Cool morning, clean surf. Two realities of the surf van life. Photo: Unsplash
Surf more; work less. That’s the beachfront van life, as advertised on Instagram. The world out in front of your wheels, road trips galore, and a pocket full of cash — sans rent. If you swing a remote job or find gigs to make ends meet, the modern surf bum life is attainable. To learn more about the ins and outs of daily life in a van, I spoke with two former van lifers. They both had vastly different experiences. So read on, dear surfer, to learn the lessons of a man in a van. And if that life might be for you.
Part One: The Beater
Ethan, from Huntington Beach, took his maiden van voyage in a 1989 Ford Econoline. She burnt fuel, and took a few tries to start… but damnit she started. “There was a fold-down backseat couch — what I called a bed in my youth — and enough room to stuff the boards in the main cabin,” he told me. “It was a gutted van, essentially.” No water, no auxiliary power, no nothing in the realm of amenities. There were canned food dinners, gallon jug and bar-soap showers. “The crib that no girl would dare to enter,” he says. A youthful back might have gotten over the aches, but it wasn’t a sustainable grind. A rough ride for Ethan.
Not to fret, those hot, sweaty nights weren’t for naught. A van like that stokes the itch to keep moving. “Not once did I sleep in when a swell hit,” he said. “Nor did I dare to hunker down and hang out when the proposition of ‘what’s around the corner’ came calling.” The beater van keeps you on track — ear to the ground (swell). Unexplored corners become plumbed, and the dream becomes all too familiar — until it doesn’t.
The dream, in fact, dies where the van does. “After two days of non-starts in a California beach lot without any swell, I put the van out to pasture in a compactor,” he concluded. Verdict? Spend little, get less.
Part Two: The Dream
Art, from San Luis Obispo, took to the road in the vein of comfort: a decked-out Mercedes sprinter van. The fully modified dream machine was luxury on wheels. Shower, fridge (cold beer, of course) stove, upper deck queen bed, toilet, and everything nice. “Waking up well rested in a far away location like Mexico, or just a few hours up the road in California was all I needed to stoke the fire,” he said. For those who don’t want to rough it too hard, the extra creature comforts of the dream van can make the difference between a once-abandoned idea and a long-term hobby. “Besides, the extra room for friends or family and a nice grill session at the end of the day fueled many a vacations and weekend getaways,” says Art.
There’s certainly more work to do in terms of maintenance, but if you’re the handy type then it’s a gift that keeps giving. “I didn’t mind grabbing a wrench or a driver and maintaining the beast (that Art calls the Dream Machine). It was rewarding work that could be accomplished with elbow grease and YouTube.” Not everyone can afford the dream van, but there’s a bit of wisdom to heed when considering life on the road. “The van cost a pretty penny, but you can’t put a price on comfort.”
Driving A Mile In the Other Man’s Van
So I suppose, when it comes to the surf van life, the truth of how much to spend on said life lies somewhere in between. An unclaimed phrase, like your waves should be. I had Ethan and Art read each other’s quips and react to their van experiences for a final word.
Ethan, “Yeah, in hindsight I want his van, but when you’re young you take what you can get. I had the energy and time to just surf. That beater certainly gave me the means and motivation to do it.”
Art, “Not so wasted youth. If you’re looking at the grand scheme of things, any van kicks the hell out of living in a car. Everyone has their own tolerance; and comfort is one that separates the hard from the soft.”
