Wow! Dave and I went to the Portland RV Show on Saturday! We were the youngest people there!
I’d never heard of Louis Lake before. In fact, I still haven’t heard of it. But it got my checkbook fired up and ready for some hot recreational vehicle browsing.
Some of these rigs were so unbelievably huge, I couldn’t fit them into the shot as I was taking the picture. And it just seemed too tacky to take a grand, sweeping panorama of a camper.
We don’t really know anything about motor homes or trailers or toy haulers or fifth wheels or any of that stuff. We do know we don’t like sleeping in a tent in the rain. Also, if we can avoid it, we’re not in love with using pit toilets. I guess that makes us soft, outdoorsy wimplings. But I’d rather be a wimp than a pit toilet lover, which is what you would be if you made fun of us for being wimps. Pit toilet lover!
We aren’t really in the market for one of these things. We just wanted to get a look at them. We may want to get one later in life, like when we are in our sixties or seventies. Which at the rate we are going, with the accordion music and matching jackets, is in one or two years.
If we were to get some kind of camper, we’d want the smallest possible. But even those are huge. And the graphics on all of these things are kind of embarrassing. There’s no such thing as “understated” in recreational vehicle styling. You want to know why? It’s because we’re goddamned recreating over here! Fuckers!
Holy crapping out loud, you can’t camp without a TV on the outside of your 50 foot RV! No sir! We’re taking this thing to Mount Rushmore, not communist Russia.
All the shag carpeting, molded particle wood, and la-z-boy comforts of home.
Dave and I began to suspect we were not the target demographic for motor home designers. Though I hear that burnt umber is going to make quite the splash in 2011.
We were not feeling good about what we were seeing. We reasoned that we could probably live with awful styling. We’re camping and avoiding pit toilets, not hosting dignitaries. But many of the fixtures were so flimsy and cheap, it was like they were designed to break or fall apart. For such “small” vehicles, we saw countless instances of wasted space and thoughtless design. They squeezed in as many modern conveniences and cheap extravagances as they could fit into a giant, tasteless package. Consumerism and one-up-manship on wheels.
I realize these vehicles are meant mostly for retirees who have the time and money to travel around with the least amount of hassle. More power to them. We’re basically trying to Bogart their lifestyle 30 years early. I realize I’m a snooty urbanite who shouldn’t be making fun of their doilies. But come on. It’s hard not to make fun of doilies.
These little mpgs were sort of cute.
These are light weight, they felt roomy, and had wood floors and decent styling. I probably couldn’t haul one of these with my dainty little Saab. But we have been thinking about tear drop trailers, particularly the T@Bs. We didn’t see any T@Bs at this show and were disappointed.
After poking around in all the enormous shiny rigs, it was beginning to feel like a lost cause. We hadn’t seen anything that called out to us. Nothing that beckoned to us with promises of wild adventure, wind in trees, or soothing drops of rain on a sealed, watertight roof.
Gah! Look at this little thing! OMFG! It’s called “Bambi!” Look at it!
From this point on, we were owned.
It was light and bright inside. The fixtures were so much higher quality. The styling was leagues above everything else. Clean lines, quality materials, wrap around windows. The Airstream campers were so, so much better than anything else. And they were so, so much more expensive.
The bigger ones were dreamboats.
I mean, I could live in this. Like, full time. I could hit the road and not look back. Just imagine!
This complicates things.
Damn you, Airstream. Damn you for showing us the other side. Damn you for appealing to our snooty urban sensibilities. We thought we were being all cool and post materialistic. But no, Airstream, you pressed all our raving, lunatic consumerist buttons.
Now we’re going to have to work until our seventies to afford one of these goddamned things.