Unless we’re lucky enough to win the lottery, most of us settle in one spot, at one career, using a good chunk of our paycheck to put a roof over our head and food in our belly, squirreling the rest of our money away into savings until we have enough to live out our dreams.
Sometimes that doesn’t happen until retirement. Sometimes it doesn’t happen at all.
There’s nothing wrong with this lifestyle, but I’ve never been good at it. People with better financial sensibility than I are able to own property and hold fulfilling jobs that pay well.
2020 broke the mold for many, opening their eyes to working from home and causing the “digital nomad” and “vanlife” trends to explode in popularity. But people have been living the nomadic lifestyle since human origination.
Although I didn’t need an island getaway, I was still desperate for a change of scenery, and the nomadic way of living seemed to fit my needs perfectly. Building out a vehicle to sleep in, parking where I wanted and moving on to frolic in the wilderness. What more could I ask for?
The Antelope Valley is not the worst place to live, but I couldn’t stand to stay any longer. The fantasy of living out on the road had sunk its hooks into me.
But how would I make a living? And what kind of vehicle would I use?
The Income
There are a million ways to make money out on the road. I needed to figure out which one would work for me. I assumed my decade of experience in education would not be that useful, but I was prepared to take on any entry-level position.
The internet recommended coolworks.com as a starting point. Browsing the site for a few minutes revealed a variety of job postings in exciting locations. I could be a server at the Grand Canyon. Or a hotel employee at a Colorado ski resort. Or an instructor at a forest summer camp. Perhaps my background working with students would be useful after all.
These jobs didn’t pay as much or offer the same benefits as my current employer, but as someone with low ambitions and even lower comfort levels, all I needed was enough money to keep myself fed and my gas tank full. Many postings even offered food and lodging as part of payment.
It seemed like a great solution. I planned on working a few months out of the year in exciting new locations, setting aside enough funds to road trip around the country until I needed money again. I would continue working at my current job in the meantime, saving up for my vanlife test run.
The Ride
The idea of converting a vehicle into a living space appealed massively to me, and I scoured the internet to research what was possible.
School buses or “skoolies” seemed super cool, with lots of space and charm, but the more I researched, the more I realized just how much of a massive undertaking it was. Skoolies are charming indeed, but notoriously difficult to convert and make road-legal. On top of that, the finished product would be an unwieldy bus with a horrible turning radius that would stick out like a sore thumb no matter where you parked it.
Vans seemed like a good middle ground, but the sprinter vans the influencers seemed to adore were all incredibly expensive (even used). When I calculated the cost of a vanlife conversion, I was shocked to discover how quickly it exceeded my budget. I wanted a running start at my life on the road, I wasn’t about to blow my savings on a car and a bunch of wood paneling. I wanted something smaller and more economical. Something I could park anywhere, even in the cities. Something stealthy.
In my internet research I had seen all kinds of vehicle conversions, including one guy that managed to turn his Camaro into a camper. I looked at my own vehicle, a 2007 Chevy Impala, and considered the possibilities. With the back seat gone, it was possible I could stick my feet in the trunk and lay down flat. It was worth trying out, at the very least.
After 30 years of living in the desert, I was more than ready to leave. I had made my escape plan, all I needed to do was test it out.
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