This is America: You can drive just
about any kind of gas-guzzling, hydrocarbon-spewing, rust exhibit
you want — unless you drive a recreational vehicle, otherwise
disdained as an “RV.” Among the pundits of political correctness,
driving an RV puts you one social notch above suspected terrorist.
Sure, RVs are big, ugly, get notoriously poor mileage and
are often driven by those with declining driving skills. But do
they deserve the scorn we give them? Do RVs pollute more, destroy
more wildlife, roads or riparian areas? Do they further deplete the
world’s ozone or the president’s public-approval
rating?
Many dubious vehicles ride the roads:
triple-trailer semi-trucks to blow us off interstates, 1967
Volkswagen buses go from zero to 60 in a month, and plenty of BOACs
(otherwise known as Big Ol’ American Cars) barely get 10
miles per gallon, never mind what they get when they’re
hauling a chemical toilet or refrigerator.
But let
somebody drive a lumbering behemoth sporting a slogan like “Born to
be wild” on its flanks, and both eco-warriors and muscle-car
drivers unite in a cry of shared misery.
Have a little
compassion. Look at who’s driving these paved-road porkers. They
are our parents and grandparents who lived through the Depression,
never watched their cholesterol, burned coal in their furnaces, ate
eggs fried in butter with a side of sausage every day, fought in
two World Wars, never used sun block and were told by an actor who
went on to be president that smoking was good for them.
These same people put up with my generation’s boycotting
cleanliness and short hair, streaking through public places,
burning flags, draft cards and marijuana, eating seaweed, tofu and
bean sprouts, voting Democrat “for a change,” dodging the draft,
staying in college way too long and generally growing up to be
bratty, ungrateful adult children. But now, we’ve spawned the
syndrome that could be called “Winnebagophobia,” a fear of monster
homes on wheels containing chemical toilets, propane stoves and
floppy kitchen tables that convert into beds.
People who
think RVs are the root of all evil are the same people who think
that the world’s problems can be solved by putting Linux on
all computers and growing more agricultural hemp. These people
don’t drive RVs, but most of them drive AVs — Adventure
Vehicles — also known as all-terrain vehicles.
Which is
better for the environment, an AV or and an RV?
AV: Gets
12-18 mpg or less with all those toys on the roof rack. RV: Gets
5-10 mpg or a little better if you get in the slipstream of a
tractor-trailer truck.
AV: Can cost $50,000 plus the cost
of all those toys on the roof rack.
RV: Can cost $150,000
or whatever is left of the inheritance.
AV: Carries four
people plus gear or two passengers plus two dogs.
RV:
Sleeps eight.
AV: Hits a new trail or river every
weekend.
RV: Stays in campgrounds or children’s
driveways for weeks at a time.
AV: Passengers poop in the
woods, by the stream and in the desert.
RV: Occupants
repair to a chemical toilet.
AV: Passengers build
campfires or cook with exotic, $200 five-ounce stoves.
RV: Occupants push buttons on the microwave oven.
AV:
Passengers hike on trails, pooping along the way.
RV:
Occupants pop in a video and make microwave popcorn.
AV:
Recreationists wear grooves in Utah’s Slick Rock
Trail.
RV: Travelers go shopping in Moab.
AV:
Recreationists hammer bolts into mountainsides.
RV:
Travelers go shopping in Boulder.
AV: Climbers say, “Go
for it” a lot.
RV: Travelers ask, “Where is the KOA?”
AV: Owners keep REI and Patagonia in business.
RV: Owners keep Exxon in business.
AV: Owners drive their
parents crazy.
RV: Owners drive like crazy to get away
from the kids.
AV: Hikers heat up overpriced freeze-dried
camp food.
RV: Occupants microwave pizzas.
AV:
Owners wear Birkenstocks.
RV: Owners wear Birkenstocks.
Let’s learn to love RVs. They help free up the
backcountry and force everyone to drive at a snail’s pace and
enjoy the scenery.
Dennis Hinkamp is a
contributor to Writers on the Range, a service of High Country News
(hcn.org). He lives in Logan, Utah, where he is the proud owner of
a 1965 Airstream Globetrotter with a chemical
toilet.
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