The Lance and the Arctic Fox, together again, but hopefully not for long.

If only I could figure a way to hitch them both together I would be able to carry my Neanderthal bowling ball collection. Most people don't realize that the Neanderthals lived in caves because caves made excellent bowling alleys. But the Neanderthals hadn't invented anything round yet, so there bowling balls were mostly square.

So here I am on my third day of blogging about how my winter went when I actually answered the question on the very first day when I said it was too cold, too wet, and too many boondockers. And that is how my winter went. But that doesn't say much about how I survived living in my tiniest home, the Lance truck camper.

As it turned out, living in the Lance was less challenging and daunting than I thought it would be. Other than the refrigerator not wanting to run right on propane. The somewhat uncomfortable seating position which is indicative of truck campers. And the batteries not getting as much charging as I'd hoped because of the unending cloudy weather... Some days I had to remind myself I'm living in southern Arizona, not the Pacific Northwest. But as for the Lance itself, I found living in its limited space no hardship at all.

Now, of course, that is based upon me getting rid of even more of the things that I couldn't live without when I first started full timing. I'm amazed at how much better my life is after getting rid of many of the things I couldn't live without. And my quality of life significantly improves the less "stuff" I have to tote around... Just like the Janis Joplin song says... "Freedom is just another word for nothing left to lose."

The Lance kept me warm and dry during the wettest Arizona winter ever. The furnace worked great, warming the little camper up within minutes, and unlike most RV furnaces, this one is amazingly quiet. But at the cost of more propane usage than a radiant heater would need. There was also many rainy days, with the wind coming from every direction this last winter, but nary a leak in the old Lance.

Storage is still a bit of a problem, but after spending almost a year living in the Lance, I've decided to "reframe" the storage problem and change it from "a storage problem" to an "I've got too much stuff problem." Since the "I've got too much stuff" problem seems a lot easier to deal with than the "not enough storage" problem.

There's not much that I will remove from the Lance now that I'm living in it, but there are several things I need to add. One of the things I missed the most was my telescoping ladder. I didn't realize how handy it was because I've always had it with me since before I went full-time, but I sure missed it during my winter travels.

Even though the factory furnace kept me warm, how much propane it wastes still bothers me. I have my little buddy propane heater with me, but it was difficult to use, so I'm considering bringing my propane radiant heater out of the Arctic Fox and putting it in the Lance. I absolutely love that heater, but it is kinda large to fit in the Lance, but I might put it in the Lance just to see.

I don't know if this ends my winter travel debriefing. It depends on me being able to think of anything else to say about my life in the Lance this last winter. So I guess I'll find out tomorrow when I start writing.

Theboondork

A raggedy old truck, and the Lance, safely back in Denver.

The most important question I've been getting asked since returning to Denver is, "How was it living in the confined space of the Lance truck camper?" Of course, the simplest answer is; "it's different." And like everything else in this world,  it's a trade-off.

Experienced RVers are well aware of the "trade-offs" that one has to deal with to be an RVer. And the main trade-off boils down to whether the RV is spacious enough to be comfortable to live in. Or is it small enough to be easy to travel in? Of course, these questions are easier to answer if you only live in it for a weekend or a two-week vacation. But the answer becomes a lot more difficult if you're a full-timer living in it all year, through the heat and the cold, through good times and bad.

I've been fortunate enough in my life to have owned and used RVs as small as a van, and a pop-up truck camper, to a 36-foot triple slide KZ fifth wheel, so I have a pretty good idea what it's like to spend extended stays in various sizes of RVs, but there's nothing like living full-time in an RV that will let you know what's important and what's not. And you'll only understand how you actually want to live in an RV full-time once you've done it for a couple of years.

When I started full-timing, living space was the most important thing to me, and ease of travel was secondary. But a couple of years of full-timing showed me that I enjoyed going places more than staying in one spot for months. And even though my 30-foot Arctic Fox was great for staying someplace for an extended period, traveling in it was more of a chore than a joy. Of course, it didn't start that way, but after a year or so, it became apparent that I liked going places, but due to the substantial weight and girth of the Arctic Fox.... I didn't like having to get there.

The apartment-like spaciousness of the Arctic Fox, which was great to live in, made traveling a stressful, slow, and limiting process, and my growing love of long-term boondocking was making the portly Arctic Fox more of a hindrance than a help.

On a highway somewhere in southern Arizona, as the miles slowly crawled by, which is what miles do when you're pulling a trailer, it finally hit me that pulling 13,000 pounds down the road with a three-quarter-ton truck may not have been the best idea I ever came up with. And instead, I needed an RV more suitable for boondocking in out-of-the-way places than staying for weeks in crowded campgrounds. And having an RV that was a joy to drive and park was going to fit my lifestyle better than an apartment on wheels.

And thus began the story of why I decided to live in a truck camper instead of the Arctic Fox, and tomorrow if you're very unlucky, you may have to listen to me pontificate about how my decision to move into a teeny tiny home full-time is working out for me

Theboondork

What passes for the family dog. He's either getting ready to attack, or he just woke up and he's yawning.

These Columbine's are weird. They don't face the sun, they're all facing the ground, your looking at the back of the flowers.

Iris. There one of the very few things blooming around here.

The entire graduating class of kindergartners at my granddaughter school. My granddaughter is on the top row, far left

I started my winter travels last Fall, fearing problems finding diesel fuel as I traveled. All the news from the day said there would be shortages, but like all too many predictions of doom and gloom, not only did it not pan out the way, diesel fuel actually got cheaper as I traveled.

If I had to sum up my winter travels, it would be... Too chilly, too wet, and too many boondockers. There were very few days during my winter travels when I didn't have on a coat or jacket at some time during the day. And that's very rare for the Arizona desert. There were also very few days when it wasn't cloudy or rainy to one degree or another. And yes, there were too many boondockers.

Not that I begrudge other folks taking advantage of the freedom and challenges of long-term boondocking, but there were some places I had to pass by because of the crowds. There is no one thing to blame for that, but I did notice an inordinate amount of camper vans in the places I enjoy going.

I mentioned before that camper van manufacturers were using advertising for their vans that often showed them boondocking next to a crystal clear lake or at the foot of some snowcapped mountains, clearly indicating that boondocking was where a camper van and the folks that traveled in it belonged. Conspicuously missing was pictures of camper vans huddled together awning to awning like plump rectangular sardines in an overflowing commercial campground where every view is of the side of another monstrous motorhome.

I've been going to Picacho Peak State Park near Eloy, Arizona, for many years, and it is one of my favorite places to be while in that area, but my biggest complaint was, it is often crowded and difficult to get a campsite. But imagine my surprise when I found out from another boondocker that Picacho Peak State Park has some overflow sites which you can get in on a first-come, first-serve basis, and in my opinion, despite the fact that they have no electricity, their way nicer than the regular campsites. But they don't offer them to you; you must request them, and the main part of the campground has to be full.

Now for the most important question about my winter travels... How did the Lance work out as my tiny home as I traveled around the Southwest? Did its tiny interior give me no room to roam? Or did its teensy weensy design get me to places where I could roam outdoors? This blog post will largely ignore this and many other questions that may be answered in tomorrow's blog.

Theboondork

Leaving the graduation ceremony. My daughter,  son-in-law, and granddaughter.

My granddaughter and a couple of her friends from school.