You need some sun!

Taking a break from the van to dose up on sea salt and spear fishing by leading week-long sailing adventures to the public on a 27-foot Catalina in the Exumas, Bahamas. 

If you are interested in gaining technical sailing skills, or just cruising, self-supported, in a magical string of Caribbean islands--look us up. Super affordable, willing to negotiate price based on your travel costs to get here. 

Look it up: Staniel Cay, Exuma, Bahamas. See you here? -Delilah 

Kickoff?

Will kickoff happen?

The ground had been frozen solid for months. Warm days did come leading up to the end of March, but the few/far between ones that gifted us 37°F temps just contributed to melting the surface of the ice. Made the road even slicker.  Couldn't be sure the van, now pimped out and loaded up, would get down the driveway without crashing*. In my head the failed kickoff event played out as the slowest, saddest, molasses crash, going less than 0mph but still fishtailing. And we're all also stuck in slomo, reaching desperate hands out to it, begging in warped voices at it like we're on drugs. Noooooooooooooo. 

Spoiler alert: we made it!

How did we do it?

1. Get a grip. We PB-blasted two of the rustiest tire chains in America that Dan had excavated from a random ice pile on the property to get them in shape for the treacherous decent. With only two chains, we had to be judicious.   Slapped them on: one on the front passenger tire and one on the back driver's side. 
2. Break it up.  Having never before seen a winter north of NYC, Dan mentioned his time in the Adirondacks had given him a new awareness: there isn't just one type of ice. There's dead-of-winter ice, the kid of ice that welcomes SUVs towing fishing shantys onto lakes no problem; there's ice that falls out of the sky. Then there's springtime ice which has melted from underneath a little so as to make it brittle and crunchy, stompable ice.  This was the kind of ice we were dealing with a few days before kickoff. With chains on the ATV and the Subaru, we drove up and down the driveway, Shiloh and her waggling tongue casing after us, breaking up the ice so that the van could later get a grip.
3. Commit. If we went ahead with kickoff and started to take the van down the hill, that was going to be it. No place on the road to turn around, no telling if it could power back up it if we could. If we get the van all the way down to the meadow in one piece, there is no going back to the workshop either. Everything had to be done, all the fix-its. We would be leaving the nest for good**.
   
   The sun comes out.  A strong gust of wind dries parting tears for leaving my parents, beckons us forward.  -Delilah

First night in the van!

Parked at a friend's farm in Ithaca, New York.

Tired in the bones from the last three months.

Hunted pallets down to build a humanure composter for a friend's new Tiny House.

Pushy cat gets famous.

Making friends on the sky deck.

The composter.

Traded northern New York ice for central New York mud.

*The quarter-mile gravel road to the mountain home was so steep and icy no delivery trucks would chance it.  (It was a familiar process to beg, several times a week, with UPS and FedEx to drop our packages--parts for the project--at the post office, even though they have express orders never to deliver to P.O. Boxes--yet, would not deliver to our actual address.)  Some of those FedEx delivery trucks had to have been Sprinters.

**Obvious metaphors associated with kickoffs, launches, and new beginnings occurred to me: a lot about adventure itself is about commitment. Committing to face failure and/or thrill, discomfort and/or real joy, a shift in your identity--are you committed to slumming it, brushing your teeth on the sidewalk in front of people you used to work for and paying for tacos with couch coins so you can avoid working and climb for 30 days straight. . . or, like Gabriel Garcia Marquez in 1965-66, are you hocking your household appliances to liquidate what little cash they hold and putting your family through hell because the one of the greatest novels the world has never read yet is still being typed out on your typewriter?  Committing to adventure and expedition can change the way people view you, can change the way people trust you. . .perhaps for the worse. . .perhaps for the better. But you wont know that until you jump.  

Kitchen, Plumbing, Electrical, Sound System, Roof Rack & Polyurethaning the world

Well, this is it.  The beast is almost done.  We're out of here on Monday (24th of March) after having spent the last month banging away at the last chunk of tasks: building our kitchen, figuring out the whole H2O system (carry-in), rigging the electric up to the battery bank, etc. etc. etc, and then taking it all out, treating all the wood with polyurethane, deep cleaning the interior, and then putting everything in place. . .this time for real for real.

Some things I am particularly reflective about:

1.) I built my first set of drawers.  And then, I earned the street/workshop cred to be commissioned to make more.

I stayed up until 5 am in a snow storm with the task of building utility drawers that go in the back storage area. Up until this point Dan had fashioned all the other boxes/drawers and I had said I wanted to learn how. Dan's (highly efficient though damn toughlove) way of teaching/motivating is to say: "Ok, do it." He figures you've paid attention to everything he's done up to this point, or done your own research enough to be competent. Yeah, it is a great approach--no hand holding, no overlording or forceful tutorial, just do it. But, and correct me if I'm wrong here, "Just Doing 'It'"--going after whatever you want to accomplish without exaggerations or reservations about what it is you know and can do, or performance anxiety/worry about how bad you're gonna fu** it up. . .that is a next level kind of approach to life.

I toiled in the workshop for an embarrassing number of hours before I started doing anything meaningful on the project. I think I felt confused and anxious; I kept fruitlessly assessing my approach, gathering measurements I wasn't sure were right or significant. I sifted through the wood pile.  My mind was cloudy and I was. . .angry.

Then Daniel turned in for the night, it was 11:45 pm. He had probably finished five or six large tasks.  He asked me if I was coming in; I mumbled.  In many ways I was waiting for him to leave so I could have a break down. So he did. And I did. I kicked a metal leg of a utility shelf real hard. Like, grown-up hard.  I thought I might have broken something. I yelled, "This is ridiculous!" or, I can't remember. Maybe it was just a violent yodel.  Big and second toes throbbed.

Utility drawers. Bottom most is a "garage table".

That was what it took. I stood there. No one was around (probably for miles).  An avalanche of snow thudded to the ground outside the metal garage. I felt silly. Then, I just went for it.  I got some paper and drew a picture of the drawer. I filled in the measurements. I made some cuts. I located the clamps and tools I needed. I made a box, put on some drawer slides, put the thing in place.  I pulled on the front and it slid out.  I put my pencil in it and pushed it back in.  "Cool, a drawer."  It was the anticlimax I was looking for.  

Dan came out at 4:45 am to see if I had cut my arm off.  He saw that I had hacked apart a milk crate to fashion "face plates" to two of the drawers and hired me for future drawer construction.

On a technical note: I highly recommend drawer slides, though they are a little pricey. Takes the whole custom storage thing to a more professional level besides making the drawers flat out easier to use.

2.) Daniel did not make a roof rack.  He made a patio.

You should see this thing. It is the raddest. He modeled the design on a roof rack his kayak instructor had in high school, on a van in which he and sizeable paddling entorages had traveled to Canada and Mexico and back many times over. Might max our top speed out at 25mph. . . but he has prefigured for us many nights of sleeping up on that patio rack under big ol' western skys. Plus, it screams dance party. So, there's that.  Yolo. -Delilah

Photo spread of rest of our accomplishments:

Kitchen w/ storage. Yes that is a tennis ball under
the foot pump pedal as a rebound aid.

Inserted speakers in back doors. Subwoofer quality
complements of semi-hollow doors!

Memory foam custom cut to fit the bed
at shortest setting. Combines with seat backs and
butts to reach extended bed length of 78"

Switch board.

Polyurethane on errthing.

Furnishings

In a flash, our progress:

Kitchen 

-kitchen counter top & 13" leaf

-sink mounting hole & cutting board plug
-sound-dampening coated stainless steel sink
-(2) 6gal carry-in plastic H20 tanks
-water filtration unit
-faucet
-foot pump
-35 quart Engel performance cooler
-(1) 20 lb. propane tank split to
-Coleman 2-burner stove (stove locked to the table) and a
-Mr. Heater "Buddy" heater

Cabin

-a cabin closet with drawers and tall storage
-accessory cabinets

-2 couches
-seat cushions with custom upholstery
-under-couch drawers with locking hardware

Battery bank

-secured (4) 6volt gel marine batteries to the floor behind closet

Driving

-installed passenger swivel adapter; now both seats rotate. (Thank you Sprinter-source.com/forum for connecting us with a second-hand swivel as the U.S. distributer had them on back order for many months!)

Sleeping

-(6) removable/flexible under bed storage wells

I am especially impressed with Daniel's  3" tall foot rest that doubles as a storage box, able to slide under the couch and out of the way.  With absolutely no research or intention to research -- I confidently report this footrest to be the shortest coffee table in the world.

Things left to do

-throw up the walls
-stain all wood
-window sill
-make privacy shades/window covers
-build overhead compartment that will run the length of the drivers side
-cut/cover memory foam to fit bed at "short setting".  (Couch seat backs and butts can be put in place to extend bed to 88". . .that's 7' 4". . .basketballers welcome.)
-install carpeted ceiling panels
-install lights
-rig electric and inverter
-install flip up "utility/garage table" on back door
-install shelving in the trunk storage compartment
-build roof rack
-adjust ABS sensors
-fortify rear bumper (rusting damage)
-dremel away "black death" crystallized diesel exhaust from engine cover & place new gasket
-pack! shove off!  -delilah

Divorcing a double sink.

Using double bar clamps to make stripwood counter top.

13-inch pop-up leaf.

It's a Box!

Thanks for joining us in this edition of Avuncular Activities.

"Avuncular" (a·vun·cu·lar adjective 1.of or relating to an uncle) has, overnight, become our favorite word and thusly radically altered our lives.  We are both wearing collared sweaters, donning spectacles (even if they are 3D movie glasses with the lenses popped out), growing mustaches (Delilah's is looking promising), and writing with mechanical pencils.

In our transition to becoming uncles we have naturally begun to make boxes.  Big boxes, small boxes, locked boxes, fox boxes, penalty boxes, jack-in-the-boxes.  And in our box-making frenzy the question popped into our heads. . .Who invented The Box?  This edition of Avuncular Activities is dedicated to the history of the box.

It all started years ago with four dudes: Rafael, Leonardo, Donatello, and Michelangelo. These dudes were some upstanding dudes and always helped out in the community.  From teaching skateboarding to the town toddlers, to rescuing

Timmy out of the well, they were always helping out where they could.  One day, on their way to help a promising young pupil learn how to kick-flip, they passed by Dave the Pizza-er (one who makes Pizza).
"Kowabunga, Dave!"  They yelled.
But when Dave did not respond with the customary "What's good my green friends?"  they knew something was very wrong.
     "What's up, Dave? You look like a skateboard's run you down."
     "Oh, well, I made all these pizzas for the Timmy's-no-longer-down-in-a-well party because he's no longer down in that well."
    "Right on, Amigo!" said Donatello.
    "Totally radical, man," said Rafael.
    "Super," said Michaelangelo.  And Leonardo, always the cool one,  just gave Dave a slight nod and a half-wink, as he crossed his legs and lounged against the wall.
     Dave was not reassured by the Dudes' encouragement or even Leonardo's half-wink.
    "Yes it's all great guys but I have no way of bringing all those pizzas to the party!" He sunk down onto a stack of pizza cardboard.

The Dudes were baffled by this conundrum and scrunched up their faces into their best thinking poses.  They scratched their heads and stroked their smooth turtley chins. Finally, Donatello bursted out.
    "I got it!"
    "You figured out how to bring the pizzas to the party?"
    "No, I finally found the M&M I lost last week. It was in my back pocket this whole time." He  munched on the M&M.
He was thoroughly congratulated with a few exclamations of "Awesome dude", "Mega cool bro" and the customary "Kowabunga du..."  But Rafael could not finish his exclamation.  The others stared at him but he was already bounding across the room to the stack of cardboard. He went to work in a fury of measuring, folding, and cutting.  In no time at all he stood back.
     "Viola!"
     The others went through the list: "Radical!" "Kowabunga!" "Right on!" and "Killer!".
     "What is it?" asked Dave.
     "I call it: a box."
     Rafael grabbed a pizza pie and slid it in.

The Dudes were astounded. Minutes later with the pizzas nestled into boxes (though there were considerably fewer slices than when they started), the Dudes rolled towards town on their skateboards, pizza stacked high above their heads.

Thanks for joining us on this educational edition of Avuncular Activities.

Here's a picture of one such box we constructed using 1/4" luan plywood, wood glue, and a whole lot of clamps. It will fit 2 small and 4 personal pizzas.

-Dan

Everything is the "Living Room"

When you live in a van everything is the living room. You don't get to refer to the "living room closet" or the "table in the living room" anymore. The eating, the reading, even the driving happens in the living room. It's all just one, big. . .small, cozy, organized place where everything mentionable and unmentionable happens.  Like a yurt on wheels.

This kind of reality must be attractive these days, though--the Tinyhouse industry is booming.  I think everyone I've ever met in every state I've ever been in is talking about wanting to move into a tinyhouse. People who drive large cars and have mortgages and stuff, everyone has contracted a mania to move into the livingroom.  Even me.

Makes sense.  I mean, during this design process we seem to ask ourselves two basic questions: 1. What do I need from a living space? and 2. What layout will maximize ease-of-use?  In order to commit to living out of a van at all Danimal and I must have quietly asked ourselves these same questions. The answer seems to have been: I need to chuck all my stuff out the window and move into the living room.  

The living room of any home is where both the action and relaxation happens. It's where entertainment happens, both the screen-based (movies) and discourse or conversation-based (friends come over for dinner/small children play here). Because it is often the room with the largest table, the living room is where projects happen. The living room is where it's at.  As long as the refrigerator and food prep moves in, it's the only room you really need. All the tinyhouse droolers were right after all.

This obvious and powerful truth, however much I am stoked for it and have invested in it--that all I really need can be built into an 11'x5' space--still frightens me about the future. My privileged upbringing afforded me large domestic spaces to dwell in, houses with rooms upon rooms, places where you could do your homework on one side of the house and not know for hours if someone was choking on a chicken wing or practicing for the opera on the other. The apartments and homes I've rented for the past 12 years were clearly scaled down quite a bit, but for the sake of this argument they were more or less the same. I have been so tied up in the layout process of the Sprinter-build, in the inches and folds, the angles, the if-you-sit-there-what-does-it-feel-like-when's that I hadn't given much thought to what everyone else in my life seems to have been wondering: How are you going to live in there?

Well. . .what's the big deal? Snails do it.  -Delilah

#greatmeasuringsnailrace

Stanley 25 out in front but still anyone's race.

Tune in next time to find out what happens in the Great Measuring Snail Race!

Hardwood is BOSS

In a world of hardwood vs. plywood, hardwood is boss. One already knows this, and wouldn't one love to use hardwood all the time if one could afford it. It's just so beautiful. With some stain? Fugeddabout it.  I think I will make out with hardwood. In a way I kind of did yesterday, walking around Saranac Hollow Woodworking Shop & Adirondack Hardwood, wiping a dab of spit on different cuts to see how they might change color or shine with a coat of stain.

We found out about Hal and the boys over at Adk Hardwood from my folks' builder, Roger, who stopped by for coffee the other day.  Dan and I are choosing to elongate our build project in the name of craftsmanship to assemble custom cutting board counter tops.  Strips of wood glued together in some sort of cute pattern will be installed in the kitchen as the main countertop to sink the sink into and hold the stove; the other countertop will be a pull-out dinette that hides under the bed when you don't need it. The whole thing is genius and of course cute. And we gotta pump out a lot of genius ideas these days to counteract the silly ones we have come up with during this project.

The first thing I did when I walked into the shop was ask them where their scrap pile was. They obliged us with heaps of awesome cuts from their scrap corner--curly maple, poplar, something they referred to as "fake mahogany" I think it was called sapele, oak, and some pine--for under $30 total. The car smelled like your favorite uncle all the way home. 

We also made a short stop to pick up the lastest edition of Fine Woodworking magazine, the "Joinery" edition. Thrilling reads for those who fancy cabinet making, trimming their mustache, wearing sweaters with geometric designs on them, and other avuncular domestic sports. (Actually this publication is fantastic.)
-Delilah