020; this is a warts and all “what it is really like” documentation of my day to day life.

My 2010 Honda Odyssey has been home for a bit over two years. I took a break last winter for four months (which is covered in other blogs), other than that and some hotel stays I have been leading a 40 square foot life.

I am, again, a camp host; this time at a lake in the mountains of Southern California. This gig is good because a site with power and water is provided (free rent and utilities). Unless I screw up or the world ends, I am here from the end of April to Halloween. The downside of my site is dust, I am on a dirt road and despite all the signs advertising the five mile per hour speed limit, campers often triple that. So, my life is a gritty, dusty one: Dust on me. Dust in the van. Dust probably shortening the life of this laptop. The view is lovely, though, a small lagoon. Birds down in a marsh. The lake is around 4000 feet so our hottest days (so far) have been low 90s. I made a sunshade out of a double sided tarp and some half-inch PVC pipe which keeps the inside of the van comfortable—(the key is I have the spare on the roof which allows air flow between the tarp and the van).

Bathroom stuff: I have a “full service” bathroom at my disposal roughly fifty feet from my site: Stall toilets. Sinks. A shower. I do not use the latter due to being a bit grossed out by public showers (strange feet!). So, I use baby wipes (and a water bottle to wash my hair next to the van). Honestly, when I need relief in the middle of the night I urinate in a large Snapple bottle but I clean it out the following morning.

I am what is called the Rover. I support the three camp hosts but mainly I enforce “quiet time” after 10 pm and answer after hour calls. This campground has more than three hundred sites and I cover the whole thing between five and one-thirty (in the morning). Since I am currently locking up the van at night, it gets warm inside by nine a.m. despite the tarp. Either that wakes me up or loud campers. Sometimes I get calls on the after hours phone between six and seven. But, I was prepared for that having been a camp host last year.

Food: I have a small fridge hooked up to an extension cord. How small? Can of beer and a block of cheese and it’s pretty much full. Not quite, but there isn’t loads of room. I also have a hot plate hooked up to a second extension cord; that is the extent of my cook facilities. It’s very basic but it works. Sometimes I miss an oven and may rig up a solar one (or buy a toaster oven off Craigslist or something). Microwave? Don’t really miss it. My food is kept in four plastic boxes with snap lock lids. Glass, utensils, and plates are cleaned with vinegar in a spray bottle and paper towels. Pans get soap and water.

My work days go like this: I usually wake up around nine and walk the after hours phone up to the front gate. As I have until mid day before my shift starts, I do a lot of writing. The wind flutters the tarp. It’s massive, so if a chipmunk farts it flaps like crazy. The sun murdered the old tarp which was a lot smaller so I am still working out the kinks of a big tarp (which I bought three days ago). It’s good because I have a lot more shade; shade is crucial because I have elected not to have a fan. There is no fan, no air conditioning, nor heat (which is not needed this time of year). My system has been workable between 28 and 98 farenheit, above or below that one’s comfort level diminishes and whining commences.

Entertainment: Birds. Erratic campers. When I get back from my shift it’s either midnight or, Fridays and Saturdays, one-thirty in the morning. I climb in bed with a book and drink a glass of wine or two. I do not have wi-fi here so I do not stream movies. I have a strong signal for my phone, but do not have unlimited tethering (to the laptop). I don’t miss it. Sometimes I watch music videos or listen to music on my phone.

Campers rarely bother me with questions. That was concern because at my last camp host gig, they were coming up as early as six in the morning and as late as ten at night. I work with a lot of really nice people. I don’t hang out with them outside of work, but it’s good to work with people you get on with. My life is, consequently, very solitary. I’m good with solitary, but truthfully it gets to me sometimes. I think about dating, but the options are limited. It’s a trade off and I accept that. In the stick and brick world, there would be air conditioning and dating opportunities and a full kitchen, but I’d be paying rent and living check to check in the hurly burly of a city. Trade offs. This life is austere, very austere, which is why I allow myself a hotel night every two weeks. I stream a film a TV show on the hotel wi-fi. Cut my hair. Enjoy the air conditioning. Have a long soak in a tub. You know, I prefer my bed in the van. I would have never imagined this before I lived in a van but sleeping in one is very cozy, you feel very safe and snug. A big hotel room and big hotel bed are weird now, all that open space.

I get on well with two of the camp hosts. One is a 77 year old gentleman. He has been suggesting that, if management offers it, I take on the role of winter host.

“You could get a trailer,” B suggested.

“Nah, I’d just winterize the van."

B looked at me doubtfully, the other three hosts have thirty foot (roughly) trailers.

“It gets real cold here,” he pointed out. “You’ll need a place to cook.”

This lead us to money: Inflation has thrown a wrench in but, in theory, I could easily save $250 a month even making minimum wage ($15 per hour, 40 hours a week). Hotels I have budgeted for $300 per month, which is my rent, I guess. I don’t drive much so I spend $75 a month in gas (it’s six a gallon here in Southern California). My two debts are a consolidation loan carried over from when I was married and my car loan. When the van is paid off in three years, the plan is to upgrade; could be a box truck or a short skoolie or building a camper on the back of a four wheel drive Toyota pickup. I couldn’t just trade the van in because it is worthless as a trade in (everything behind the front seats has been removed). In theory, I could pay it off with my savings and sell it to another van life person but then my savings would be gone and the rate on the car loan is real low. So…for now my home is the minivan. Buying or leasing a trailer? I have good credit, I probably could finance one, but that’s more debt, paying every month on an RV I don’t actually want. If I got the winter gig, I’d winterize the van, get more cold weather gear, and buy a real shade structure for the picnic table. I’d wrap the shade structure in the tarp I am using for insulation and that would be the kitchen.

I am one with nature. That isn’t some hippy proclamation, I am really out here in the elements. I am living without air conditioning so sweat is a regular thing, not the gross dripping sweat where you’re sitting in a pool of your own fluid, rather just this light but persistent sheen of perspiration. Flies visit. Chipmunks scurry through camp. Crows argue in the trees. I brush my teeth and wash my hair next to the van. I cook on the golf cart I was issued. Honestly, the austerity gets to me sometimes which is why I allow myself the luxury of hotel nights but—

After being back in the stick and brick world for four months last winter and struggling to make ends meet I am now much happier doing this, dealing with the “downsides” of living out of a minivan. Last winter, I was making the same wage but, since I was paying rent (and utilities), I had to buy my groceries on a credit card. That was, obviously, non sustainable. Here, my rent (hotel rooms) is over five hundred less and utilities thrown in so I can save money, a blessing in these uncertain times.

The future is unwritten. My ideal would be to have November to January off, work a couple of months in Quartzsite, and be back here April to November. I prefer this sort of gig to a job in the city. The future is unwritten and, reading the news, uncertain. If the economy really takes a nosedive I have some savings, and I am fortunate that I can be happy with very little and do well living in a minivan.

Again, if you have any questions, feel free to leave them in the comments.

Izk