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We drove 300 miles and bought a campervan on sight for a few thousand dollars: a 1986 GMC Vandura with a fiberglass top and a true ‘80s interior—linoleum floor, plaid upholstery, cloth ceiling—every possible shade of brown. The glue on the roof had given up and the ceiling sagged in places. Mold had found a home in every pocket; it all had to go.
We worked on our laptops in the early morning and spent the red days of summer building the van anew. In the shade of ponderosas, I listened to baseball over the radio and cut shapes out of plywood. My girlfriend (the architect) drew plans, solved problems, and built everything out in its new place. My mother brought us water and told us the van was looking good long before it actually did.
