10 things they don't tell you about vanlife

I can think of a hundred reasons why anyone should vanlife. Reason #19: It’s the perfect plan to wait out a deadly epidemic—looking at you, coronavirus. Today, though, I want to shed light on the flip side of vanlife, starting with the “reality” side of the “Instagram vs. reality” and venturing into downright TMI territory.

Gone are the days when living in a van was just a convenient alternative to paying rent or camping. Now vanlife looks so utopian, even hip, with its charming vintage buses, wood plank ceilings, and dreamy young bodies draped in Pendleton blankets. The aesthetics game here is on point, but I’d like to normalize posting about stuff that doesn’t look or sound gram-worthy.

Whatever brings you to this lifestyle, it’s always easier to overcome setbacks when you have a community that’s willing to share openly about their challenges too. So without further ado, let’s look under the hood.

10. Those Instagram vans parked in beautiful places aren’t free campsites.

It’s true in life, therefore it’s true in vanlife: you only get to pick two (good, fast, cheap). Nice campsites tend to be expensive (typical prices are $25-$75 a night) and also tend to take you further off your route. It’s definitely possible to camp for free but offroad secret spots and free dispersed camping on BLM (Bureau of Land Management) and USFS (Forest Service) usually require a longer detour on ungraded roads. They also have no services, so you’ll need a plan for getting water, power, and waste out of the way.

You definitely did not sleep there. #youdidnotsleepthere

In short, camping in beautiful places takes planning. If you’re the type of person who likes to make an itinerary before setting out on a trip, you’ll do well as there are tons of free resources like Freecampsites.com and iOverlander to ensure you always camp somewhere nice along your route. If you’re like us, though...

9. You spend a lot of time in unattractive parking lots.

Our reality is that we don’t like to make plans. We often make spontaneous decisions about where to go, often out of range of a good data signal to do research. I also use Google Fi’s pay-as-you-go data plan, so I avoid using data whenever possible.

Sometimes we need to stop short of our original destination because we underestimated driving times. This happens more than you’d think because vans are heavy and we consistently go 50-60 miles per hour on the highway. In the end, road trips are more sustainable with breaks. Stopping for quick day hikes, cool rest stops, and cute restaurants keeps us happy on the journey and is well worth it, at the expense of reaching our destinations quickly.

All this means we spend lots of nights crashing in parking lots. Most people know this by now, but most Walmarts (not all) let you park overnight for free as long as you’re inside your vehicle. There are many variations—Cracker Barrels, Camping World, Flying J’s, rest stops, casinos, 24-hour gyms, even churches—but the point is, they’re about as romantic as a dinner date at Chick Fil-A (actually, this was our last Valentine’s Day).

There is a huge upside, though, which is that you can stealth nap anywhere. It still tickles me pink to take a nap right in the restaurant parking lot after we eat a big meal out.

8. You can’t be too precious about your sleep.

Some of my best and worst nights’ sleep have been during our trip. Oddly enough the worst place was rural Mexico, with fighting dogs snarling, roosters screaming, and music blaring all night. We sound-insulated the van and put blackout screens on our windows, but Vanny Boy is far from light-proof, sound-proof, or even vibration-proof from wind, rain, street lights, and passing cars.

We also found out the hard way that Walmarts in city centers typically don’t let you stay overnight. We’ve been woken up in the middle of the night by park rangers and security guards in Ontario, Salt Lake City, South Lake Tahoe, and Tuscon.

All that said, many days have been such amazing nonstop adventures that I pass out as soon as I hit the bed. The best part? I never set an alarm.

7. 99 bottles of pee on the wall.

Oh boy, is she really going to talk about this? If you’re squeamish, maybe skip this section. If you’re the type of person who enjoys Dr. Pimple Popper and browses articles on rare skin diseases, you know who you are. Please read on.

Let’s get it over with: pee jars. It’s a fact of vanlife and everyone does it. Gentlemen, I envy you for the vast arsenal of drink bottles at your disposal. Ladies will want to keep a clean wide-mouth jar handy (I find pasta and pickle jars are just right) and possibly a Go Girl to help. Before I moved out of my apartment, I’m glad I practiced in the shower because it does require skill and control.

If it comes as any relief though, I rarely use jars anymore because I don’t enjoy it. Nothing makes you feel like you’ve hit rock bottom than sneaking a jar of your own pee into a public restroom and rinsing it with hand soap. Or sipping from a bottle of Fuze tea only to discover it isn’t tea (true story from a friend, I swear).

My solution has been to get better at lasting the whole night without needing to use the bathroom. I also have friends who use them daily, voluntarily, because to them it’s more convenient than walking to the bathroom. Hey, vanlife is about living your best life, right? For my partner and me, however, pee jar is reserved for special occasions when we’re parked overnight in a public place with no 24-hour bathrooms.

By the way, the title of this section (“99 Bottles of Pee on the Wall”) comes from a hysterical collection of essays by Davy Rothbart called My Heart is an Idiot, which I bought used at the Yosemite Public Library. Apparently road trippers are not the only ones who pee in bottles.

These are dangerous to have around, but I like to live on the wild side.

6. When it rains, it pours.

The very first night we moved into the van, we both got food poisoning. In New York City. At 1AM, after our sendoff party. With no public restrooms or bars open at that hour, I actually ran back into my former apartment. Thankfully, the night shift doorman didn’t realize I had moved out that morning. The sickness hit my partner an hour later, and unbeknownst to me he went into an abandoned lot under a highway overpass. Rough night.

The point is, you don’t have as much of a safety net as when you’re in a house surrounded by friends and family and services. The worst case scenario is when everything goes wrong at once, and it’s all somewhat related. Let’s say it’s raining and climbing conditions are slick so you end up hurting yourself. You don’t have a local medical network so you end up overpaying for emergency care. You put off car maintenance to save money, but when the car breaks down it ends up costing extra to order next-day spare parts. Your partner and you need some alone time, but it’s still pouring outside so you’re stuck inside a broken-down van together.

Moral of the story: if this sounds like a lot to handle, maybe start with a new vehicle and read a book on couple’s therapy before making the leap. If you’re unfazed by any of this, you’re going to make an awesome vanlifer.

5. Not all places are created equal.

We spent a rainy and buggy two weeks in New Hampshire, which felt like months. Everything in the van was dank, I was covered in mosquito bites, Vanny Boy started to spring leaks, the solar-charged battery was low, the alternator died, and the climbing routes were seeping wet. Morale was low. Also, our choices for free parking were the Walmart in Plymouth or a swampy bog (see #1).

Once we moved on though, things started improving almost instantly. The Northeast was probably the hardest place for us to live in a van in the US, so after that experience every other place felt like paradise.

4. The most enjoyable way to travel is not to travel.

We drive a lot less than you’d expect, mainly because driving sucks. We’ve discovered that we prefer to spend time getting to know an area, making friends and mastering the way of life there. We only move on when we’re ready or the weather changes for the worse. Our 8-month itinerary included only 9 destinations, which is hardly traveling at all by Kerouac standards.

On a scale of 10, how likely are you to pick this person up?

3. You’re still the same person, just in a van.

If you found it difficult to get up early in your city apartment, guess what—it’s still hard in a van. If at home you let the dishes pile up and left your clothes on the floor, that’s exactly what happens in the van too unless you make concerted efforts to do otherwise. The van is not a magical reset button for becoming the person you’ve always wanted to be. The same rules apply: build small daily habits, make small environmental tweaks to nudge yourself to do the right thing, have people hold you accountable, and so on.

Initially I surprised myself by trying out bathing in ice cold rivers and lakes, and actually somewhat enjoying it (normally I like my showers scalding hot). But over time I got over the cost of taking $5 showers because it’s just so much more convenient and pleasant. It’s normal to revert back to your old self, and for most things it’s totally okay to cut yourself some slack.

2. The partner stuff is hard, but you’re up to the challenge.

I get a lot of people asking me how I live with my partner in a van. “I could never do that with my significant other,” they say. It’s actually easier than you think. My partner and I are not particularly gifted at communication, but we’re willing to practice. We also have our own separate lives. We read different books, invest in our own side projects, and make it a point to hike and climb separately with our own friends when they visit. This is a whole separate topic on its own, so I’ll definitely post again on how to travel full-time with another person.

That said, if your idea of conflict resolution is storming off and slamming the door, good luck. That is 100% how I dealt with conflict when I was 14, so I wouldn’t recommend vanlife with a partner unless you’re past puberty and at least willing to invest in practicing swift and effective conflict resolution techniques.

1. Vanlife can wait.

This is the number one thing that no one ever told us. During our travels we’ve met dozens of traveling climbing crushers over 50, over 60, single women, couples with kids, you name it. One couple we met in the Wind River Range was backpacking, vanlifing, and homeschooling with a dog and three children, all seven years old or younger, two of whom were adopted! Another climber couple in the same Wind River trip was huffing it down the approach with an infant strapped to the guy’s chest. To this day I still don’t know how they did it. (Did they climb with the infant? Put it in a crib? Was there a third person we didn’t see? It’s a riddle I’ll never solve.)

Long story short, there are no age, gender, health, or life status requirements. We thought this year was our last chance to travel as able-bodied young people without kids or ailing family members. The incredible people we met along the way inspired us to think otherwise. It brings me tremendous calm to know that this is a chapter I can open and close again at any point in my life should the open road call to me again. Until then, civilization beckons.