Making the Van Go

Fiery little Italian sports cars? Superpowered Detroit turnpike cruisers? Dazzling convertibles or cute little bugs? Forget it. For any self-respecting American kid these days, the hottest vehicle suddenly seems to be a 1964 Ford Econoline van, say, or a beat-up GMC or scruffy Dodge A100 or--for the hipper elements--a Volkswagen Microbus or panel truck suitably scrunched around the fenders. There is method to this madness for vans: in increasing numbers the chunky vehicles are serving not only as transportation but also as mobile homes for the nation's youth.

Van addicts are delighted by the available space. There is room to eat, sleep and make love; there is room to store electric guitars, amplifiers and loudspeakers and camping gear as well. "The essence of living in a van," says Alan Feinstein, a Ph.D. dropout who drives one around northern California, "is that it gives you the freedom to have a lifestyle of not being tied down. I can go where my head wants me to go."

The vans are everywhere: parked near the beach at Cape Cod, on Manhattan's West Side, on Berkeley's Telegraph Avenue, or cruising the roads, pikes and throughways in between. Few of them are new and shiny, and no one bothers much about paint or chrome. The kids actually prefer them to have modest exteriors; a flashy-looking van is always more attractive to thieves. To the owner what is important is what is inside.

The key feature is the bed, whether it is simply an Army surplus mattress rolled up and fastened to a wall, a built-in double bed that lifts up to reveal storage areas underneath, or easily inflatable air mattresses topped with sleeping bags. Walls are decorated according to individual fancy: John Vajda, 19, and Tony Stepic, 20, are currently parked on a Pacific beach near Topanga Canyon in a 1953 Ford van with a red, white and blue interior and a kitchen cupboard done in stars and stripes.

Eight-Dog Night. On a Manhattan side street, Ronnie Milton, 21, is sprucing up his VW bus with curtains, carpeting and wallpaper in preparation for a trip to California with his girl friend. Some vans are fitted with primitive sinks and iceboxes; the 1969 Ford van owned by Ann Wasserman, 20, has a large table that used to be a tree stump. Ann's van also carries a cooler, a Coleman stove and lantern, and her boyfriend's motorcycle, which he rides ahead of the van on long trips. Other vans have kerosene lanterns, candles mounted on inner walls, and even potted plants. Charles Patton, 39, goes camping in a 1957 VW beetle that "some hippie kids" helped him convert into a plywood paneled home that sleeps two, has a portable sink and four stained-glass windows. Says John Shaw, 18, who has just completed a transcontinental trek in his converted '56 truck: "It's a nice home--and there aren't any cockroaches in it."

No matter how tastefully they may be decorated, vans do have their problems. Only a few have any sort of sanitary facilities, and there are times when a gas station's rest rooms simply are not available. In San Francisco last spring, police arrested van livers who were solving that problem by dumping waste on the streets. Heating is another problem. Lenny Hirschtritt took a practical approach: he installed a huge potbellied coal stove in his 1961 Ford Econoline and put a chimney on its roof. "It gets so warm in here," he says, "that at 20 below I've had to open a window." Considerably less conventional is the California couple who warm their van on cold nights with the body heat of their eight dogs, who snooze under the van's bed. Keeping clean is also difficult: Laundromats are convenient for washing clothes, but operators frown on clients who use the sudsy water to bathe themselves at the same time.

For the more affluent, particularly fancy quarters are available. At a cost ranging from $500 on up to $4,600, companies like Lance Industries of South Windsor, Conn., will convert an ordinary van into a rolling mansion. Included in the more expensive packages: frost-free refrigerators, air conditioning, screened windows, heavily padded bunks, elaborately contrived sinks and gas stoves--as well as deep pile carpeting and costly wall paneling.

Better Brakes. Luxurious or not, the vans--especially the older models--have safety drawbacks. "Up to two years ago," says Brock Yates, a van buff who is an editor at Car and Driver, vans were dangerously primitive. "They had solid front axles, drum brakes, poor weight distribution and were unsafe and unstable. They blew around in crosswinds. But now the car companies are improving suspensions and steering, increasing the power and installing better brakes. They've also moved the engine forward to give more protection to the driver and front-seat passengers.* Now, riding in front is not like dangling your feet over the front bumper."

In general, vanatics seem to be aware of the dangers of the older vehicles. To be safe they drive slowly. They have also found that a van traveling much faster than 50 m.p.h. attracts local traffic cops. Besides, says a young wanderer who calls himself Greg, "If you go fast, you don't see anything."

Inspecting the countryside is, after all, one of the more pleasing rewards of van living. But few wanderers have refined the art as well as a 39-year-old known only as Rex, who spent the past 15 years roving the U.S. aboard a motorcycle. He has now decided to settle down, and to help in the search for a permanent spot, he has outfitted a van in which he parks his cycle. "My van," he explains, "is like a command module that I use to orbit the big cities. Then I dip in and out of the city, inspecting each possible site, using my bike like a LEM."

* Consumer Reports, after testing windowed 1971 version of the most popular vans, says in its August issue that it has "grave doubts" about their safety, citing in particular the lack of protection for occupants involved in front-end crashes.

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