Continental Drift: A Summer in a Van
In the winter of 2020/2021, when the world was still holding its breath, I bought a used Ford Transit Connect. A small, unassuming van with big dreams attached to it. Covid had made the idea of air travel unappealing—some countries were forcing arrivals into two-week hotel quarantines before you could even walk down the street. I wasn’t ready for that kind of confinement. If I was going to be isolated, I’d rather be somewhere with a view.
The van was my answer. I’d never built a camper before, but I knew the basics: a place to sleep, cook, rest… and deal with the less glamorous necessities of life. If I wanted to linger far from the grid, I’d need a second battery and a solar panel. It sounded simple enough—until the project began to grow, sprawling into one of the biggest undertakings of my life. I’d need help, and plenty of it.
John B welded the roof rack. New England Audio in Scarborough, ME wired the extra battery straight to the alternator. Lauri Sparkle Pants stitched fabric into something beautiful and useful. Rick D of Vandemic Camper Vans provided inspiration when I needed it most. This little home on wheels was as much their handiwork as it was mine.
My main goal was clear from the start: reach the North Rim of the Grand Canyon and stay awhile. You can’t just point Google Maps at that spot and expect it to work—you need a special backroads map, the kind with warnings in small print. The dirt road in takes over an hour, and during monsoon season, it can turn tricky fast. I’d heard mixed reviews about whether a 2WD vehicle could make it, but I decided to find out for myself. There were moments I questioned that choice—but the van and I both made it out alive.
Over that summer, I clocked 10,000 miles. Maine’s rocky coast gave way to the winding beauty of North Carolina’s Blue Ridge Mountains. I drifted into the hazy green folds of the Great Smoky Mountains in Tennessee, then followed the music to the Grand Ole Opry in Nashville. From there, the road carried me to the hot springs of Arkansas, the high pines of Carson Forest in New Mexico, and the otherworldly landscapes of the Four Corners. Too many small, magic moments to list here.
By the time autumn crept in, I’d collected more than miles. I had quiet mornings brewing coffee with the back doors open to the sunrise. Stolen continential breakfasts from the hotels I was sleeping in their parking lot. Evenings spent under desert skies with stars so thick they felt like another form of weather. And the steady hum of the van on long stretches of empty highway, carrying me toward whatever came next.
It was an amazing summer—not just because of the places I saw, but because of the way the road made time feel wider.
