Love the contrarian aspect of this topic. If it pleases you to be frugal in all things as an end
and a means, the equation is balanced. If you have been frugal to make your indulgence a pleasure rather than a detriment in your life, denying yourself is masochism in action. The analytical processes of frugality, however, can bear some wonderfully strange fruit when the day to indulge arrives.
To wit: Living on the water in the only sub-tropical area of the continental US, sailing and its accompanying lifestyle danced before my eyes for a decade. Fantasies came and went, crewing on the boats of others only convinced me that I didn't play well with the other children and should find a boat capable of supporting my solitary (and occasionally companioned) travel lust. During the search for a perfect vessel, my decision matrix kept eliminating choices on the basis of maintenance, investment of time, and opportunity for use. I wanted to go to lots of interesting and little known places, have comfortable living quarters, minimal docking fees, get there reasonably quick, and not sustain egregious downtime expense.
Turns out I didn't want a boat at all.
When my dog became too old to fly, driving became the only option to get from our sub-tropical winter digs to our Pacific Northwest summer hideout (whole 'nother story, but it pays more than it costs). Dreading the diagonal transcontinental throwdown, I had to ask myself - why?
Interstate highway madness,
fast food,
bad hotels and above all else the
pressure to get it over with came back. Why does it have to be that way? Um, because...well... Hey! What's this lightbulb doing over my head?
And so the problem, as so often occurs, contained the seed of the solution. Road atlases, festival guides and books like William Least Heat-Moon's
Blue Highways became the new fantasy fuel. Our boat became a
motor home rebuilt school bus repurposed potato chip truck slide-in truck camper lightweight trailer van. Not just any van. A van you can walk around in, with a comfortable bed, practical toilet, storage for the accoutrements of extended comfortable living, and (most critically) the ability to park in any standard space without drawing undue attention. How else could you overnight, without charge, in any city or village parking spot, taking nothing in the way of space and resources in excess of any other parked vehicle and leaving nothing behind but a good feeling among the local merchants?
The new land-yacht plan was not a unique idea. Akin to the infamous/hilarious Rule 34, there is an internet support group for just about everything. "Stealth Camping" is the umbrella term for our undertaking, and it covers everyone from folks who actually live in their vans (
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3nhgfjrKi0o) to off-grid conspiracy-theory types to friendly nomads to DeLuxe Stealth Glampers like me.
Our chosen vessel is a Mercedes Sprinter 12-passenger diesel, bought for half the previous owner's cost from an estate. It gets better mileage than my 2000 Dodge Caravan. The wrap around windows and percieved-as-upscale brand practically eliminate rousting by local constabulatories on the lookout for street campers (just the way the world works, folks - using reality to my advantage), and my custom build-out was lots of fun to plan and execute. The front seats/driver area is always exposed, so it always looks empty at rest. I've done Mardi Gras from an expensive hotel that was a pain to get in and out of and Mardi Gras parked in the middle of the madness - the middle is way more fun and convenient.
Unlike their sometimes-problematic passenger vehicles, MB commercial vehicles can, for the most part, be serviced and maintained by careful and resourceful owners. There's a great internet support group for this, natch, and the joy and challenge of self-reliance in this regard has been a real bonus for the project.
So, my old dog has gone on to the next adventure before me, a new girlfriend (and her dog) have joined the crew, and our sailing across the strange and beautiful backroads of the US continues. Crossing the Continental Divide to the wonderful mandolin sounds of Chris Thile or taking in a desert sunrise from the high and delightfully lonesome driver's seat, the Silver Seed (from the lyric to After the Gold Rush) has delivered joy, independence, utility, discovery and wonder in ways our original vessel plan could not (and was never intended to) match.
Expensive hobby? Maybe. Yes. Priceless experience? Undoubtedly.
