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Jennifer and I like small RVs. Maybe it’s because a small RV is so versatile?

In fact, we use our camper van as a camper occasionally – but very often as something else. That wasn’t the plan when we bought it, but that’s what a really versatile vehicle will do for you.

For a while, I drove it to work in Long Beach, CA, and sometimes used it for my lunch break. It wasn’t that much bigger than a car – yet it was equipped with a kitchen. If my boss had allowed, I might have napped in it all afternoon.

“What did you have for lunch?” asked Jennifer, when I got home.

“Fèves au lard épicé avec du pain,” I said.

“Oh, you mean chili beans and bread,” said Jennifer, deflating my gourmet pretensions.

Weekends, the RV would hold half the kids’ soccer team, their gear and the sodas. At the game, we’d have folding chairs to sit on, and a sunshade. At kickoff time one day, we had a missing center forward and goalie until we located them watching television in the RV.

“When are we actually going camping?” asked Jennifer.

I reminded her that it couldn’t be that weekend. “I need to pick up some plumbing pipe from the hardware store,” I explained. “And more attic insulation, remember?”

Next, we took the kids to camp in it – and managed to pick them up next weekend at the absurd time of 8 am, by driving the
hundred miles the night before, then sleeping at the camp gates. We breakfasted on granola bars and coffee. “It’s so convenient,” said Jennifer. “But this isn’t really camping.”

The RV came in handy for carrying tools to a jobsite - more than would fit in a car. I designated a space for them, with plastic sheeting to protect the floor. The sink was an absolute godsend for washing dirty hands. I hate driving with greasy hands, and hand cleaner doesn’t quite do the job without water.

True, we used the RV for some real camping sometimes. In the Anza Borrego desert, we enjoyed vistas almost to the Sea of

Anza Borrego desert
Cortez in Mexico. We camped atop Mt. Palomar, near the famous observatory, climbing the mountain with ease, and arriving in crisp, clean air not all that common in our Los Angeles suburb. A drive up the coast to Seattle was a feast of seascape and redwoods, with memorable, misty moments on windswept Highway 1 - truly one of the world’s great drives. Our RV brought it all within reach.

Still, Jennifer wants more camping. And I have a plan. But this one will take some delicate selling, or the idea will explode in my face.

My retirement hobby is hiking – of the long-distance variety, as in several hundred miles. Some of my hikes are documented here, where you’ll detect a frustration familiar to our breed. If you don’t carry a tent (and I don’t), you are dependent on shelters or paid accommodation. Unfortunately, there may be none or they may be full when you arrive exhausted at the end of your fifteen-mile day.

My future overnight destination
Then, too, as I get older, I struggle with the weight of my backpack, which cuts into my shoulders and saps my strength.

My plan is to use the RV as a hiking support vehicle, with Jennifer at the helm and my backpack inside. With suitable communications and maps, she’ll meet me at my overnight destination – and perhaps even for lunch.

After a nice hot shower, it will be time for a glass of wine, fèves au lard épicé avec du pain, and conversation with Jennifer instead of a sheep or a bear.

“What will I do all day?” Jennifer will demand when I ask her.

“I have a plan for that,” I’ll say.

“It’d better be a good one,” will be her retort.

I’m still working on that part. Meanwhile, I hike alone.

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