Nest
Yellow Pine upgrade, Part One: The bloodletting
- When we arrived in Yellow Pine, our friends Jeff and Ann were helping Nickie and Merle build a log house. Nickie, above, sprays some of the logs with borate, a preservative.
- "Log in the air," rang out whenever the boom lifted one of the trunks to bring it into place.
- Jeff positions a log to roll into place. Each one is individually cut to fit perfectly over the one below.
- Two of the volunteers on the log cabin construction crew drill the logs into place.
- Merle saws off the end of a log to level it for a post in the living area of the house.
- The road to Big Creek Lodge.
- A view of Big Creek.
- The grass airport at Big Creeck, lined with planes that hopscotch among the high-mountain airports.
- The original sign from the Big Creek Lodge.
- The Big Creek Lodge, where we had meatloaf sandwiches on the deck for lunch.
- A bear gives me the evil eye in the lobby of the Big Creek Lodge.
- Some wildlife that gave their lives to decorate the lobby of the Big Creek Lodge.
- The wall that held the television and speakers, and now has a few unsightly holes.
- Ann burning barnwood for her art piece.
- Ann routing the frame for the art piece, moments before routing her pinky.
- Ann, with her injured finger wrapped in purple, poses with the work of art she created for our holy wall.
- A close-up of the work of art, made from barn wood, with a box for my phone and pens, some vintage pieces of metal, including a bottle opener, a doorknob and a three-pronged hook, as well as a knob with an image of the world, a nod to our nomadic wanderings, and a metal mouse, commemorating the many that lost their lives in pursuit of a plague-free rolling home.
- Jeff's Covid hair, which he vows not to cut until after the election.
- Jeff and Ann making Jeff's famous five-alarm salsa.
- "Salsa in the blender," is probably as important a safety note as "Log in the air."
- A barrel of salsa, some of which left with us.
- As for me and my house, we will serve tacos.
- Huckleberry margaritas in Ann's glass cowboy boot mugs.
- The Epic Van heading away from Yellow Pine along the South Fork of the Salmon River, with smoke from local fires hanging low.
Somebody going to emergency, somebody’s going to jail. – Don Henley
Well, no one got arrested, but by the time we left Yellow Pine, Idaho, a guy we don’t know was lying at home with more than 30 stitches in his hand, and our friend Ann had routed off the end of her pinky finger.
Yellow Pine upgrade, Part Two: The bed
- The Epic Van bed as it came from the manufacturer, a convertible couch that went up and down, with a push of an electric switch. We slept parallel to the long side of the van, our feet on seat cushions that met the couch when it was flat.
- A view of the bed/couch from inside the van, with the line where the seat and back are separated.
- A view of the mechanism under the bed/couch that raises and lowers it. The black box is a speaker for the surround sound system.
- A view of the bolt holding the bed/couch to the vehicle.
- Jeff under the van undoing the four bolts that hold the bed/couch in place.
- The bed/couch removed from the van.
- The open space left after the bed/couch was removed. The wooden boxes on each side stored the two portable tabletops and the board that could be put between the two boxes to create a full king-sized bed. We never used any of it.
- Ann cutting the lip of the black plastic flooring the bed/couch sat on. A panel separated it from the flooring in the rest of the vehicle. We wanted a flat surface for continuous storage all the way to the boxes.
- Ann removing the plate for the pedestal table that we never use. We also removed the one up front.
- Jeff cutting metal for the frame.
- Measure twice, cut once. The back was not exactly level because of the difference in flooring, so Jeff used a second piece of metal just behind the junction to ease the transition.
- Jeff grinding all the burrs off the metal pieces.
- I’m ready to weld, well, to watch Jeff weld.
- That’s Jeff’s happy face, as we are now welding buddies.
- The beginning of the frame. The long metal pieces will be bolted to the vehicle using the same holes and bolts used by the original bed/couch. The short pieces are welded to the long pieces and will support the legs of the frame, but out to the sides to create more open storage underneath.
- The first two legs are welded on.
- The second two.
- The side pieces for the frame and the first crosspiece.
- The frame is in, with all three crosspieces. It fits perfectly and is perfectly level.
- Testing out the frame and making sure our plywood will fit. A fine bed already.
- Tom and Jeff consulting on the frame design in Jeff’s well-outfitted shop.
- Jeff grinding all the welds smooth.
- Jeff sanding everything down.
- Now a nice coat of black paint.
- The painted frame installed.
- Ann screwing in the plywood.
- Ann and Jeff, the dynamic duo!
We bought our Roadtrek RS Adventurous in 2014 and it was perfect. I loved every square inch of it, every cabinet, every drawer, the four rotating captain’s seats, the combo bathroom and shower, the tiny kitchen with its dorm fridge, two-burner propane stove and little sink with collapsible faucet, the awning on the side, the solar panel on the roof, the back doors that swung open all the way to the sides so you could zip a screen into the back, the television and VCR installed on the wall, the pump and macerator that sucked all the stuff out of the waste tanks, making dumping a breeze, and the convertible couch/bed in the back.
I marveled at the years of design and thought that created this perfect vehicle, so perfect that Tom and I could sell our house and live in it. I couldn’t imagine anything I would do differently.
I loved it so much, I agonized when a cabinet latch broke, or one of the covers for the LED lights fell off. My heart broke when Tom backed over a log at a backcountry camping spot, taking out a chunk of the fiberglass skirt that hid all the valves for the tanks and propane.
And I didn’t want to change ANYTHING, in case SOMETHING HAPPENED – one of us got sick, the stock market crashed, camping was outlawed – and we needed to sell it. I wanted it to be in pristine condition, just as it came from the factory.
Fast-forward into our sixth year in the van. It has matured and so have I.
West to East Chronicles: Waiting for repairs with Pat and John, The Epic Van is very sick, Despair vs. Hope at Art Institute
- Our road rescuers Dick, (Tom), Jeanne, (Judy) and Chatree.
- Out with cousins John and Patsy at the Chicago Botanic Gardens.
- An elm tree in Wilmette.
- Judy, Diane, Kevin and Tom, communing in Wheaton, Ill.
- Haystacks at Chicago's Art Institute.

Our road rescuers Dick, (Tom), Jeanne, (Judy) and Chatree.
September 18 – Will Dick vote for Trump again?
My cousin, Dick Almasy, of Freeport, Illinois, is my political bellwether for President Trump. I’ve talked with Dick, a retired industrial electrician, fundamentalist Christian and Vietnam vet, about politics for decades at family reunions in northern Illinois. Although our Red-Blue divide is deep, our conversations are always civil. Dick, a supporter of Ted Cruz during primary season in 2016, voted for Donald Trump. Has he done anything during the last three years to make you reconsider your vote? Without pause, Dick says no. According to Dick, Trump, as president, tells the truth and is law abiding, victimized by a mainstream media smear machine and unhinged Democrats, who never gave him a chance. (Aside from politics, Donald Trump is superior to Barack Obama in personal character, Dick says. However, he respected Obama during his presidency and prayed for him.) The re-election of Trump is even more important in 2020, given the threat of socialists bent on destroying the Constitution, Dick says. What about my political agenda for legislation to reduce global warming, create universal health care, raise taxes on corporations and the wealthy to finance a stronger social safety net, and establish humane immigration policy? To Dick, it’s just a thicket of abstraction for financially secure, educated elites, like me, to fret over. Dick’s agenda: “It’s all about jobs.” Wealthy corporations and individuals, already burdened by taxes that are too high, will create manufacturing jobs in the United States now that Trump is reversing unfair global trading rules and cutting government regulations. According to Dick, the economy is great. Dick and I end our gabfest, agreeing on only one thing. We both want a president who will act to improve lives in Freeport, a struggling, racially diverse, Rust Belt city, and everywhere in the United States. Dick, who has traveled to the Caribbean and Mexico on church missions to help those in poverty, believes in helping others, but also in the sanctity of work. He sees wrongdoing in his community, underachieving folks, white and black, who could work full-time at difficult jobs for low pay, but choose to work sporadically and game the welfare system. From The Epic Van, I see wrongdoing at the top of society, a self-dealing oligarchy that breaks and bends laws through money influence in our nation’s capital. Dick and I can’t agree on what’s fundamentally wrong with America. One of us will wake up the morning after the 2020 election, certain that our democracy is dead.
West to East chronicles: Day on the Niobrara in Nebraska, Soybeans on Iowa 3, Grounded in Northern Illinois
- A trestle over the Niobrara River on the Cowboy Recreation and Nature Trail, a rail to trail near Valentine, Nebraska.
- Iowa soybean fields turning yellow.
- The Epic Van getting a ride on a flatbed tow truck.

A trestle over the Niobrara River on the Cowboy Trail, a rail to trail near Valentine, Nebraska.
September 15 – Day on the Niobrara in Nebraska
We wake up at a Conoco parking lot for truckers in Valentine, Nebraska, to the sound of one rig idling. Last night, the lot was partially filled with about a dozen semi-trailers. Shouts of Cornhusker football fans on game night rang from a bar next door. We’re here for a second time to enjoy the Niobrara, a National Scenic River. In 2013, Judy, Nate and I rented a Roadtrek for the first time. I was skeptical about living full-time in a 21-foot vehicle and wanted a trial run. Our float down the lazy river on a hot July afternoon near Smith Falls State Park was one of the highlights of our 10-day vacation. After that, I began to serious consider the possibilities of wandering full time. Our plan today is to hike on the Cowboy Recreation and Nature Trail, which stretches 189 miles from Valentine to Norfolk along an abandoned Chicago and Northwestern rail line. Our segment begins several miles east of Valentine at a signed turnout on U.S. 20. We double back toward Valentine, enjoying a view of the Niobrara from a trestle 150 feet above. The river, originating in Wyoming and fed by the Ogallala Aquifer, drains a region where the Rocky Mountain forest we’ve traveled for weeks gives way to box elder and bur oak, and where western short grass, the mixed-grass prairie of the Sandhills and eastern tall grass intersect. We travel in afternoon sun in northern Nebraska, crossing the 100th meridian and moving into greener ranch country above the river. An hour of solitude on the plains on Nebraska 12, at last interrupted by a passing vehicle.

Iowa soybean fields turning yellow.
September 16 – Soybeans on Iowa 3
Leaving Ponca State Park in Nebraska, on the bluffs of the Missouri River, we pass a flooded riverfront campground and boat launch. Late-summer runoff, unusually heavy, is pouring in this unchannelized stretch of the Missouri River. As we enter Iowa at Sioux City, hay fields are out and corn and soybeans are in. I follow the lead of William Least Heat Moon. Our “blue highway” through western Iowa is Iowa 3, a more intimate alternative to four lanes on U.S. 20. I stop at a roadside stand near Cherokee to buy sweet corn and tomatoes, summer staples of my boyhood in central Illinois. I ask the seller about yellowing leaves in soybean fields. Was it because of heavy spring rains? No, the bean fields always turn yellow at the end of growing season. I was red with embarrassment. I left soybean country for Arizona 40 years ago, returned to Illinois many times, but never in September. I’d lost touch with the harvest cycle.

The Epic Van getting a ride on a flatbed tow truck.
September 17 – Grounded in Northern Illinois
Sadly, there’s no time for rail trails in Iowa. We blow past the Hawkeye state. Judy and I gather groceries in Dubuque for a family reunion dinner in Freeport, Illinois. The Epic Van stammers a bit going up a hill in Dubuque on the way to the Mississippi River bridge. East of Galena, birthplace of Ulysses Grant, a bit of stammering turns into a whole lot of bucking and wheezing as we travel through steeper and steeper hills along U.S. 20, a route used by truckers. Near the top of hills, I edge onto the road shoulder as we slow under 30 mph with the pedal to the metal. Something’s not right, either with the transmission, or fuel system. (We filled up on biofuel about 50 miles ago.) We’re only 40 miles from Freeport. Surely we can limp in. Twenty-three miles from town, defeated, we turn off on a gravel road across from a herd of cattle and dial for a tow truck. It’s 3 p.m. Just before sundown at 7 p.m., the flatbed hauling vehicle we requested arrives. My cousin Jeanne and her husband, Dick, come from Freeport to rescue us. We load clothes and perishable food into their vehicle, and head back to pared-down dinner and lots of catching up on family comings and goings.
Double trouble: weather and dash alerts
- Weather can be an issue when you live in a tin can on wheels.
- The Edmund Pettus Bridge, the spot where the fateful civil rights march from Selma to Montgomery began.
- The National Memorial for Peace and Justice commemorates victims of lynching in the United States.
- Dodging storms through the southern states.
- Staff members treat a sea turtle on Jekyll Island in Georgia.
- The train station in Plains, Georgia, which served as Jimmy Carter's campaign headquarters for his presidential runs.
- Boiled crawfish and daquiris; best drive-thru ever!
- Storms in Texas caused worry, but were beautiful, too.
- Old-growth cypress in The Big Thicket in east Texas.
- Tom hiking on the Tuxachanie Trail.
- Sunset on the calming waters of the Llano River in Junction, Texas.
- Sunrise and clear skies over Junction, Texas.
We live in a metal box on wheels, so weather becomes a demanding taskmaster we can never ignore.
This spring, we faced down the polar vortex and the bomb cyclone.
Roadtreking Reprise: Photo Safari 2 (for us)
- Roadtreks parked at Chewing Black Bones Campground on the Blackfeet Nation, just outside Glacier National Park.
- View of burned area in the mountains.
- Jeremiah, our guide and bus driver.
- Blackfeet chiefs, part of a sculpture, made from recycled car parts, that welcomes visitors to the Blackfeet Nation.
- A horse made of recycled car parts, part of a sculpture welcoming visitors to the Blackfeet Nation.
- Clouds over the mountains.
- Rain and clouds over the mountains.
- A bison made from recovered car parts, at the hospital in Browning, a piece of art made by a tribal member.
- Mist on the mountain near Glacier National Park.
- Jack Copeland singing for the crowd.
- Mike and Jennifer Wendland enjoying the entertainment.
- Linda Peden watching the music.
- Crowd participation, making bear ears.
- Enjoying the singing.
- A Blackfeet storyteller shares traditional tales.
- Beautiful lake reflection.
- Taking pictures of each other taking a pictures.
- Snow on the mountains.
- Views from the hike to Hidden Falls.
- HIdden Falls.
- View from the trail returning from Hidden Falls.
- Josephine Lake.
- View from our hike in Many Glaciers.
- Wildflowers on the hillside.
- Mariposa lily.
- Beargrass blooming along the trail.
- Indian Paintbrush.
- A deer munching, from our hike back from Hidden Falls.
- Judy and Tom in front of Josephine Lake.
- Campskunk and his owner, Fiona.
- Portrait of Fiona, mistress of the universe.
- Campskunk fixing our window blind. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
- Campskunk fixing our bathroom door. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
- Campskunk models a very manly hat of his family plaid, a gift from Mary Jane.
- "Don't fear any snakes" juice.
You know I love The Epic Van. And I love the company that makes it, Roadtrek.
The first year we were on the road, we went to the Roadtreking Photo Safari near Yellowstone. It was a gathering of my kind of people. We still have friends from that first meetup.
Now, three years later, we just finished our second Roadtreking Photo Safari, this one near Glacier and, once again, it was a blast.
My personal thank-you list is looooong. So, here goes. Thanks to:
Don’t call my awesome ride an RV
- Sitting on the steps of The Epic Van in Texas's Palo Duro Canyon with our folding bikes and Pippi, our 16-year-old cat, who traveled with us until she went to the road trip in the sky.
- The Epic Van driving through a tiny waterfall in Arizona’s Chiricahua Mountains.
- The Epic Van at Capitol Reef National Park.
- Deserted foggy campground on Pacific Coast in northern California.
- The Epic Van squeezing through a rock tunnel in the Black Hills on South Dakota's 16A.
- The Epic Van got to do some stream crossing on the beach road.
- Sunset on The Epic Van
- The Epic Van at a free campsite in the Buenos Aires National Wildlife Refuge. Seeing the United States makes it all worth it.
- The Epic Van parked at the City of Rocks, a New Mexico state park that charges less than $15 a night.
- The Epic Van at White Sands National Monument in New Mexico.
- The Epic Van
This may be totally stupid, but I have a hostile reaction when people say, “Oh, you’re driving around in an RV. Cool. My grandmother does that.”
This usually happens after I’ve told them of our totally awesome, unconventional, fearless life on the road. After I’ve specifically told them that I live in a big camper van. (Which, OK, technically is an RV but, in my world, is my free-spirit house on wheels.)
The things we carry (and where)
- Our rolling house IS a very, very, very fine house (a gift from Janie). And the owl, crafted from an A&W Root Beer can, is a gift from our son, Nate, to remind me of my first job, the beginning of it all!
- Sitting on the steps of The Epic Van in Texas's Palo Duro Canyon with our folding bikes and Pippi, our 16-year-old cat, who traveled with us until she went to the road trip in the sky.
- Tom and Judy dolls re-created by Judy's sister, Nancy, complete with miniature work badges.
- Our zero-gravity camp chairs and REI camp table, essentials that collapse and store under the back of the bed.
- A traveling couple, a vintage tea towel from Tom's sister, Ronda. It hangs in the kitchen.
- Dishtowels and hot pads sewn by Nancy.
- A mind-blowing tri-domino game handmade from wood, a gift from our friend, Tami.
- Tom riding the folding Brompton bicycle through the beach grasses in Long Beach, Washington.
- Our bedding, queen quilts and sheets sewing in half and velcroed together, opening toward the center aisle.
People we meet are amazed that we’re actually living in our fancy camper van. One of the first things they ask us is, “What do you do with all of your stuff?” Then, “What did you do with all your other stuff?”
Stuff seems to be the big issue for people. It was for us when we lived in a big house. We filled it with stuff. When we decided to sell the house and live on the road, we got rid of about 60 percent of our stuff. The rest, antiques, family photos, boxes of vintage Christmas decorations that can’t be replaced, that beautiful glass-front bookcase we waited years to buy, that stuff is in storage for the day we decide to stop rolling, whenever that may be. In fact, Tom and I figure that, if we had it to do again, we would get rid of half of what’s in storage. We haven’t missed any of it in the more than a year since we left. Our bed and dresser now sit in my mother’s guest room, where we stay when we go home for Thanksgiving and Christmas.
But what did we take? What’s in The Epic Van? What makes it a home? What was a mistake and what was sent packing?
Laundry, a lost chihuahua and a doppelganger in Del Rio, Texas
The laundromat in Del Rio, Texas, was the lone business in a shuttered shopping strip, miles from downtown. The good news: It was open until 11 p.m. Little did I know I would meet my doppelganger there.
Room with a view (kitchen with tiny fridge)
- Eggs stay safe in a plastic camping case.
- Puzzle skills help in packing everything onto the shelves.
- Beer, the top priority, takes up about a third of the refrigerator capacity.
By Tom Nichols
When Judy and I began shopping for a Class B RV, we quickly decided that openness in our “house” was more important than the capacity of our refrigerator.
We chose the Roadtrek RS Adventurous, with nearly 360-degree windows. There was another model, the CS Adventurous, that had a much larger refrigerator that stood all the way to the roof, but it eliminated some windows. We opted for light.
Six months of full-time living in The Epic Van, and our choice has been validated.