RV HAVING FUN YET?

By Belinda Luscombe

The Sutherlands, Larry and Linda, middle Americans, are getting up in years. Larry, retired, likes to putter around the lawn with his dog, Trinket. Linda's venue is her kitchen, well-equipped, with microwave and freezer. Their home is comfy and welcoming, with wall-to-wall carpeting, a floral arrangement in the front window, wind chimes at the door and an illuminated sign hanging out the front. But the Sutherlands have no permanent zip code. No phone lines. They pay no property taxes. Their pad has wheels. It's a 35-ft., $65,000 Fleetwood Southwind, one of the thousands of recreational vehicles, or RVs, that Americans are calling home. "Oh, we have a home, all right," Sutherland likes to quip. "It just depends on where we are at the moment."

The Sutherlands, while perhaps more dedicated than most, are typical motor-home owners. Free-spirited retirees like them--along with party-minded young men who want something tall from which to watch NASCAR races and then live it up--have been the engine of the RV industry for years. But now both groups are being joined by a new type of RVer: baby boomers who are looking for an inexpensive, hassle-free holiday with their children. Nearly 40% of today's owners are in the 35-to-54 age range, double the percentage of a decade ago. And while the words hip and Winnebago are unlikely to appear next to each other soon, some 42% of all owners are college-educated and live in metropolitan areas.

Even celebrities are getting in on the act. After Sean Penn's $4 million villa burned down in the Southern California fires of 1993, he bought a riveted-aluminum Airstream Sovereign, parked it where his house once was and lived there for a few years.

Including Penn, there are 9 million RV owners in America, about 1 in every 10 households. That's up from about 7 million in 1984. They own everything from huge, 45-ft. condo-on-wheels-type motor homes to the collapsible trailers that can be towed to a destination behind most any car and then cranked up to full size. A University of Michigan study found that RV ownership has grown by an average of 100,000 a year since the middle of the past decade, and forecasts that demand will rise to 135,000 a year for the next 15 years.

For dealers and manufacturers, the money is rolling in like Winnebago Adventurers to Yellowstone on Memorial Day. Sales of RVs in 1996 trundled up to a record $12.4 billion, 50% higher than at the turn of the decade. About 466,000 new RVs hit the road just last year. And most people don't buy new RVs. The used-RV market is about three times the size of the market for new ones.

As gratifying as this growth is to RV dealers, what really gladdens the heart of the biggest manufacturers, Fleetwood Enterprises (RV sales: $1.4 billion, up 6% in its latest year) and Thor Industries ($602 million, up 7%), is the rental market. Winnebagos may be stand-up comics' vehicular whipping boys, but company executives can laugh too, having enjoyed six consecutive years of growth. Members of the Recreation Vehicle Rental Association, which represents about 250 companies, are anticipating a remarkable 29% increase in RV rentals this year and are expanding their fleets accordingly.

Why the sudden surge in popularity? An RV is a classic '90s sensible luxury item. At the low end of the tow end, trailers start with a $3,000 folding-camper model. At the high end, $80,000 buys a luxury liner (a "fifth wheel" in RV argot) replete with mechanical slide-out rooms, ceramic kitchen tile and Whirlpool bath. And they fit nicely behind that other '90s sensible luxury item, the sport utility vehicle.

Motor homes, on the other hand, start at about $40,000 with basic home furnishings and rise majestically to $750,000. That's a little steep for a three-week holiday, but rolling palaces are rentable at $100 or so a day, the average charged by Cruise America, the country's largest rental outfit. Rented or purchased, RVs represent a way for families to keep travel, accommodation and food costs within a defined budget. More important, RVers can go where they want to, when they want to--no motels, no airports, no planning. And life on the road lends itself to games and long chats, so parents get to spend the time with their kids that their harried day-to-day lives prevent. Then there's the campground cameraderie. "When was the last time you got to know your neighbors at a motel?" asks Randall Smalley, CEO of Cruise America.

What's more, RVs aren't the difficult-to-maneuver, hideous-to-look-at, cramped behemoths they once were. O.K., most are still resolutely unstylish, but virtually all have power steering, power brakes and automatic transmission. Some carry a rearview TV camera on the roof with a monitor on the dashboard to make parking a cinch. Fleetwood Enterprises' Bounder, the best-selling motor home in America, has a computer stand and prewiring for a satellite dish as standard features. There's more home in them too, with options for queen-size beds, glass showers, bathtubs, washer-dryers, TVs, VCRs, solar panels for heating, hardwood floors and granite sinks. Think land yacht rather than tent on a truck.

Meanwhile, the trailer park, long one of America's least vaunted institutions, the Cheez Whiz of vacation destinations, has been enjoying a concomitant makeover. Some offer golf courses and health clubs. While the price of real estate has kept the number of private parks like Kampgrounds of America and Yogi Bear's Jellystone Park more or less constant, public parks have expanded their RV facilities to attract people who want the great outdoors without too much of the out-of-doors part. "People don't want to sleep on the ground as much as they used to," says Debbie Brunaforte, an RV dealer in Mesa, Ariz. "They don't want to spend an hour putting up a tent. You have a full kitchen and bathroom, and you don't have to pack."

Not all the campgrounds are in the wilderness, either. Las Vegas' Circus Circus casino has a campground, and Disney World has Fort Wilderness, where if visitors tire of Fantasyland, they can go canoeing and horseback riding. For some people this may be too much of a good thing. Much to the chagrin of folks like the Sutherlands, many campgrounds now have something they never had before: NO VACANCY signs.

--Reported by Bernard Baumohl/Reston and Richard Woodbury/Phoenix

With reporting by BERNARD BAUMOHL/RESTON AND RICHARD WOODBURY/ PHOENIX