Abigail Robertson for Insider
When 2020 hit with all of its uncertainties, I knew there was no better time to start van life.
I was working remotely, so I retreated to my childhood home in Ohio and spent two months and $12,500 turning a 2012 Ford Transit Connect into what I fondly call my micro-cabin on wheels.
There are lots of things I'm proud of, but since hitting the road, I've learned a lot about what I should and shouldn't do for my next build.
Here are my biggest regrets from the renovation process.
Most mornings, I worked on the van from 7 or 8 a.m. until I started work at 12 p.m. Then I got back to it at 8 or 9 p.m. and worked into the early hours of the next day.
This allowed me to keep my full-time, remote job at an LA-based startup while making progress on my build.
I was able to hit the road quickly, but the schedule was aggressive, and the burnout was real.
There were moments I was bent over a jigsaw in tears from exhaustion and frustration and others when I made stupid mistakes because I was in a hurry to finish before work.
Abigail Robertson
There are a couple of vehicle models that are almost ubiquitous with the van-life lifestyle: the Mercedes Sprinter, the RAM Promaster, and the Ford Transit.
They're long, tall, and allow for building out extra elements like showers and kitchens. They also cost about three to four times my total budget before renovations.
I wanted to hit the road as soon as possible while keeping costs low, so I went with a smaller van.
But when I start planning for my next build, I'll go with something that allows me to comfortably host my partner, friend, and pups and has extra room for bikes and climbing gear.
On the weekends, I frequently worked for eight hours straight in the snow and cold, and Ohio winters don't mess around.
A trusty pair of insulated Carhartt coveralls became my best friend, but I'll never recommend a winter build.
Glue doesn't stick when it's 9 degrees, wet paint doesn't always dry in the right finish or color when it's too cold, and trying to do any work that requires fine motor skills in gloves is a major morale buster.
When I went home to Ohio, I planned on finding a van, converting it, and driving back to California within two or three months. But I quickly learned that securing out-of-state registration and getting my van from point A to point B without incurring massive fines wasn't easy.
I knew buying the van in rural Ohio would save me money, but it didn't occur to me that the logistics of building and taking my first trip would be inhibited by registration details.
The timeline of the long, leisurely trip I'd imagined was suddenly based around when my temporary tags expired.
Abigail Robertson for Insider
I knew my small van was going to fall short of the glitzy "apartments on wheels" all over social media.
In many ways, that's what I wanted. As an avid backpacker and camper, I didn't want to lose the "out there" feeling I love about nature.
But building a van without creature comforts means I have to adapt how I travel and prioritize proximity to necessities like showers and toilets. Unless I want to haul a collapsible toilet in my van, I have to camp at defined sites rather than in the backcountry.
Although I invested in a portable shower, I find myself envying people in bigger rigs or RVs who don't have to trek to and from the bathroom in the dark or inclement weather.
Whenever you see a beautifully built, woman-owned van on social media, check the comments. The most frequent one you'll probably see is, "Did you build that yourself?"
I was motivated to be able to answer "yes" without hesitation, proving all the subtle misogynistic questioners wrong.
In reality, I relied heavily on the expertise of my dad and uncle. They helped me brush up on the skills I'd learned in high-school shop class and take them to the next level. They also put in extra effort while I was working.
I have lots of great memories of working on the van with them, but there are things we probably would've saved time and effort on by outsourcing labor.
Even if it ended up costing a little more, it would've been worth it for our sanity and peace of mind.
I decided that I wanted my van to run primarily on solar energy early on, but costs and timing meant that buying solar panels wasn't an option.
During the first two months on the road, I charged my battery — which powered my lights, fan, and electronics chargers — through shore power (outlets at campsites that plug right into my van). A few months ago, I invested in a 100-watt solar panel and have since been running everything on the renewable energy source.
But the panels aren't fixed to my roof, so I have to lug them in and out of the van every time I use them. They're bulky, heavy, and fragile, and having them fixed to the top of my van would make a huge difference.
Abigail Robertson for Insider
I haven't run into a terrain problem yet, but it's something I'm always thinking about while scouting campsites on dirt roads.
I sometimes have to hop out and walk a route to be sure that I'll be able to make it over sandy or muddy areas while people in Sprinters or Transits cruise right past.
Buying a van without four-wheel drive kept my costs low, but the investment would've been worth it.
I purchased my van on December 22, 2020, and hit the road on February 21, 2021.
In those two months, my dad and I gutted the van; installed flooring, insulation, wood paneling, and electricity; and built cabinets, an overhead storage unit, and a convertible bed.
Did I mention this was all while working nine-hour days?
Spreading out the build would've given me more rest days — I took exactly two days off — and peace of mind. I also could've planned further in advance and taken more time to consider whether or not I was happy with how things were coming along.
Although budgeting was helpful for getting a rough idea of how I wanted to break up my investment, it was brutal when I faced the reality of working on such a large-scale project.
When I started, 2-by-4 pieces of lumber were almost $7 per board — the highest cost in 13 years. Additionally, you don't always know what you need until you start moving. That extra $40 here on flooring material and $20 there on more paneling adds up.
After buying my van for $9,000, I knew I only wanted to put in $3,000 more, max, and I came pretty close.
But since then, I've invested another $1,000 into things like solar panels, showers, and safety supplies that were never in my original budget.
Now, I see a van build as an ongoing expense, like rent, that I'm always saving for and investing in rather than a one-time purchase.
This story was originally published on August 8, 2021, and most recently updated on August 2, 2024.
