The Van from Van

Four movies is all the flight from Gatwick to Vancouver took. Four movies and a large portion of time with my head in Emma’s lap feeling extraordinarily light headed and sick. Perhaps being a budget airline meant that Air Transat scrimped on the cabin pressurisation system, perhaps I’m just a pussy but either way it was a crap way to start the trip. Starting the trip – when does a trip actually start? This is something Emma and I debated in the run up to our departure. Perhaps it started the moment we quit work, the moment we closed the flat door for the last time on leaving Highgate or the moment we left our belongings in Swansea and headed for Gatwick.  I had spent the morning before our departure from Swansea bombing it around the Gower on my motorbike. Knowing I wasn’t going to get to ride it for 5 months made the experience exhilarating. That and the roads in the Welsh countryside are far superior for riding a café racer around at breakneck speeds than the roads of London. Maybe the joy I experienced now was because it was the start of the journey?  I wasn’t sure about any of these moments truly signifying the start of the trip, namely because we had one big job to do before we could actually set off on our adventure – finding a van*. 

Flying high over the Rocky Mountains.

Entering the totem pole infested arrivals hall of Vancouver International Airport I felt nauseous from anxiety about finding a van. Perhaps it was more the aforementioned lack of oxygen or the trepidation of arriving in the country without a return flight, I’m not sure but I was certain the trip hadn’t started yet.

Anita, Emma’s family friend, came and met us at the airport. She kindly ferried us to her home in North Vancouver where we would base ourselves for a couple of days whilst we found our feet. The next morning we set out to the local insurance brokers to confirm that our particulars were in order before we spent loads of money on a vehicle. Everything seeming in order we set out for Dan’s Mechanical, apparently the only RV dealership in the city of Vancouver. Prior to us leaving I took a quick look on Craigslist for any motorhomes for sale in the Vancouver area. I noticed an advert for a ridiculous looking off-white ’78 Dodge campervan with red and yellow styling and the words SECURITY emblazoned across the back, front and sides of the vehicle. I popped an email across to the owner thinking we could come back to that if we didn’t see anything we liked at Dan’s.

Dan. Dan of Dan’s Mechanical. Dan whose vehicles I pondered over for months in the run up to starting our trip. Dan the miserably obese proprietor of the shadiest establishment since Trotter’s Independent Traders. It was raining that day so Dan was loathe to leave his office and show us around the vehicles. I say office, I mean room full of shit with computer in the corner. Initially I couldn’t tell whether he was joking about not wanting to show us around but I quickly came to realise that Dan didn’t do humour, Dan did broken vehicles that even the trashiest of trailer trash wouldn’t accommodate. 

Not wishing to give our hard earned money to someone who didn’t actually want it we left Dan’s and went to stand outside a Starbucks so as to use their free wifi. Things didn’t look great at that point. We had hoped for the security of purchasing a van from a dealership but there were no other dealers within 100 miles that we knew of. A ding from my phone told me I had an email back from the owner of the security van. She was free this evening if we fancied a look. With no other options we trekked over to Kitsilano on the south side of Vancouver. Both Emma and I fell in love with the security van at first sight. After an extensive tour of the vehicle by Anika we whopped out a wad of notes and wrapped up the deal there and then. After a tedious hour in the insurance brokers down the road we had our very own security van. The Security name apparently stems from the company which used to do the camper conversions back in the 70’s and nothing to do with any kind of private army, which is a shame. 

Our new baby called Security.

That 70s toffee coloured interior.

Home for the next few months.

Emma drove us back to Anita’s after we had driven the wrong way down the road and the battery had died on us. Great start. Anika came to the rescue and jumped us to get us on our way but not before offering to pay for a new battery. The first thing we would do the next day would be to get the van a full inspection and stock up on necessities for the trip.

The friendly folks at Canadian Tire did their best to take $850 of my money but we managed to peg that down to $200 after I cut through the bull shit. The van was fine they said so after an oil change and the purchase of a jump starter and a steering wheel lock (could double as a sort of baton for fighting bears I thought) we were set.

*Van noun – home on four wheels, preferably with an engine and somewhere to piss.