Van Life Reality Check: Picking Up My Bus

Just so you’re up to speed, my name’s Alia, and this is my secret travel journal. I’m a 20-something American girl living in my self-converted shuttle bus. This is where I share it all—the hilariously embarrassing truth about my adventures. This time, Van Life Reality Check: Picking Up My Bus. (If you want to see me tell this story live, click HERE to watch a vanlife talk I had the privilege of doing!)

That’s really all you need to know. Now, go on, step inside… Welcome to the mayhem.

Sandy At The Helm

I like to think there are certain experiences that initiate travelers into the #vanlife club. There’s a rite of passage: breaking down on highways, sleeping in Walmart parking lots, getting scammed by mechanics, and hitting things with your vehicle. The fun stuff.

While picking up the 2003 Ford E450 Shuttle Bus that would later be my vanlife home, I would check every single one of those boxes and fully initiate myself into vanlife high society. Yay, me.

Most of the trip is a smear across my memory, but I can determine one thing for sure. There was only one working brain cell in my head during this expedition – let’s call her Sandy, because she is literally the size of a grain of sand – and Sandy was fully, tunnel-vision focused on picking up her bus from Raleigh, North Carolina, driving it home to Gainesville, FL, and finally taking the next step towards the vanlife dream.

That is why when I heard hurricane Elsa was blowing over North Carolina the very same day I was supposed to fly into Raleigh, my first reaction was not, “Oh shoot, maybe I should change my flight.” Instead, Sandy thought, “Oh shoot, I hope they don’t cancel our flight and make us reschedule the bus pick up. I want my bus now.” Don’t tell her I said this, but Sandy is kind of a brat… And an idiot.

The fact that I would be driving a giant, foreign, used vehicle for the first time in a hurricane did not cross my mind whatsoever. Or maybe it did, but that wasn’t the section of my brain that Sandy lives in, and she was in charge. She lives in the dreams hemisphere, where rationality can’t survive the toxic atmosphere of foggy delusion and credulous expectations polluting the water.

The Plan

The plan was to fly up on a Thursday morning, pick up the bus, swing by the DMV to get a temporary tag, and then drive back down to Gainesville. The drive was going to be seven and a half hours, so if we left early enough, we could do it all in one day. Then, I would have all day Friday to recover and celebrate my new bus, and on Saturday, I’d help throw a friend’s 21st birthday party.

A relevant side note: I was a couple months into a new relationship. If you’ve read the Adventurepreneur Origin Story Pt. 1, yes, this is the same boy (the so-called love of my life that would have me on my sister’s couch at age 25, $4,000 in credit card debt and my bus/tiny-home broken down a thousand miles away). For now, he was just a boy.

When I told him the bus-pickup plan, he asked if he could come. I was surprised, we were still just getting to know each other at this point. But, then again, he had already told me he loved me, to which I had responded with… Well, nothing… Whoops.

Having some backup on this trip was beneficial for the mission, though, so I agreed to let him tag along.

Cursed from the Start

At 2:00AM on a Thursday morning, we drove the two hours from Gainesville to Florida International Airport. My little brother dropped me and Boy off for our 5:30AM flight.

The first sign that this trip was cursed: Boy forgot his driver’s license. They weren’t letting him through security. I won’t lie to you, I was about to leave him behind without a second glance. But somehow, Boy convinced them that his library card from the 7th grade was a sufficient form of identification, and they let us through.

The entire flight, Boy was asleep, and I was envious. I had barely slept the night before, my mind buzzing with excitement.

I was doing it – after almost a year of planning, research, and dreaming, I was finally getting a bus to live my new adventurous lifestyle. (Check out The DIYer’s Guide to Choosing a Vanlife Vehicle [2024] to see just how emotionally charged and all-consuming finding this bus had been.) I watched the sunrise as we flew, welcoming the new, promising day.

Little did Sandy and I care, but Hurricane Elsa was gearing up for her grand entrance, clouds slowly crawling in from all angles.

The Massage Therapist’s Husband

We were meeting the seller at a Starbucks, thank God, so I could pump some coffee in my veins before the long drive.

The seller was a middle-aged man who had bought the shuttle bus for his wife, who planned to use it for her massage therapy business. They had gutted the inside and painted the floor a bright, totally non-therapeutic, teal color. Then they realized it would be too much work to finish the buildout and decided to sell it.

I suspect the massage therapist’s husband made a promise, realized it was a promise that came with a little too much work, and did a little takesies-backsies on his promise. OR, he realized the bus was shit and needed to off-load it onto some clueless, unsuspecting vanlife-obsessed little girl.

I’m not sure which is worse, but either way, enter me and Sandy.

We pulled into the empty Starbucks parking lot and went inside. It felt deserted, which I now realize is probably because all the sane people were staying home due to A HURRICANE, but Sandy didn’t see it that way. She was thinking: no crowds, no line for coffee – what luck!

I’m remembering the looming, ominous sky and rolling my eyes at her.

The massage therapist’s husband was sitting at a table by the door expectantly. He stood when we came in, introducing himself and making small talk. I was half-paying attention to the conversation, my eyes eagerly searching his belongings for the shuttle bus keys.

Eventually he pulled out the lease and signed it over to me. He handed me the keys and I handed him a check. When that metal hit my finger tips, I swear it was like holding a tingly hunk of electricity that pulsed excitement through my bones.

Meeting my Future Nightmare of a Home

The three of us went out to the bus so the massage therapist’s husband could show us around. He pointed out which keys went to what and which keys he had no idea what they were for. I remember plugging the car key into the ignition trying to start the bus and the engine turning over, revving in agony.

The massage therapist’s husband gestured to let him try, saying I must be doing something wrong. I didn’t really know how there could be much more to starting a vehicle than what I was doing, but I let him take the driver’s seat.

He jiggled the key, aggressively switched gears, then turned that key hard. I could see the veins pop in his bicep. It revved to life and he audibly sighed, his shoulders relaxing, sweat still covering his upper lip.

“Sometimes it takes a couple tries,” he said with a casual chuckle. And you know what Sandy took over my mouth and said in return? “Oh, got it! Thanks!”

That bitch.

The dream was happening, that’s all that mattered. The question was not if I was going to actually go through with buying this bus after that, it was: how fast I could get it home?

The massage therapist’s husband left us, practically running away after that engine started. The boy and I took a couple pictures – me smiling inside the bus with my arms out wide as if to say, “look at this beautiful, wonderful, intelligent purchase I just made!”

That’s when it started to rain. A lot.

Unchaperoned

Soon after we parted ways, the massage therapist’s husband surprisingly called me. The cashier’s check I’d given him would take too long to clear, he said. Would I mind meeting him at the bank to give him cash instead?

Right, let’s pause for a moment.

You read that correctly: I’d given him a cashier’s check. Not a real check. A cashier’s check, because – oh, did I not mention? – I was a child. 23 and jobless; I didn’t own a checkbook!

I was just out and about, completely unchaperoned, giving strangers half the money in my bank account for a car I had never seen in person, nonetheless driven myself. Half this spending money, I got from a box under my bed, and the rest, from random gigs here and there. I didn’t have a “big girl job.” Sometimes I went to places and did things for people and they gave me money for it – like when someone gives sugar to a 6-year-old.

I was out in the world, utterly on the loose, and no one questioned it. (Reminds me of when I jumped off a cliff in Greece, also very loose in the word… You can read about that unhinged moment HERE.)

So, I meandered over to the bank, walked straight up to the teller, and asked to withdraw $5,500 in cash.

I remember holding that wad of green paper, looking down at it wide-eyed – the most money I’d ever physically held. Then I turned around, looked the massage therapist’s husband in the eyes – a complete stranger – and gave it all away.

I’ve been perpetually broke ever since.

That’s also (surprise, surprise) when the bus began to reveal her damning character.

A Perilous State of Mind

Elsa was making her grandiose entrance, the rain pouring down on the world in quick slaps. The bus’s windshield wipers were like noodles dragging across the glass. They reminded me of those blowup tube men outside of car dealerships, body-rolling and flailing every which way.

This would have been amusing if it wasn’t for the fact that the hurricane was rolling in faster and faster, I couldn’t see a thing, and I was driving a giant, 22ft shuttle bus for the very first time.

I remember sitting with so much tension in my knuckles, neck and shoulders. If I let my shoulders drop for even a second, let my elbows unwind, let my grip ease, I thought my whole body might fall apart. Anxiety had turned my back into a brick wall.

We stopped at a tiny gas station to fill up the tank. The rain was pouring down, and I hopped out of my seat to swipe my card and push the button for diesel, then hopped right back inside. I looked down at my phone behind the steering wheel and texted some updates to friends saying there were some complications, but I would definitely make it back for the party.

Then I heard a light whack on the windshield and looked up to see Boy. He had corralled one of the gas station workers into helping him replace the windshield wipers. I hadn’t asked him to do this; he just did.

The two men shimmied the old wipers off their tiny hinges, but I watched only Boy. I watched his clenched jawline and the anguish held in his eyebrows. I watched the muscles in his arms tense as he yanked the old metal away. And, you know what my immediate thought was?

Oh my God, I love him. (SUCH a “but daddy, I love him moment.”)

…Tell me: How deliriously in peril does one have to be to look at a boy who is doing a bare minimum act of service (probably to save his own life more than to help me, if we’re being honest) and feel so grateful that you instantly pledge your love to him?

Honestly, how in distress I must have been to see him doing this small kindness and think, oh, my heart, so full! I shall bestow upon him all my love and the next two years of my life. So this is love? Ba da da dmmmm.

A Series of Unfortunate Events: Vanlife Edition

After that, the trip becomes a fever dream of mishaps and close calls. We were out there from Thursday morning to Saturday night, and this is what I remember…

AAA Coming

I remember being in a grocery store parking lot, waiting for AAA. They came after a few hours to jump the bus’s battery. We all joked about old vehicles, as the man hooked up our car battery to his. It didn’t work at first, but by some miracle, we got the bus to start.

Campsite Drunkards

We were spending the night in a paid campground we quickly found online. The campers next to us had a trailer and outdoor set up, like they had been there for a while. There was a man – a scruffy, wobbly, yelling drunk – who kept staring over at us like we were the sketchy ones. It was all about the buddy system and locking every door that night.

AAA Not Coming

Somehow we were stranded in an empty church parking lot. Neither of us attend church, but we were there and it was sunset. AAA said they were trying to find tow trucks in the area that could handle a vehicle of our size, and they hadn’t checked in for an hour or so. We flagged down a dominoes pizza car for a jump start, and somehow got on the road again.

The Haunting

It was past dinner time and we were starving. Our GPS was leading us to a pizza place nearby, and it was pitch black outside. All of a sudden, I saw big stones emerging from the darkness in front of me. This is no exaggeration when I say: my headlights started to flicker in the fog. The GPS said we had arrived. I stepped out of the bus and looked around. We were in a graveyard. In that moment, I was convinced I had bought a haunted bus.

The Hispanic AutoZone

The bus’s alternator was on the counter as I watched the stubble-chinned man squint at his computer. We were at AutoZone, and they had told me my alternator was dead, completely shot, and direly needed to be replaced. Or, at least that’s what I understood, as all the employees only spoke Spanish. I mean, isn’t it kind of sketchy that no one spoke English in an AutoZone in North Carolina?

After studying his screen harder, the man changed his mind – the alternator wasn’t being manufactured anymore and couldn’t be replaced. But wait! They did have something else in stock. Something they could fix right now, for a price, and that was now the thing that needed dire replacement.

I let them do what ever they wanted to – I was exhausted.

Walmart Parking Lot Confessions

Laying on an air mattress inside the bus, sweating like a pig, Walmart parking lot security looming just outside the window, I told Boy I Ioved him.

Like a fool.

The Majestic Crane

We were in the home-stretch, 20 minutes from Gainesville, and the sun was setting beautifully through the trees. I was reassuring myself that we were going to make it. We would get home and I would have just enough time to shower and head to the party. I would be late, but at least I would make an appearance.

I looked outside the driver’s side window and noticed something come out of the trees. A beautiful crane appeared, gliding over branches, and I almost teared up at how perfect it all was. I was almost home, and here was my sign that everything would be okay.

The crane flew closer, and I saw its individual feathers shimmering in the wind as it hovered beside the bus.

It flew closer, and closer, until the feeling in my stomach turned from hopeful bliss to pure dread.

“No no no no, what are you doing, no!”

The crane flew directly into the windshield in front of my face. Then… Feathers. Everywhere.

That was the only time I cried the whole trip… My new windshield wipers came in handy.

In An Uber

I had made it home, by some stroke of luck, and even made it to the birthday party. I got a call, North Carolina on the Caller ID.

“Hello?” I answered.

“Hi, this is AAA calling you back. I just wanted to let you know we still haven’t found a tow truck that can support your vehicle. Are you still in a safe location?” I was confused. The last I had heard from AAA was in the church parking lot 11 hours prior.

I yelled over the radio music, “GIRL, I’m already in an Uber on the way to the club! BYE.”

End of Call.

But LOOK

Look at what she turned into!! Isn’t she gorgeous?!

Advice for the Next Adventurepreneur

I wasn’t always someone who believed in “signs” but if this story isn’t living proof that I clearly ignored a shit ton of signs telling me this bus was going to be a problem child, I don’t know what is.

Looking back, I probably should have sold her and bought a different vehicle before I built it out. Exercising patienceeeee would have been the move! Unfortunately, I’m generally not a patient person.

And now, I have this bus that I am absolutely in love with because of how much work, and care, and amazingness went into building her out.

But, she breaks down constantly. She’s truly unsafe. And the amount of money I have blown on tow trucks and repairs is probably way more money than I would be dropping if I was paying off a new van payment right now.

I guess the advice is: be smart about the vehicle you buy. I clearly wasn’t. And yet, I did so much research and looking around before getting this bus, you can read about that HERE.

Getting a reliable vehicle, in my opinion, is the #1 thing to get right if you’re doing vanlife.

Love you, good luck, and stay sane.

Alia

Next time on Sent Packing: Alia’s Secret Travel Journal

Not sure what I actually want to put out next time, so drop your votes in the comments!

Would you rather read about:

1. The time I thought I was going to die driving on a mountain to a hot springs – this includes mechanical trouble, a love interest, and a goat.

OR

2. The realistic drastic ups and downs of Vanlife summed up in 4 days – this includes a composting toilet mishap, existential contemplation, and illegal showers.

Let me know below (;