![]() Once we’re out of the city and headed north through Marin, my white knuckles fade and I relax into the drive. On a Friday afternoon, it’ll take about two-and-a-half hours to get there and, while I’m mildly terrified to drive this behemoth, it isn’t quite as massive as I expected it to be. So we pivoted to the Russian River, booking a Hipcamp site in a small fruit orchard in Occidental last minute. Unfortunately, their-or, more accurately, my-timing was a little off: In early May, neither campground was open yet and with the winter snowpack still high, some of the trails would be impassable with boots alone. They sent me back a nicely organized five-page plan with two campsite options, a few hiking trails, and a couple of beaches and hot springs. I contacted the experts at Cabana’s free trip planning service for some recommendations on where to stay and what to do while there. Originally, we’d intended to head out to Hope Valley in the Sierra. Now this, this is the kind of #vanlife I can get on board with-literally. From the back of the van slides a kitchen with a two-burner camp stove (and propane to run it), another sink, and a bin filled with cooking essentials like pans, cutlery, and a sponge. There’s a queen-sized bed made up in clean white linens, an LED TV and WiFi, a clever pull-out seating area with a table, a storage closet and bins, an electric kettle and coffee, towels and Ursa Major toiletries. A generously sized refrigerated drawer? Check, check, check. Private bath with a flushing toilet and hot shower? Check. ![]() ![]() (Courtesy of I pick up my Cabana chariot from its stable in a parking lot across from Stonestown Galleria, the first thing I do is confirm its amenities. Cabana, SF’s luxe new camper van rental, has it all.Ī kitchen with a two-burner stove and sink pulls out the back of the van from where it's stored under the queen-size bed. I wasn’t ready to take on a multi-month trip yet, but like running into a college sweetheart in later life, I now knew enough about myself to know what I need in a camper van. "Maybe someday," I’d say.īut I couldn’t quite quit van life. "Would you ever do it again?" people would ask when they heard about my adventure. Alone and lonely, I obsessed over the basic things I’d taken for granted in real life: a private toilet, running water, refrigeration.įor a few years after, I wanted nothing to do with van life. It began brilliantly, hopping between national parks in the Southwest, sleeping under the stars, but as the months passed, our relationship wore thin. My first love affair was a six-month journey of highest highs and lowest lows in a used minivan I converted myself.
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