The moment the idea of purchasing a van was on the table, it became a full-time obsession. Losing the ambulance was a kick to the shin, but recognizing that the dream didn't die there was so exciting and so much fun. I suddenly saw vans everywhere. I went from never noticing them (unless they were a Volkswagen 😍) to feeling like there were more vans on the road than anything else.


We owned a minivan. I hated it. I despised it with the heat of a million suns. It was ugly and it was stupid and all those years ago, when I told my husband I wanted to live in a van someday, I should have added the caveat: but I will never own a minivan. Serves me right for not speaking my truth. I've grown so much since then. And a few weeks ago, when we dropped it off at the wreckers and picked up our $250.00, I was happier than a clam at a lobster bake. (I don't even know what that metaphor means, but sometimes I just let my fingers do the talking here...😜) So, when I say van, please don't picture a soccer mom!

We were driving somewhere very soon after the ambulance loss, and I was seeing vans everywhere. I should have gotten whiplash from all the times I swung around in my seat to check out the camper sitting out in a farmers field or tucked behind a shop.

"Are you seeing vans everywhere now?" my husband asked me when we locked eyes after both staring after a conversion van with a For Sale sign in the windshield.

"Yes! Everywhere!"

It's such a strange phenomenon. We've had a rental Jeep twice — and if you've never driven a Jeep before, drop everything and run to the nearest dealership for a test drive — they are ridiculously fun. I'd never really noticed Jeeps before then, but suddenly, they were everywhere. And I was part of a community. Did you know Jeep owners all wave to each other? Like bikers, but with less leather. It's kind of awesome.

And when we bought our little red Chevy Sonic? I suddenly saw them everywhere.

So weird.

So that's why the world was suddenly overrun with vans. Like that scene in World War Z where there isn't a wall, there are only zombies. Except it's a road not a wall, and it's vans not zombies. Yeah. You get it.

"Stop the car!!!"

It happened every time we drove anywhere. It was our love song.

We have had shared goals since the beginning of our relationship. It began with our incessant search for John Travolta movies. (Keep your opinions to yourself. JT owns a piece of my heart and I stand by my man!)

We scoured thrift stores and markets and closing Blockbusters until I owned every single movie. Except Moment by Moment. John Travolta. Lily Tomlin. "A lonely socialite and a young drifter enter into a May-December romance." I mean, come on!  Couldn't find that one anywhere! Do you know where I can get it????

Finding Beatle records was next. Obsessed.

Then it was Toy Story figures. (You should see the collection we built for our kids!)

We've always had something that we're tracking down together. Shared goals, no matter how silly or frivolous, keep relationships fresh and exciting. It's a nerdy kind of excitement, but that's our sweet spot! Working together for something is rewarding and fun.

"STOP THE CAR!!!"

We were stopping to look at RV's, buses, short buses, cargo vans, conversion vans, vans in parking lots that we'd sneak up on and peek through the windows of whether they were for sale or not. Yeah. We were all in.

The kids moaned and groaned and looked around to make sure their friends weren't seeing their crazy parents climbing through ditches to get to the extended Dodge in the field by the auto wreckers.

When a 1981 Roadtrek came up in our online searches, our curiosity was piqued. We'd just gone to see a vintage RV because long conversations had us coming to realize we couldn't manage a family of five in something as small as a standard conversion van. But an RV? It's just not what I saw myself in.

The one we visited was cool. It was already outfitted with four bunks and a double bed. Perfect. It had lots of room and lots of seat belt. Great.

But it wasn't a van. I was not in love.

But the Roadtrek. I had a good feeling about that one.

When Scott got his first apartment, he shared it with a dude who lied a lot — but there was one thing he told the truth about: his family had an old ambulance and they were going to let him drive it to pick up crappy furniture from the Value Village in Cambridge. Fun!


Ambulances are not romantic. They are metal boxes. But when you're seventeen years old and a boy who's grown up enough to have a scratchy beard wants to kiss you in said metal box, you go along for the ride! 🥰

There was a metal table (stretcher?) but that's all that was left of the original interior fittings; so, while the liar and his girl rode up front, the kissing bandit and I snogged in the back. On a metal table. Of course, the joke was on us, because on the way home, we switched: we drove while the other couple hid in the back. With the 'new' couch. I'm sure their ambulance experience was much softer than ours. They got soft rock. We got heavy metal. 

When we began talking about a trip to Eastern Canada with extended family, purchasing a travel vehicle didn't occur to us. We were on board with the idea and discussed needing to get a roof storage system in order to take our little Sonic all the way to PEI.

It wasn't until Scott discussed the trip plans with his co-workers and someone said, "Hey, you should buy Norma's ambulance," that our vanlife journey really began.

The ambulance had been converted into a little camper with a double bed in the back and huge storage beneath. A young couple had set it up to be their sleeping quarters while tree planting in northern Ontario. It had only a driver's seat and a passenger seat, but upon seeing it, we were confident we could set it up to accommodate our family.

And they only wanted $1500 for it — a steal! We planned to use our tax return money to cover the cost of purchasing, certifying, and licensing - and then the leftover to do whatever modifications it needed for our family.

The couple who owned it hitchhiked the eight hours from Ottawa to clean it out and meet with us. Because the diesel engine had sat unused all winter we had to borrow a charger from a neighbouring farm and wait a while until it would start, but once it did... oh, that sweet growling purr.



My uncle owns a shop not far from where the ambulance had been parked, so we made arrangements with him to drop it off for a pre-safety, feeling wonderfully confident that it would need very little before we could take it into our possession.

We took the trip down Blue Mountain in the pouring rain, Scott driving the beast with Liam in the passenger seat, and me following along behind, visions of summertime and renovations dancing in my head.

"Don't get your hopes too high," Zander told me — forever the logical one, as if his seventeen years have given him wisdom he hasn't really earned. An old soul, that one.

"I know, I know," I told him. "But look at it. It's so fun!"



"I just want to take it home right now!" Scott said after he'd parked it at the shop.

I felt the same way.

We made the drive home, and then a week of obsession began. I spent hours doing drawings, trying to design the best way to seat and sleep five. I lost sleep over it because ideas were swirling through my brain.

So that was it. My heart was set.

They say you shouldn't fall in love with the first person you see, and while that's great advice, I'm a hopeless romantic. Heavy metal, remember?! 😆 


WHAT HAPPENED NEXT?...