In the RV World, I am a newbie, or whatever precedes a newbie. Zygote? (I have always wanted to use that word since learning it in 9th grade biology — have I used it correctly? – who cares — even outside Scrabble it is a great word). In short, I am really new to this “lifestyle” as the bloggers and YouTube RV stars call it. 

I began in the Northeast. Among our friends, I thought I was something with a tricked-out, 2008 Sprinter stealth van — stealth because it is badged as a Dodge with the ram and horns that look like my bio textbook image of the fallopian tubes. And Stellantis decided RAM trucks were so manly they needed a separate division? Rorschach test: what does this look like? And I am not going to review the Airbnb logo. 

My van is not really “tricked out” as we said in the seventies in between reading all the entries of “Divine Right’s Trip” on the bottom of the pages of the Whole Earth Catalog and sniggering about the bumper sticker: “Ass, Gas, or Grass – Nobody Rides for Free.” My van is a corporate uplift, built on a Sprinter platform and finished by RoadTrek. The van companies go in and out of success, profitability, bankruptcy, and consolidation. RoadTrek was around. Disappeared. Has since come back. Sprinter has migrated back to Mercedes. It had been popular with Amazon until the contract with Rivian and electrification, and a fan following with tradesmen after the disappearance of the traditional Ford Econoline, Chevy Vans (brand name Vandura), and Dodge Tradesman. It’s a solid truck, with a diesel engine, about the same length as a pickup (though those have been growing in girth and length), and a high-hat version so there is full standing height throughout. 

So, I thought I was the bomb. We did not know the RV segment in Little Compton; we were from the “summer rental” class. People we knew ran to their boats for summer excursions – the Vineyard, Nantucket, or for the special folks the primitive hook at Cuttyhunck. Even in divorce, the boat was more important. Perry, who had custody of his two daughters, announced, on their return home at the end of college’s spring semester: “This duffle is all you get. The house is sold. We are living on the boat.” Storage was a bigger issue than accommodations and comfort. Even a classic Concordia yacht would make Imelada Marcos shudder at shoe storage! With our van, we were a little downstream/upstream, not quite sure where we fit. Friends who had a similar van but built for horse transportation were solidly in, despite their living accommodation being spartan, little better than those for the quadrapeds.

Johanna and I travelled together a little in the van: three-day trips, a week, maybe two weeks, twice. More haphazard than planned. Lots of beach picnics. Lots of finding cool on the water for an exotic takeout with friends. Safety all through COVID. An extra bed when all the family visited. The kids being old enough that they wanted sure space to be alone, or alone with digital friendships.

So leaving, puffed, proud, but a little apprehensive, I set off. The first night, I barely filled the designated camping pad. Around me, thirty-foot travel trailers sat proud with their Tacomas and F150s ahead, forty-foot class A’s with their school bus fronts and at the ready, a towed vehicle — cheekily known as a TOAD in the RV lingo. And then, with a  big Ford 450, Cummins, dooley (that is dual aft wheels, for those not in the know)  standing at the ready, are the 45-foot fifth wheels with slides for and aft that double the interior space and leading with an industrial articulating gantry that attaches mid-bed of the aforementioned monster truck. What was I but a mosquito amongst these gypsy moths and giant darners? And so it went through all my southern travels until mid-Florida. 

Suddenly, Sprinters, Ducatos, and Ford Transits popped into spaces close to me. Many of these, however, are seriously tricked out. Four wheel drive systems, lifted kits, large knobby tires, ladders and racks and rigs for bicycles, Gerry cans, and exterior storage boxes. Many have light bars, rhino guards, some even have winches. These are seriously tricked explorers. Burning Man ready. Again, I am just a little bug among these Hercules beetles, but it is nice to have company.