Oct 22 2020

We bought an Airstream (again)

In my last blog entry I talked about how, in the final months of owning the 2005 Airstream Safari bunkhouse, I turned it into an Airbnb. And then I sold it.

Which temporarily put me in an awkward spot. I mean, the Publisher of Airstream Life magazine really should have an Airstream, right?

That was in early May. My first thought was to wait until late fall to replace the Airstream, but with the pandemic in full swing, I began to see inventory at Airstream dealerships all over the country disappearing astonishingly quickly. Suddenly I realized that if I didn’t buy an Airstream right now I wasn’t going to be able to buy one for a long time.

In addition, things were heating up in the Airstream Life Store. All those new Airstream buyers were eager for new products and information. Without an Airstream to travel in, take pictures from, and get inspiration, I felt somewhat crippled.

And to make it even more imperative, my fiancee Tothie (pronounced “TOE-thee”) had brought her 25 years experience from the corporate world to Airstream Life, but she didn’t have a clue about Airstreaming. We both wanted her to get up to speed as quickly as possible, so she could start to contribute more significantly to the business. There’s only one way to understand Airstreaming: you have to use one, a lot.

So we dashed out to the Arizona Airstream dealers and started walking through the quickly-disappearing trailers on their lots. Originally my thoughts were on the popular 25FB floorplan, but we kept going back to the smaller 23FB, and when we saw it in the Globetrotter decor, we fell in love.

It is by far the nicest Airstream I have ever purchased (and I’ve owned five, counting vintage and new). It’s obviously considerably smaller than the 30-foot Safari bunkhouse but the floor plan makes a lot more sense for the two of us and one small dog, so it feels almost as roomy as the old 30-footer without the added towing weight and bulk.

A few months earlier I had also sold the Mercedes GL350 diesel that I had used as a tow vehicle before, and downsized into a (brace yourself if you’re a Big Truck guy) 2019 Ford Ranger XLT Crew Cab. The Ranger is an astonishingly capable little truck with a 4-cylinder turbocharged (Ecoboost) engine.

In the old days towing with 4 cylinders was unheard-of, but it’s amazing what the engineers can squeeze out these days. It pulls the Airstream with as much power as the 6-cylinder Mercedes diesel without the GL’s constant threat of overheating, even on an 8% grade. The old saying, “There’s no replacement for displacement” seems very obsolete now.

*The 2019 Ford Ranger is nicely matched to the Airstream Globetrotter 23FB, at least in terms of pulling and braking power*

In the interest of completeness, I do have to say that the ride of the Ranger is incredibly inferior to the Mercedes GL. The Ranger has an old-school solid rear axle with leaf springs like many other trucks, and it lurches and stumbles over uneven roads like a dancing bear.

Moreover the handling is awful when towing, loaded with understeer that makes every tight bend result in a tight anal sphincter. I have been spoiled by the independent Airmatic suspension of the Mercedes, which stuck to the road and handled like a sports car even with a trailer in tow. I am hoping to cure some of the defects of the Ford’s dinosaur design with a Hellwig rear sway bar. (I’ll write a more detailed review of the Ranger as a tow vehicle in a future blog.)

We had some delays over the summer which prevented us from taking delivery of the Airstream until September. When we finally did have it, it was like I’d never had an Airstream before. I had to re-figure everything: where stuff goes, what to bring, what fits in the fridge, the entertainment system, hitch, brake controller … even stuff like how to make the beds and shut the curtains. It was all just a little bit different. We took a “shakedown trip” to nearby Patagonia AZ for two nights and discovered all the things that we needed to tweak, clean, repair, add and figure out.

It was humbling to realize that, despite my extensive experience in Airstreams, this new Globetrotter was capable of teaching me a few new things. I had to learn the best technique for using the power stabilizers on un-level ground, which windows to open for good ventilation, the un-documented potential “gotchas” of the 3-way refrigerator, and many other subtleties that in total can make the difference between a good trip and a frustrating one.

*Decor was chosen specifically to match the dog, of course*

The overall feel of the new Airstream is surprisingly different as well. Where the old Safari was always comfortable and homey, the new Globetrotter feels even more cozy with an air of sophistication.

Overall, while sticker shock over the price of the Globetrotter did give me a brief heart arrhythmia, I have to say I have never had an Airstream that I was so instantly and completely in love with. Every detail, such the Euro-style faucets and stove, the Spradling Hitch dinette, Infinity woven floor, fully pleated curtains, mattresses, etc., just exudes style and comfort, and it really does feel like it was worth every penny.

The sound system (a dismal blight in the Safari that I never used) is world-class in the Globetrotter—so beautifully balanced and clear that we always want to play quiet music while reading in bed in the evenings, and a bit of classical music during breakfast. The power awning is so easy to set up that we have it deployed all the time (in sunny Arizona).

The ducted air conditioning is a blessing in Arizona as well. No longer do we have to shout to be heard over the roar of the machine—but since we’ve been camping exclusively in high altitude places we haven’t had to run it except when the Airstream is parked at home in the driveway.

*Sunset view from the famed Granite Dells of Prescott AZ*

Our plan is to take the Airstream out for one trip every month, mostly for long weekends. We didn’t count the initial shakedown, so our first “real” trip in September was Silver City NM and our second was Prescott AZ in October. Both were selected with an eye toward escaping the relentless heat of Tucson by going to higher elevations, and both were great successes. Mickey the dog loves it too.

*Camped at Point of Rocks campground in Prescott AZ*

Our November trip will be to Borrego Springs CA, and in December we’ll be off to Tothie’s first rally in Pismo Beach CA. We’ve got plans for 2021 as well, and I’ll write about those later. It’s hard to plan far in advance these days, but it will be easy to keep our commitment to use the Airstream monthly because it’s a great break from work, a great education for Tothie, and Mickey insists that we go.

I’m still pleasantly surprised that after 16 years, Airstreaming has gained new dimensions for me and I’m in love with it … again. Let’s see where it leads us.

May 18 2020

AirBnb—was it a success?

I turned my Airstream into an AirBnb last November—and here’s what happened

First off, nothing awful happened. People came, they did their tourism or temporary work or visited relatives, and then they left. Nobody damaged the Airstream, nothing was stolen. People appreciated the opportunity to try life in an Airstream for a few days, and we got great reviews.

It was also mostly hassle-free, for me, because I had an arrangement with the property owner, Adam. He and his mother (who lived on property) took care of the daily chores like booking, cleaning, and site maintenance. I took care of Airstream-specific repairs and filling the propane tanks.

From November 2019 through April 2020, the only repairs I had do were to replace one LED light bulb and one cabinet latch. Things ran so smoothly that I didn’t even both to go look at the trailer more than about once a month.

Adam kept the cleaning fees and half of the net revenue. We split the utility costs (water, sewer, and electricity), and his bookkeeper tracked everything in a spreadsheet.

For the most part, the Airstream was booked. We had 80-90% occupancy each month, but that was actually a slight disappointment. Tucson has a very strong winter visitor season, particularly in February during the famous Gem Show, and I expected 100% occupancy with a waiting list.

At first we chalked it up to being relatively new to the AirBnb market. But the problem turned out to be more widespread. In the past year Tucson has been over-saturated with AirBnb offerings, and prices have collapsed. It became possible (and still is) to get entire condos for $40 per night, so a 200-square foot Airstream became a tougher sell at the same price. My dream of hiking up the price to $80-100 per night during peak season never became reality.

We knew that the season would end by April 1 so I was prepared to forgo revenue over the summer. Even given that, I figured it was still a better deal for me to leave the Airstream on site (free storage) than to pull it out, so that was the plan.

But in mid-March the pandemic struck, and all our bookings evaporated instantly. I began to think more about my long-term Airstream plans and the value of keeping the Airstream on simply to rent it. My net income was averaging just over $300 per month, plus a savings of about $150 per month from not having to store it. Was it worth it?

I had visions of roof leaks cropping up over the summer monsoon season, or things gradually decaying/ rusting/ seizing from lack of use and attention. I’ve always said that neglect kills Airstreams, while regular use keeps them in good shape. One un-noticed leak, or a good (accidental) dent to the aluminum, or wear & tear to the interior could wipe out all the income for months. I was planning to be gone for two months this summer and it didn’t feel good to leave the Airstream behind without someone experienced to keep an eye on it.

Beyond the financial considerations, there was simply the fact that I don’t need or want a 30-foot Airstream anymore. I’ve been looking forward to downsizing to a 25-footer for several years, just for easier handling (parking, maneuvering) and lighter weight. I won’t be out in the Airstream for months each summer as I have been in the past, and without a kid in the trailer there’s no need for a 2-bedroom floorplan.

I took few weeks to evaluate my options, but finally put the Airstream on the market on April 26. I had two interested buyers within 24 hours, and closed the deal in a few days. On May 6, a commercial driver came by and towed it away to new first-time owners in Virginia.

Over the five months of rental, the gross revenues were $5,761 or an average of about $38 per day. Expenses, such as cleaning, supplies, furnishings (blankets, sheets, towels, etc), propane, and utilities consumed a lot of that revenue, leaving just $3,416 to split with Adam. So my net earnings on the AirBnb were about $1,700, plus about $1,000 saved from not having to store it from October through April.

I didn’t make a ton of money on renting the Airstream but overall, I’m pleased with the experience and think it was worth the effort I had to put into it. Most of what I did to get it ready for AirBnb was the same work I would have eventually had to do to get it ready for sale anyway. For my situation (the last few months of ownership) it made sense.

I don’t plan to do it again with the next Airstream. After a 9-month hiatus from Airstream travel I’m gearing up for a fresh start this fall, with my partner Tothie (who you’ll see in the Airstream Life TV episodes) and Mickey the terrier. Our new Airstream will be in and out often enough that it won’t be practical to offer it as a rental between trips.

The real value in the Airstream was never the revenue potential anyway. Over 15 years of ownership it gave me a base for over 2,000 nights, in all the lower 48 states, Canada, and Mexico—and then I sold it for 61% of the original retail price. That amazing 2005 Airstream Safari was the best travel bargain I’ll ever have, and a little AirBnb revenue at the end was just icing on the cake.

Nov 02 2019

From Airstream to AirBnb

The biggest problem with any RV, I think, is taking care of it when you’re not using it. Airstreams rarely die while they are happily in their favorite medium, the open road, but they do slowly deteriorate if neglected in storage. (I wrote about this in my book “The (Nearly) Complete Guide to Airstream Maintenance“, and suggested some strategies for preserving your Airstream while it is resting between trips.)

It’s ideal if you can keep your Airstream at home where you can keep an eye on it, but not everyone has that option. When keeping it at home isn’t possible, a storage lot is usually the solution. I’m not a huge fan of storage lots because Airstreams get stolen from them despite the purported “on site manager” and “24 hour video surveillance” and gated entry, but if you pick wisely and put some protection on your trailer (like a Megahitch Lock) it’s a reasonable risk.

For the past 16 years I’ve been lucky enough to be able to keep my Airstreams at home and plugged in, with the bonus of using them as guest house and office. I’ve ducked the expense and minor hassle of off-site storage. But no longer: I’ve moved to a place where the Airstream just can’t fit.

Coincidentally my Airstream travel is decreasing substantially. For the past decade I’ve logged about 120 nights and 8,000-12,000 miles per year, traveling from southwest to northeast and then back again each summer (with wild detours as far as Seattle and Florida). That’s a lot of travel. But now I don’t expect to be making that trip in future years, which means the Airstream will be used more like the average: a few weekends here and there, and the occasional week-long trip in the region.

All of that has made me start to think a bit outside the box. So I’m going to do something I previously said I’ve never consider: I’m renting my Airstream on AirBnb here in Tucson.

Yes … I really am.

I guess I see things differently now. First of all, the Airstream has a lot of life left in it. It’s a 2005 Safari 30 bunkhouse, which might be old for any other sort of vehicle (especially white box RVs) but is “barely broken in” by Airstream standards. I see Airstreams all the time that are 30 years old and still don’t need their first interior renovation. Being on the road for 40 or 50 years is no big deal in the Airstream world. So there’s no way I’m going to write it off at this point.

Second, I hate the idea of paying to store the trailer somewhere far away. There are no convenient and safe storage lots near my home, and here in Arizona it’s best to have covered storage (because of the intense sun 360 days per year). That puts the monthly cost of a storage space in the range of $120-50 per month, which is just an annoying steady drain on my wallet. As an AirBnb, the cash flows the other way.

Third, since I’m not going to be living in the Airstream for long periods of time anymore, I’m not as protective of it as I was. I just don’t need to keep it stocked so that I can fly off on a moment’s notice for a monthlong trip. I can be a weekender like most people: Load up what I need on Friday afternoon, and clean it out on Monday.

And perhaps most importantly, it’s not going anywhere. Being a stationary rental means that no inexperienced yahoos will be towing my Airstream. It’s sitting in a lovely private driveway near downtown Tucson, surrounded by tall fences and a gate, and watched over and managed by a sweet lady who lives on the property. She’ll clean it and re-stock it after each rental, take care of the customer service, and let me know if there are any problems.

This is definitely an experiment. I don’t know what hassles we might encounter (although I can imagine quite a few!) Certainly there’s a learning curve for each new occupant. I’m hoping to alleviate that by dumbing down some features. For example, I’m going to take away the awning pole in favor of a fixed shade awning we’ll put on the property later. We’re only providing a key for the padlock, so people won’t get confused about the door handle lock. The water heater switch will be marked “DO NOT SWITCH OFF”, and there will be a one-page info sheet in the rental to educate people about operation of things like the thermostat, toilet, stove (“use the lighter provided”), and vents. We’re also going to have at least a 3 night minimum stay, and encourage longer stays with a weekly rate discount.

Getting the Airstream ready has been challenging but fun. The first step was to just pull out all the personal items—a bigger task than you might think, thanks to the accumulation of 14 years of heavy travel. That step alone took a few trips and I’m still sorting through all the stuff. A shockingly large portion of the gear went straight to the trash, because it was so scuffed, stained, worn, scratched, cracked, dented or discolored that I couldn’t leave it for the rental. (Keep in mind that most of this stuff has been to 48 states and is 14 years old.) Lots more cosmetically challenged but functional stuff will be donated.

The second step was to hire cleaners to go through the trailer and do a deep cleaning. Two professionals took four hours to clean the interior from stem to stern. Every cabinet and cubbyhole got scrubbed out. They couldn’t make the trailer like new again but they did a pretty good job at making it fresh. I’ll be following up with a few minor repairs and maintenance, like re-caulking the shower and re-gluing some loose trim.

The third step was to come up with a list of everything we’d need to make the Airstream comfortable for visitors, and go shopping. That included all new towels, sheets, blankets, pillows, rugs, small appliances, and a handful of supplies. I was able to keep some of the dishes, glasses, coffee mugs, and cookware since that stuff held up pretty well over the years of bouncing around the nation’s roads. Still, I spent about $500 to outfit the trailer and there’s another $100 or so likely to be spent before I’m done.

Will it pay off? Early indications are very promising. We haven’t yet listed the Airstream on AirBnb but we already have it rented from November 5 through November 30 at an “introductory rate” of $40 per night (plus cleaning fee). It seems that people love the idea of staying in an Airstream. And it doesn’t hurt that the location is fantastic: just a 5 minute walk through residential streets to Tucson’s funky Fourth Avenue shopping district and a short bike ride from downtown. I’m certain that the Airstream will be booked solid all winter, especially during our popular Gem Show season in early February.

It’s an interesting thought that you can buy an Airstream and actually have it make money for you. This turns the entire idea of an RV being a depreciating asset on its head. (Well, maybe not just any RV, but ones with a certain appeal. I’m sure a well-renovated vintage trailer would also be popular.)

At this point I think my major problem is that I’ll actually have to block off rental times in order to be able to go on my own trips, and I’ll always be thinking about the revenue that I’m forgoing. But on the plus side, the process of getting ready for AirBnb has motivated me to completely clean and refresh all the stuff in the Airstream. It was always cleaned along the way but I never had a reason to dump all the well-worn stuff until now. It’s really a lot nicer inside now with the dust and detritus swept away. It feels almost like a new trailer, and that has brought back a tinge of excitement for the next trip.

Of course there are still a lot of things that can go wrong or become a hassle. I’ll update the blog again later as this experiment plays out. In three days our first customers will move in, and I’m sure we’ll rapidly learn exactly what it takes to make an Airstream into a successful AirBnb.

Sep 23 2019

Time enough

I think the worst thing you can do with an Airstream is to zoom across this amazing nation in an effort to cover miles quickly. Circumstances have forced me to do that on a few occasions, and each time I bemoan the missed opportunities along the way, the impromptu stops for roadside oddities and authentic experiences that fly past the driver’s window.

There’s always a good reason, of course. We have only so much time in this life and we can’t make more. It doesn’t matter if you are wealthy, esteemed, powerful, or famous—your day is still only 24 hours (until we have Airstreams on Mars), and your week is always going to be 7 days long.

Time is the key currency when you want to engage in slow travel. Like the “slow food” movement a few years back, I think you get a richer, more satisfying experience by roaming at leisure. The ideal way to get across the USA is to take a month or more with an Airstream, stopping everywhere that suits you and chasing 72 degrees whenever possible.

I’ve done that for a few years. Tallying up, I think I’ve crossed the country towing an Airstream roughly 35 times in the last 15 years, and most of those trips were happily puttering the blue highways at a rate of no more than 150 miles every few days.

So there I wuz … as the story often begins … storming the highways of the nation this past week in an effort to get home after four months of traveling. I could have delayed my arrival back home by two or three more weeks but I had been gone long enough.

I had spent enough of the currency of time on travel for a while. After a summer appreciating the humid northeast, I was ready to switch to the desert and dry out a little bit at home base. Call it the Temptation Of The Heat. Tucson was calling, with friends and family awaiting amidst the final weeks of the stormy & hot desert monsoon season.

Airstream overnight parking

Putting in the miles is hard on humans after a few days, and the equipment takes a hit too. I’ve never managed to complete a sprint across the nation without some sort of mechanical price to pay. Tires wear out or fail, windshields crack, and in the winter things can freeze unexpectedly. Last year we had a window blow out in the home stretch through Phoenix. There’s always something, even for someone like me who is meticulous about maintenance and preparation.

On a slow trip this stuff is easy to deal with, but when stuff happens in a balls-out dash it’s much harder. There’s no margin in the plan. Even a small glitch can make you feel like an astronaut aboard Apollo 13: wondering how to patch up the ship and limp home.

This time I was fairly lucky. I drove 2,135 miles from western PA to Tucson AZ in five days and the worst thing to happen was a nail in a tire of the Mercedes GL in the final 300 miles. I was so close to home at that point (and the tire was still holding air moderately well) that I didn’t even take the time to do the smart thing, which would have been to unhitch the Airstream and bring the tow vehicle to the nearest tire shop. Instead I took the quick way out, which was to add some air with the compressor that is part of my contingency equipment and keep driving to Tucson with a close eye on the car’s dashboard tire pressure monitor.

(For the record, I don’t recommend this. Play it safe. I was a maniac this time.)

The Airstream and Mercedes arrived looking bedraggled, coated with a film of the unique chemical goop that our Interstates produce—a mixture of unburnt diesel oil, carbon, tire particulate, dust, fryer grease and samplings of bug guts from 14 states. It’s not a good look but a trip to any truck wash will bring the Airstream back to life.

To break up the week I took a short day on Wednesday and stopped in Oklahoma City to look up my friend Edgar Cruz. Edgar is a marvelous, internationally-recognized Spanish guitarist who has performed at many Aluma-events in Ohio, Oregon, and Arizona. He’s got that amazing ability to play any song that he can hear, and retain literally over a thousand complex guitar arrangements in his head. He’s also a genuinely nice guy.

This evening Edgar was scheduled to be playing in an smaller setting at the University’s Jazz Lab so it was a fun and intimate evening for everyone who showed up. He hung his phone on the mike stand and we all texted him song requests, making the show almost entirely audience-generated.

Beyond that pleasant evening lay only another 965 miles of concrete, which whisked by fairly painlessly thanks to the wide open highways of the west and their commensurate high speed limits. And now the Airstream is parked and mostly unloaded, awaiting a deep cleaning inside and out so that it can be ready for another trip soon.

What’s next? Other than a short weekend in October, I don’t know. At this point in my life I’ve realized that it’s not really important to know what’s around the corner, and we’re only fooling ourselves if we really think we know. Years of traveling the highways and looking for new things has taught me that it is good enough to know that when I turn that corner, something will happen—and it will be alright. Until then, it’s just good to be home.

Sep 10 2019

First day on the C&O

Yeah, we needed a rest day. Everyone agreed. We spent the day in Cumberland taking care of little things, re-stocking, enjoying a fine Italian dinner at Ristorante Ottaviani (recommended by other cyclists) and resting. 157 miles of cycling doesn’t really seem like all that much to me in retrospect, but the day after day grind really does have a cumulative exhausting effect.

But having rested, we were all eager to launch into the second half of the trip: the C&O Canal National Historical Trail, which runs for about 185 miles from Cumberland MD to Washington DC. The skies were blue, the air was fresh and warm, and the trail just seemed to be calling us out of the hotel. We obliterated the complimentary hotel breakfast and saddled up as soon as possible.

The C&O is a very is different sort of trail. Unlike the finely groomed GAP, it consists of moderately rough double-track for most of the way, with tree roots and mud puddles every few hundred feet. It reminded me of long-ago days in Massachusetts when I would mountain bike with friends in the forests: mostly flat, mildly technical, and a lot of fun.

But my compatriots were not as sanguine. Bert’s e-bike battery was reduced to the lowest daily level we’ve seen so far, due to mileage (45 miles by the end) and higher effort needed to overcome the rough gravel. Adam and Susan felt it was tougher than the first part of the GAP, too. I felt like it was a breeze in comparison to the GAP, so I guess I’m finally over the bug that slowed me down last week, and I feel a lot less like a weenie now.

In any case this was the longest and hardest section of the C&O, so it is literally and figuratively all downhill from here. Not much downhill, mind you, but at least mostly level and no significant climbing.

The old long-abandoned locks and lock keepers houses are scenic and interesting, but unfortunately you can’t go inside the houses. For us, the engineering marvels of aqueducts (one example pictured above) and the 3,000 foot Paw Paw Tunnel were the big thrills of the day.

In the Paw Paw it is dark and slightly treacherous footing on a narrow tow path, with other cyclists coming in the pitch dark, so walking the bike is the only practical option. The trip through takes quite a while as a result, and I found it delightfully spooky.

Long distance riders recommended to Bert that he try something called Butt Balm for the inevitable chafing that occurs during rides like this. We all mocked him mercilessly at the beginning but gradually we’ve conceded that Butt Balm (or similar products such as Chamois Butt’R) has its place, so to speak. And except Susan, we’ve been applying the stuff to that place. I have it on good authority that she will be the next convert, starting tomorrow.

The bike shop mechanic in Cumberland said I would be fine with my existing tires (700C x 32) and he was right. His recommendation was that anything from 32 to 38 would be appropriate. But the trail is dry and the muddy spots are mostly firm. I still think that if the trail were wet I would want something a little wider and with more aggressive tread.

We’ve overlapped with a lot of tour groups on the C&O, more than on the GAP. Most of them are supported by vans that carry their luggage, so they have an easier time of it. If you’d like to do this ride but are worried about your cycling ability I’d definitely recommend checking a tour guide out.

Today’s trip ended in Little Orleans MD, which is a tiny town with few resources for cyclists passing through. There is one restaurant, which unfortunately for us is closed on Tuesday nights. Forewarned of this, we brought some food along to scab together a semblance of dinner. There is also only one place to stay, but it’s a great one: Town Hill B&B. To get to it requires a 20 minute shuttle, which the inn provides cheerfully, and at the end we found ourselves in a sweet historic inn that knows how to cater to cyclists.

So after a dusty and humid day of harder-than-expected cycling, I am comfortably settled on the couch in the inn’s living room with a complimentary tea and feeling extremely civilized with the memory of a long hot shower in my recent past. This beats the hell out of tent camping. Perhaps it is because of these comforts that after 200 miles and six day of togetherness we are still all having a wonderful time, and already talking about the next trip.