Water Works

After building the framework for the bed and kitchenette, we installed the plumbing. We placed the fresh water tank underneath the bed and added the pump and two filters.  We connected the grey tank beneath the bus.

 

For power, we connected a 1000 watt power converter to the existing wires used to power the once-installed wheelchair lift, giving us AC power. In the near future, we will install AC power outlets for shore power.

The composting toilet has been put in and the exhaust fan hooked up.

We secured the tankless water heater on the back door and rigged the propane tank beneath the bus. Our outdoor shower is running and it's hot! In the future, the shower head will be secured, but we'll do that after we build the back deck.

Meanwhile, I built a cedar headboard and installed lots of hooks on the back side so we will be able to hang stuff.

Everything Including the Kitchen Sink

After determining the configuration, we started building. It didn't take long for us to put everything together. We secured all the furniture to the frame using quick release locks so it can be easily removed.

We built a full size lift bed.

Turned a Craigslist find into a kitchenette. 

 

And constructed two benches that come together to create another bed.

Winter in Paris

Before diving into our skoolie conversion project, we set an arbitrary spending allowance. While both of us intend to use the bus for our businesses—Steve, a vintage motorcycle broker, and me, a freelance writer and artist—setting a budget seemed the best way to be mindful of our expenditures.

Although we have no idea what the conversion will cost, we want to do as much work ourselves as we can. So, we doubled the price of the bus and arrived at $15,000; $7,500 for the bus, $7,500 for everything else, give or take a few bucks. Since we intend to eventually work, travel, and live in our skoolie full-time, we agreed not to be too critical of exceeding our budget. Let's face it, not having a mortgage is priceless.

After we finished cleaning the bus, we trudged the road to Home Depot. Looking for something rustic and virtually indestructible for the floor, we bought about 140 square feet of Winterton Oak Pergo and underlayment, which protects the floor from moisture and fumes and provides a little extra cushion.

Since the bus has virtually no rust, and we aren't traveling to the Arctic, we skipped insulating the floor. Our friend Todd, a master carpenter, helped with the installation. We used two-inch strips of aluminum, custom cut from a local sheet metal shop, to secure the edges.

Afterward, I primed the inside of the bus. Ideally, this should have been done first, but initially we considered leaving the walls as they were, since most of them will be covered anyway. But once the floor was in, forgoing the paint was a bit like dressing up for dinner without taking a shower. I used acrylics to hand paint one side, then slathered Winter in Paris on the other.

Flooring - $515.94
Paint - $149.61

Coffee & Magnets—Our First Morning in the Skoolie

After we brought our skoolie home, we could not wait to get started on the conversion. We expeditiously removed the seats, took out the back partitions, and cleaned. Once we finished, the all important question loomed, Now what?

The next morning we took our coffee and a couple of magnets out to the bus and talked for awhile, hoping the answer would come to us. We poked around and discovered the ceiling had already been insulated. We did not know if the insulation was original or if the previous owner had installed it, but whichever the case, we were thrilled not to have to do it. We used the magnets to identify all the magnetic surfaces; with so many great magnetic organizational products available, this feature will come in handy. 

After relaxing in the space for a bit, we decided not to insulate the floor. We did so for a few reasons. First, we want to minimize frame modifications. Since we are unsure of our requirements at this stage, we have opted for simplicity. Second, our dream is to head west, stay in mild climates as often as possible, and travel part-time, avoiding weather extremes. Knowing this, we have theorized we could insulate the floor later if we need to, but for now it is not necessary.

This was a critical decision point for us. Being flexible with our requirements throughout our conversion process will enable us to modify as we go and not build ourselves into a corner. We also have decided to build everything so it can be removed fairly easily, giving us floor plan flexibility in the future. This has taken some of the pressure off of us to "get it right" before we even know what "right for us" means. Although we have read about the "not insulating the floor mistake" in more than one place—and even questioned our decision several times—we decided to proceed without insulating. We'll let you know how it works out.

Next, Steve removed the wheelchair lift and we detailed the bus to remove the engine room smell. Of course, burning incense helps too. 

Next, picking out the floor and other important items ... let the shopping begin. To be continued ... 

We Bought A School Bus

There is no better way to live life on the road than in a converted school bus. Why not an RV you ask? Because a skoolie has soul and because it can be converted any way you want for a lot less money. But before I get too far into blogging about our conversion process, I had better explain who "we" is.

Meet Steve.

I met Steve in August 2015. During one of our first conversations he said to me, "So many people are trapped by their lifestyles, their possessions, their families; they live to work. They have to work so hard to support themselves and often they are miserable. I don't get it."

His attitude piqued my interest. "Money isn't everything," I acknowledged, "but, it's right up there with oxygen.”

I was envious of people like Steve who weren’t tethered to the job security I had grown accustomed to. For most of my adult life I had been trapped in a paradigm I could not get out of—you know, the one that says you have to have a career, make money, and buy stuff you don’t need. Then, I hiked the Camino de Santiago in Spring 2015. After slogging a 12-pound rucksack for six weeks 500 miles across Spain, I realized I could do life differently. I only needed enough money to support the lifestyle I wanted to live. And, if I wanted to live small, perhaps I could work less and have more time for other things.

Since then, Steve and I have endured and on-again, off-again relationship as smooth as a dirt road in Costa Rica. But the one thing we have been sure of is getting the hell out of D.C. and traveling. Over the weeks and months we have been together, we have talked about our dreams of living on the road. But of course, our ideas about how this would be done varied greatly and varied from each other. I wanted to time travel back to the 60's and live like a weed smoking hippie in a Volkswagen bus. Steve wanted to double his conveyance into a motorcycle transporter; being a vintage motorcycle broker, this made complete sense. However, I was at odds with sleeping with fuel- and chemical-filled motorcycles. On the other hand, Steve was as willing to do life in a VWbus as I was willing to bathe with snakes.

We researched and discussed ideas, and checked out everything from the Airstream Basecamp to trailers to Sprinter vans and everything in between. Eventually we agreed that a new sprinter-type van was the best option and settled on the European designed Dodge Promaster. It was the pragmatic choice.

Then, one Saturday morning last month Steve said as he sipped coffee, scanning the web for motorcycles, "I've been thinking about what you said. The soul piece is missing. That's why you love the VWs. We need something with soul. It has to feel right."

I stared at him in hopeful awe. "I'm not sure buying a new van will answer that call, but I understand why it's appealing. Reliability a Volkswagen bus is not." I could see by the look on his face, he was not going to give into buying a Volkswagen bus, so I dismissed his comment.

Then, a few minutes later he piped up, "Well, what do you think about this?" turning his laptop to me.

"Whoa! That's awesome,” I said, scanning the images of a forest green school bus outfitted with wood paneling like an old woody.

During our numerous discussions of future van life, we had considered buying a school bus, but had repeatedly talked ourselves out of it for numerous reasons from lousy gas mileage to logistics to visions of being stranded in Deliverance with a flat tire. But then, there it was with all its charm—a sweet temptation with all the character, personality, and soul we were looking for.

“Email them. Let’s go see it."

As soon as we laid eyes on the 2000 Bluebird International, we knew she was going to be ours. Gorgeous from the word go, she was clean, mostly rust-free, and had been well taken care of. With only 39,000 miles and a strong 7.3 liter diesel turbo engine, we were utterly shocked when we learned she averaged 16 to 18 miles per gallon.

 

“I checked it myself, about nine times,” the seller said to us, “because I just couldn’t believe it.”

We bought her right then and there and the next day, we brought her home. To be continued...

The Road Awaits

Imagine waking up in the mountains, the smell of fresh pine filling your senses. The embers from last night's fire emit a soft crimson glow and a coolness prompts another shuffle under the bounty of plush covers.

Eventually, the desire for coffee overwhelms the desire to be horizontal. Staring out the window while grinding fresh, locally purchased coffee beans, wildlife turns the picturesque scene into their playground. Soon the aroma of fresh coffee fills the air, along with cedar used to stoke the fire.

Each sip of morning coffee is a glorious one. With nowhere to be and no plans in the foreseeable future, it is easy to let down, be present, and take in the intrigue and mysteries of mother nature. In the distance the road calls. Where will sunset be tonight?

This is wanderlust. The insatiable desire to see the world and be free of schedule and rigid life-rules; to live fully in the moment the way you want to, not as others say you have to or should. The road awaits and I cannot wait for the road.