Project Minivan-imalism: I bought a 2007 Toyota Sienna.

Living in a van is exceptionally easy. I never bought much stuff, and recently I've been learning that I want even less. My previous van was absolutely enormous. My belongings filled only a small percentage of the cavernous interior. With a fresh Pennsylvania inspection, and some ongoing mechanical and structural concerns, I've decided that now might be a good time to sell. Now might be a good time to downsize; to try something new.

I bought a 2007 Toyota Sienna minivan. It is invisible. Can you see it in the photograph below? Look closely: it is such a monumentally boring car that you might miss it at first glance.

Who van dis?

I've never lived in a minivan before. This is an experiment. It's a gamble. I am moving all of my shit from a huge van into a tiny one. I feel confident that this is a step toward improving my already-wonderful life, but I am far from certain. Worst case scenario, I burn everything to the ground and go dig a hole in the woods. To live in. Or die in. Doesn't matter.

Pros of living in a minivan (as yet untested):

1) Stealth. Nobody expects anybody to be living full time in a minivan. The likelihood of police harassment is practically zero. I have never worried much about stealth - in my last van, it was pretty visibly evident that there was some type of jackass inside. I have a huge weed leaf tapestry inside the side doors. Nay - I am not concerned much about stealth, but being more incognito means more parking opportunity. Finding better spots easier is good. Being small and invisible helps.

2) Fuel Economy. This would top most people's list, but I have calculated this only as a fringe benefit. I don't drive enough to create a meaningful disparity in yearly fuel costs when comparing a full-size van to a minivan*. However, I would be happy to burn less gas. Sure, I'll take it.

3) Ride quality. In many scenarios, I love driving a big van. I sit way up above the road. I can see over cars, and I am nearly at the same height as big rigs. King of the highway. However, for short trips and rough roads, a giant old van is not ideal. I don't enjoy driving a huge van around all day while stopping at multiple locations. City driving just plain sucks. Minivans are more nimble. The ride is almost unbelievably smooth. Minivans drive like a comfortable car.

Cons of living in a minivan. 

1) Can't stand up. In the big van I can stand up and walk around. It is truly huge. I will need to adapt to putting my pants on sitting down. I will need to do more scooting and less walking. However, everything will be much closer - so I won't need to stretch or scoot very far.

2) Less badass. In the big van, I feel like a badass. I feel like it gives the impression that I have a lot of guts and DIY skills to buy a huge van, modify it, and then park along streets and never pay for housing. All of that will be true of the minivan, but at a glance my existence will appear more humble and less extreme. People will not be as jealous. I like it when people are jealous of me.

3) Can't have humans over. Not as many humans, or as often. I can host people in the big van, and we can have a small party inside. The minivan is big enough to have one person over to watch a movie or sit and talk for awhile. I could have another human spend the night, but even in the big van, having overnight guests was something of a compromise.

There is work to be done.

I spent last night in the minivan. My 4" thick tri-fold mattress is 33"x72". That leaves 15 inches beside the mattress, and 24 inches between the foot of the mattress and the base of the driver's seat. The rear seats fold flat into the floor, so if they are completely removed, there is a big open storage space in front of the back hatch. I assume this is where I will put a house battery for a small solar setup.

The Sienna has two rear sliding doors. The windows in the sliding doors can be lowered. All of this allows for a huge amount of cross-breeze. However, mosquitoes and such exist, so I will need to make bug screens, and I don't have a solid plan for that yet. I need to create airflow while all of the windows and doors are closed. A roof vent with a strong fan would work great, but standard dome vents tend to ruin the stealth on an otherwise invisible vehicle. I have some ideas for homemade low-profile roof openings, but I have not made a full design yet.

I'll mention that I paid $5500 for the Sienna. Full disclosure. It's the most I've spent on a vehicle since my very first van in the early 2000s. The higher cost makes me slightly more hesitant to start cutting huge holes in the roof. Not THAT much more hesitant - I'll certainly do it - but I will feel fully aware that cutting a hole in the roof is the point of no return. Experimental roof openings are sure to obliterate the resale value of any family minivan.

I need to make new curtains or window coverings. I need to permanently remove the back bench seats, and build a plywood lid to go over the storage hole. I need to put carpet down over the entire back area. I need to design storage that will fit everything I need while not permanently blocking the sliding doors or the hatch.

I am making this up as I go. Two weeks ago, I was not considering a minivan. I was not considering anything less than a full-size van with a fiberglass high-top. Then I started looking at vans without a high-top. Then I started looking at minivans. Until you actually try it for yourself, it is hard to know how much space you need for living comfortably in a vehicle. This is an experiment.

I am happy. I am excited. I have a good amount of past experience living in vans, and there was also that time I outfitted a Ford Festiva for cross-country road tripping with my wife and a tiny dog. Outfitting a Toyota Sienna is only the latest experiment to see if I can further optimize my relationship with the universe. Much of that work is still internal. In the big scheme of existence and reality as we perceive it, vans remain a meaningless goof.

Logic and experience tell me that the perfect vehicle to live in is a standard-size 90's conversion van with a 16" high-top and all of the back seats removed. Curiosity compels me to try something else.


*Hypothetical fuel costs using round numbers and more miles than I drive:
Big Van: 15,000 miles / 15mpg = 1000 gallons. 1000gal @$2.50 = $2500/yr
Minivan: 15,000 miles / 25mpg = 600 gallons. 600gal @$2.50 = $1500/yr
Sure, I'll take a savings of $1000 per year - but considering this is the equivalent of $83 per month, I would say living in a bigger van is WELL worth the greater fuel cost if that is what you choose to do. Other variables speak much louder to me - the primary objective is to be happy and healthy.

Way to be clean

Campgrounds and RV parks.

I called 1-800-GOOG-411...

"Ashland Oregon" I said.
"Camping" I said.
"Number one" I said.
"Details" I said.
"Text Message" I said.

"I'll connect you" the recorded Google voice said.

Some Guy: "Hello, _______ RV Park."
Chris Harne: "Hi - do you have tent sites, or just RV sites?"
SG: "Um... Yes, we have tent sites, too"
CH: "Do you have hot showers?"
SG: "Yes, we do"
CH: "Excellent - how much is a tent site?"
SG: "$21.75 per night"
CH: "Great - do you allow dogs?"
SG: "Yes, but they need to be on a leash and you have to clean up their poop."
CH: "Of course, umm - alright, that's awesome. I think that's it. Thanks very much."

Only one of those questions really mattered, but I didn't want to sound like a dude who was planning to head over there just to dance around in all of their hot showers. I had all the info I needed. I checked the Google-sent txt message, and put the address into my GPS. 5.6 miles away. Located right next to that beautiful lake that you can park beside. Since I'm a spy and I over-plan small missions and re-use the same themes in my activities, I'll continue to describe my admittedly ridiculous modus operandi. I drove into the place to scout out where the showers might be.

I always try to have some kind of story in place just in case anybody tries something silly, like talking to me or asking me any questions. Just in case: I was looking for Mark Peters who should be there by now. He's in a little Chinook, and we're meeting here and going out for breakfast. In case of anything else: "Damn. I don't know what's going on - I'll need to give him a call." Unrelated information adds authenticity to the story, and leaves any questioning ripe with opportunities for a subject change. ie: "do you know of any good breakfast spots in Ashland?"

The story part is completely unnecessary 99.9% of the time, but it's fun to make stuff up just in case you're required to open your mouth. I gave the place a once-thru and decided that the showers were probably located inside the men's room - I didn't see any other buildings that looked like they would contain a shower. I put my towel in my jacket sleeve, put my cell phone to my ear, and headed in. The cell phone on the ear allows you to put up your index finger ("one second") in response to anything whatsoever. No phony conversation. You're on hold - it's important. You can use this to avoid talking to any civilians in any situation. This is perfect for scouting around when you know what you're looking for, but not exactly where it is, or if it's possible for anybody to notice or care.

Warm showers. Right in the men's room. I probably should have been way less lazy and figured this out weeks ago. But now is just as good. I have a job now, and it's not a particularly clean job, and it's getting too cold to swim in the reservoir to stay clean. I enjoyed one hell of a hot shower. Now that I've seen the layout, I know that I can park somewhere else, wander in on a path towards the back, and not be seen by anybody who could possibly care. I own the world, I own all the bagels and breakfasts contained therein, and now I own all of the showers as well.

(Rewind 15 hours).

It's 7:21pm. I'm looking at myself in the bathroom mirror at work, and wiping my face with a damp paper towel. This is it. It's shower time. Tomorrow, I will find a shower. I've only had two showers since leaving Pennsylvania, if you don't count swimming in various rivers. Most people don't count rivers - but they should.

Another note on showers: I've been hanging out with the hobo squatter hippie punk homeless folks in the plaza downtown. Do they take showers? No. Or very rarely. Do they stink? No. They smell like humans. Showers are a luxury, and something that should not cause undue stress and worry when you need to go without. You don't need to base your life around showers. I like my showers because I'm a suave guy, and I like [needlessly] smooth [and simple] operations.

Listen: Move Into A Van.

I'm sitting in my life is easy chair, and I'm cooking noodles down by the river. I stopped worrying about cops again: back to normal. I'm keeping an eye out for a cop so I can have a conversation. I'm almost wishing one would stop by. Preferably the same one who visited a few nights ago. I bet the only reason that cop knocked on my van is because I was parked in a place that would be blocked by minor road repairs in the morning. That's a guess, and I think it's a good one. I would have preferred hearing that explanation at the time, rather than "ASHLAND POLICE DEPARTMENT!!!!," which does not explain much.

Now I'm sane about such situations again, and if more cops start knocking on my van I'll be more prepared to take it in stride. It's only natural to piss yourself the first time you have a grizzly bear pounding on your cabin. I'm parking in smarter spots again, but I'm not squeamish and I'm not over thinking stealth locations. I'm doing well enough, moving every night, and trying to park next to trees that will provide an extra hour of shade in the morning. I don't look over my shoulder while the sun is up. I sit around and cook and read in my house with the doors open. When I open my doors, my house becomes a porch. At 7:21pm I was sitting in my cozy chair on the porch right by the park. I was cooking noodles, and I even had tomato sauce, parmesan cheese and hot sauce.

I implore some people. Take action.

Move into a van. I, Chris Harne (with a silent 'e'), recommend getting off the fence about it. You don't need to be handy or inventive, or know anybody who is. I'm not handy, and I can be almost sinfully lazy. I'm going to summarize my experiences and recommendations here, so you don't have to sort through my past musings with squinted eyes and a fork. It would be smarter to review all information at cheaprvliving.com. That's a better resource. The following information is just one approach.

The first step is picking a vehicle. I love my van. I truly love my van as much as a person can love a vehicle. There are several aspects that I find particularly appealing. I'm living in a conversion van. The walls and ceiling are already padded, the roof is raised a few inches higher than average, and the floor is carpeted. It comes with a few cabinets already installed. There are ambient limo lights, and four bright reading lights that can be turned on individually. I didn't need to figure out how to install any of that - it came that way. Perfect. All of this padding and cabinetry and lighting served to make my van feel instantly like home. The padding makes the interior very calm and quiet, and also tends to decrease outside volume coming in.

I have not done a single thing to improve my van. I absolutely love seeing vandwelling setups that are planned out and organized. I love seeing kitchens with sinks, propane refrigerators, beds with storage below, custom cabinets, heaters, coolers, generators, solar panels, roof fans, and deep cycle marine batteries. I love those setups, but I have had none of that stuff for many months of vandwelling, and my cup still runeth over. Here's what I've got. I have my conversion van with the padded, lighted, living room feel. I put all the back seats in a dumpster. I used clips from Staples to hold up gossamer table cloths from K-Mart. The tablecloth curtains allow me to see out, and light to come in - but if you cup your hands to the windows, you can not see in. If police or other idiots shine flashlights in, they will not be able to see one centimeter beyond that curtain. That's enough for me. My bed is on the floor, and takes up almost the whole thing. I have three cabinets on the ceiling towards the front of my living space. One is used as a medicine cabinet with wet wipes, toothbrush stuff, deodorant, spare AA batteries, hair buzzer, etc. There's room for a lot more. The middle (TV) cabinet contains books and magazines. When I finish a book, I have a conversation with someone about it, and I give it away. The last cabinet contains socks and underwear. I have three small unused cabinets in back. One of them contains a stack of carefully flattened Life Cereal boxes. I'll file that under "unused." My pants and shirts get folded and stacked right beside my bed. I have 7 t-shirts, 3 long sleeve t-shirts, 2 hoodies, 2 pairs of pants, 2 pairs of shorts, rain jacket, rain pants. T-shirts and pants and shorts go beside the bed. My less-used clothing, and some winter gear is stuffed in a vintage hiking pack. I have bicycle touring and camping gear stuffed in bicycle bags - panniers - and that is laying beside the bed.

I have been very comfortable and stealth just like this. No need to wait until you can get a deep cycle marine battery, and a roof fan, and a working sink and all that stuff. Just move into the van, and everything you need will be worked out like magic. You'll change your organization a few times and get a good feel for what you DON'T need. Kitchen? No: camping stove. Sink? No: gallon jug of water. Part of the appeal of a van house is the simplicity. Don't complicate it by trying to jam an entire house into a cocoon. It's automatic. Your home will come together naturally as you realize your real needs vs. the previously imagined ones. Van life is easy.

It takes a few weeks of parking on the street and in various other places before you get a feel for your ideal kind of spot. I use small residential streets almost exclusively. It took a few weeks for me to adjust to being in a van with people walking on a sidewalk two feet from my windows, unaware that I was sitting an arms reach away. At first you can feel very exposed in a van. When cars drive close enough, you can hear them and they move your house a little. It becomes natural. It just does. I don't give it a second thought, and I've grown to love both of these things. Waking up, and stepping out of my cocoon in the morning has become something I love. I feel blessed and lucky.

I'm always seeing people who are "living vicariously" or are "on the fence" or are "planning to start vandwelling." Well, now is the time. Not later. The preparation can be zero. You don't need to have a setup that takes time and thought. You can just start sleeping in a van and work out the details later. I recommend a conversion van for a setup that's instantly cozy - but if you want to do the work on a stealth cargo van, go for it. I like having huge windows.

I spend all day at coffee shops and the library. I spend all day reading books in the park. I spend all day walking to the grocery store because it takes longer, and it relaxes me. I spend all day riding a bicycle and dancing on the pedals at a tempo that doesn't match that of the song on my iPod. I spend all day outside and I don't get cabin fever, even in the unmeasurable quantity that occurs whenever you see The Price is Right or an episode of Law and Order. This is good.

I have one last thought: A medium sized comfortable chair has been so much more valuable to me than any kitchen counter setup could ever be. My happiest times are sitting in my life-is-easy chair, looking out through my swing-out side doors. It's a porch. Enjoy a rainy day on the porch with the rain drops falling on your feet while you read a book. Shake your head and wonder why so many people are hiding in a house. Living in a van takes almost no planning. It's stupid easy, and you might fall in love.