The Simple and Complicated Life on the Road

We’ve been back in a house for just over a month, which feels like a good time to reflect on our five-month 2020 life on the road.

We’ve all heard the myriad benefits of a life of full-time travel: a new and ever-changing environment, chasing good weather, meeting new people, and abundant nature. And certainly, we’ve seen all the photos. But with this sense of freedom comes some significant trade-offs in comfort, ease of living, work productivity, and sometimes even freedom itself.

Does life on the road live up to all the social media hype? How about the costs? What type of vehicles, vans, or RVs are even affordable?

Here’s what to expect:

A Reminder on Our Setup: Camping Style, Travel Vehicle, Modifications

From mid-July to late-December 2020, we tugged a small 2019 Flagstaff T12RB A-frame camper around the western US for over 3,700 miles with a Toyota Tacoma. We drove closer to 12,000 miles total, with the camper typically unhitched, forming a base camp for one to two weeks at a time.

Here are some of my posts discussing our road trip:

Selling Our House: On the Road, Pandemic Edition

Week 1: Lander, Wyoming: Working Out the Kinks

One Month on the Road: Getting a Groove

In Contrast: The Reality of Life on the Road

Three Months on the Road: Pacific Northwest

Four Months on the Road: Can This Really Last?

Tales from the Road: Two Cows and a Horse

With few exceptions, we camped on national forest, BLM, or other free dispersed camping areas. Our primary reason for this approach was simple: it’s free. Also, we were keen to avoid complicated logistics, like lining up campground reservations. With camping at an all-time high in popularity, many campgrounds were booked weeks or even months in advance, with precious few first-come-first-serve spots available. And in popular areas (near national parks, etc), these spots were swiped sometimes by dawn’s early light.

Camping Options for a Life on the Road:

Many dispersed camping sites carry a 14-day limit. So even if we planned to stay in an area beyond two weeks, we were generally forced to relocate within the area after reaching the limit. For electricity, we relied on our beefy battery bank, powered by our hard-workin’ solar panels.

Base Unit and Modifications:

• Base Unit: 2019 (very lightly used) Flagstaff T12RB A-frame camper ($11,000 + ~$1,100 in title and registration fees = $12,100)
• Modification: Two 100-amp-hour AGM batteries, wired in parallel. (batteries + cables =$375)
  • We would have run out of power many times had we not at least doubled our battery bank storage capacity from the weak 75-amp-hour stock battery. This setup kept up with our needs wonderfully, even during the heavy smoke-filled days of late summer.
  • Adds substantially to the tongue weight, so be mindful if you are cutting it close with your vehicle.

• Modification: Xantrex PROwatt SW 1000-Watt inverter (Inverter + remote switch + cables + fuses + dedicated outlet = $400)
  • Used to convert 12V to 120V when off shore power (we always were), allowing us to charge laptops and other non-USB electronics. Grinding coffee and using an electric toothbrush on the road were game changers!

• We thanked the heavens daily that we installed the remote on/off switch ($20) inside the cabin, as the inverter was mounted in an outdoor-accessible storage area. I would have punched through a wall at some point if I had to go outside every time I wanted to turn it on or off.

• Modification: Renogy 200-Watt Solar Suitcase ($400)
  • Used to charge the battery bank
  • Pros: Movable, able to find sun in shady areas (tree canopies, etc).
  • Cons: Heavy and awkward, only practical to pack or unpack when moving to a new campsite. We left ours out at all times, secured with a padlock and a steel bike cable. We also saw/heard it faceplant several times in high winds.

Other Minor Modifications

• Modification: Removed the microwave and built a storage unit in its place. 100% worth it. ($0. Used scrap wood)
• Modification: 3-inch memory foam for the bed ($80)
  • Pros: 1000% worth it
  • Cons: None
• Modification: Toilet and Shower
  • Just kidding
  • Toilet: 5-gallon bucket from Home Depot + (thick) trash bag + kitty litter + Lysol + lid. Oh, and strong quad muscles.
  • Shower: Solar Shower, hung from the side of the camper ($35)
  • Shower Curtain: Pop-Up Shower Tent ($40)
    • Life-saver in the desert
    • Doubles as bathroom for toilet mentioned above

• Total Costs for Trailer + Modifications + Everything Else (trailer hitch, brake controller, storage solutions, water filters, water jugs, etc) = ~$14,500

What’s Important in Life?

I’ll get right down to brass tacks: full-time life on the road was not a great fit for us. Mrs. CC is naturally a homebody, so we found challenges right from the start. While I was amped to travel to climbing spots and climb all the boulders, that left Mrs. CC with the option of either sitting in a camp chair beside me, or staying back in our camper alone on some sort of empty forest road with no vehicle. We did both, and neither contributed to high degrees of marital bliss.

She felt resentful that I always wanted to climb. I, finally able to climb as much as I wanted after achieving financial independence, felt resentful that I couldn’t climb enough! Or if I could climb, I felt a high degree of guilt about it, knowing I was on borrowed time. It was hard not to feel selfish in my pursuits. And she was right.

Obviously, our situation is somewhat unique. If you or your partner are psyched on a life of adventure and have the bulk of your desired activities in common, you will find this lifestyle more sustainable. Hell, some people travel full-time and seem to do nothing more than sit in a lawn chair outside their big rig and watch the sun go by. To each their own.

That said, several climber couples and a number of readers of this website confided in me that they too struggled on the road, finding it unsustainable after several months. This is a particularly common sentiment in winter (cold, long nights, difficult to shower outside, etc).

Productivity with a Life on the Road

I get a little crazy if I can’t be zipping about with a big to-do list. I know, it’s weird. I’m practically never bored (if I’m in charge of my schedule), and manage to fill my time with something all hours of the day. I’m certainly not bragging, nor am I necessarily saying that this is always a redeeming quality about me. It’s simply how I’ve always been. How did I ever have time for a job?!

My hope was to let that side of me slide a bit; to challenge myself to be more present and enjoy the places I found myself.

Well, it was a struggle. I wanted to do the things I normally do, like work on endless WiFi, or do a core workout. But reliable internet wasn’t always available, and no one wants to do a core workout on a yoga mat when it’s dark, 31 degrees, and your world is being sandblasted by the next approaching cold front.

On Working on the Road

Speaking of productivity, Mrs. CC continued to work her job remotely from July through late October, the majority of the trip. She struggled while juggling poor internet connection, heat, and the increase errand load (getting water, finding better public WiFi, doing laundry, etc). Had she worked a job where the bulk of her duties could be completed offline or at hours of her choosing, I think this arrangement could work, but still would not be ideal.

Her job required a constant online connection to her Denver office workstation, which as you can imagine in mountainous regions of Wyoming, Montana, and Washington, wasn’t exactly top-notch. As her frustrations mounted, her company began asking employees to return to the office one day per week. As she was obviously not able to oblige, the bosses wanted her to forego her employee status and transition to a contractor role, losing her benefits. Instead, much to the company’s surprise, she quit. It didn’t feel like a celebration, and she didn’t experience the joy I experienced when I left my job. She kind of felt like someone had rudely shoved her down and kicked her in the ribs. With boots.

(Related Post: Keeping Remote Work in a Post-Pandemic World)

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Crowds and Trash: Sometimes That’s Life on the Road

Road tripping and camping has surged in 2020, with every expectation that the trend will continue into 2021. At the easing of lockdowns across the nation in late spring of 2020, millions of pent-up living room pacers, unable to jet across the globe or gather safely indoors, at concert venues, or other festivities, turned to the great outdoors. Sales of RV’s, boats, bikes, and everything else imaginable are soaring at record levels (despite early spring shutdowns), with expectations that 2021 will be an even bigger year.

Without a doubt, crowds were a constant theme. While we generally were able to find dispersed campsites of our choosing (so long as we traveled on a weekday), folks relying more on established campgrounds often reported difficulty in finding available spots.

Another concerning trend I witnessed was the rationing of amenities in certain popular areas, like water. Several gas station attendants spoke of a frustrating trend of RVs and vans pulling up to gas stations and filling tens of gallons of water and driving off. Thus, many stations have stopped allowing water fills. If you need water, always ask. But also buy something, eh?

Trash

My main concern is the abundance of garbage, and in particular, turds. Not just dog poop, which is abundant, but piles of human feces and toilet paper in a radius around nearly every dispersed campsite we encountered. Under every rock…smeared turds of various vintages and heaps of toilet paper.

Now this is nothing new, and I’m not here to tell you I’ve never camped in the wild and buried it. But at some point, we come to realize the impacts of our ways, right?

After watching my dog eat 1,458 human turds—and then dive into our camper—I’ve kind of had it. Just imagine: in peak season a campsite is often occupied continuously for months at a time. If two to three people dump a load each day, it’s going to look like a central France minefield circa 1918 in no time.

You can get fancy with it, but here’s all you need: A bucket and a bag. If your aim is steady and your faith is strong, maybe just a bag. If that sounds abhorrent, then either you must consider an on-board toilet or stay at a campground.

Do the right thing: leave with the things you brought, including your intestinal byproducts. Them’s the rules.

Spend Wisely For Your Life on the Road

Undoubtedly, we witnessed a huge number of very impressive (and presumably expensive) road tripping vehicles. I’ll keep this section short. Here’s the CC criteria on how we came to up our game from a tent:

The A-Frame Choice

We went with the A-frame trailer for four primary reasons:

Cost: Vans look great, but we spent far less than we would with a van with the same amenities. We weren’t committing for anything beyond a year, so we didn’t want to overcapitalize. I’m glad we went this route, because we only made it five months!

It’s not our daily driver. We are a one-car household, which sometimes sucks, but is mostly great. We didn’t want a huge, boxy van as our only vehicle. Maybe one day, but not now.

Time. To build out my own van would take many hours of time that I didn’t have. To outsource that build would take lots of money that I didn’t want to spend (see cost section). The A-frame was ready to hit the road, save for the minor modifications mentioned at the beginning of this article.

Easy Driving. We only towed our trailer 30% of our total road trip miles. For accessing rutted trailheads, running errands, or parallel parking in town, we were free to go anywhere in our Tacoma.

For reference, these guys spent 1000 hours and over $20,000 building out a van (excluding the cost of the van). This is a fantastic resource for the van people, but I find the cost + time component to not jive with our lifestyle (for now, at least).

Summary

Life on the road gave us much to be thankful for in the end: a stronger bond between us, a new home, and many great memories. But these experiences don’t come without cost.

Here’s my bet: as the pandemic continues to take its toll and the cost of living in many towns and cities rises, we can expect more folks turning to the great outdoors for solace. Add in a hefty amount of social media spray, and we shouldn’t be surprised to see more and more filled trailheads and campsites.

While I’m a big believer that nature is a fundamental source of contentment, I’d be lying if I said the surging number of outdoor enthusiasts doesn’t give me pause. I want to see these places protected, preserved, and respected. There’s space for everyone, but there’s not space for all of our garbage, unattended fires, and gross turds under rocks.

Furthermore, it’s still camping. Why blow your life savings when it’s going to be uncomfortable (to some degree) either way?

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Get out there and get after it, but remember to ask some key questions first.

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