“You want RV 101!” proclaimed the cheerful receptionist at Lazydays RV, and she was right.
I’d spent the previous afternoon at the company’s sprawling 126-acre complex in Seffner, hanging out with models in and around a gigundo super-deluxe 44-foot Monaco Dynasty for the purposes of a photo shoot gently mocking the notion of “glamping.”
But today my husband, Larry, and I wanted to investigate the realities of actually owning an RV — not to glamp, or even so much to camp — but for some not-so-distant future when we could use it to escape Florida summers for a while, travel northwards and even live in the thing for a long-ish period of time.
I am the co-owner (with my brother) of a tiny slice of land on Cape Cod that’s too small to build on — or so we’re told by the town zoning-meisters. But maybe we could, um, just park there?
More to the point, could Larry and I actually be RV people?
Not that there is any one way to be an RV person. Just to name one demographic (namely, mine), there are plenty of clubs, resorts and campgrounds that cater to LGBT RV-ers. And judging by the motley crowd at Lazydays’ big sale last weekend, and by the characters who populate the numerous RV shows on HGTV and the Travel Channel (whose Big Time RV show is filmed at Lazydays), there are as many different kinds of owners as there are vehicles.
But here’s the thing. I have trouble backing up in my VW Jetta, let alone a 35-foot-long truck. And how much money would we have to spend, anyway? We don’t need deluxe, but comfortable would be nice. And what about mileage? And fuel? And how do hookups work for power, sewage, water? Would our future vacation destinations be limited to RV parks where we’d have to pay to stay?
So, yes, questions we had, and plenty of them. But fortunately, the Seffner Lazydays — which, by the way, is the largest single RV dealership in the world — has 120 salespersons on hand to answer such questions, based in a warren of offices that open onto corridors labeled by street signs. Ric Everett, who welcomed us to his office at the corner of Destination Highway and Towable Trail, proved to be the perfect “RV 101” guide: genial, well-informed and never once making us feel self-conscious about our (or at least my) severe lack of recreational vehicle knowhow.
First, the question that weighed most heavily on me (other than the money):
Could I be trusted to drive one?
I suspect Larry’s answer was and continues to be “No way!” But it turns out Lazydays is prepared to counter such trepidations: They offer new owners a Driver Confidence Course that includes an hour of classroom instruction on driving basics and two hours of practice on the dealership’s RV driving course. It’s free for Lazydays customers, and includes one refresher within the year of purchase. (If you bought your RV from another dealership, you can still take the course, but it costs $100 per person or $150 per couple.) Lazydays also offers daily seminars on everything from induction cooktops to protecting against hurricanes.
Wait a minute: Towable Trail?
As someone for whom the word “towing” connotes overzealous law enforcement and indecently large fines, I had to wonder why anyone would want to connect that word with the recreational travel biz. Like I said, I’m a newbie: You RV vets already know that a “towable” is shorthand for “travel trailer” or “fifth wheel” — something you hook up to your car, as opposed to an RV that’s self-contained. Ric laid out all the different RV options available, thumbnail pics of which are lined up at the top of Lazydays’ user-friendly homepage like one of those diagrams of the evolution of man, but in reverse. Beginning with the largest, most opulent model, the Class A Diesel (that’s the Monaco Dynasty’s genus), the lineage descends through Classes A Gas, B and C (shorter, less expensive, gas-powered) through the Toy Hauler (for hauling grown-up toys like golf carts and motorcycles) and the Pop-Up (kind of an expandable tent on wheels) and finally, the Truck Camper, Specialty Trailer and Other.
The price range is UUUUUGE!
Given the wide variety of styles, the prices vary widely, too. That Monaco Dynasty? $546,760. A pre-owned Pop-Up? As I write, there’s a “New Arrival” on the Lazydays site, a 2010 Jayco Jay 806, that’s priced at $4,298. According to Lazydays Vice President and General Manager Ron Fleming, the most common misconception among RV shoppers is that “they think you have to hit the lottery to own one.” In fact, he says, particularly when it comes to pre-owned models, “You could buy an RV that sleeps six people for a $120-a-month payment.” Another point worth noting about a pre-owned RV, Ric Everett told me, is that it’s likely to have far less mileage and wear ’n tear than a passenger vehicle that gets everyday use. Whatever you pay, you’ll have plenty of company: The dealership sells approximately 450-500 vehicles a month.
Gimme a C!
After discussing all the options with Ric, we landed on something that seemed reasonable, assuming we were in a position to buy (which we weren’t, but just for the sake of argument): a pre-owned 2007 Itasca Spirit listed at $45,960, a 31-foot gas-powered Class C with 19,032 miles on it. It’s nowhere near as tricked out as the Dynasty, or as some of the truly awe-inspiring numbers that were on display during Lazydays’ sale weekend, the interiors of which would make a penthouse at the Ritz (or Ovation) look shabby. But the Spirit (nice name) had some of the stuff we wanted — we just had to figure out what that stuff was called.
Like a “walkaround.” And “slides.”
A walkaround is a kind of bed. Unlike a “corner queen” (aka a “climbover”), it’s not shoved against the wall of the bedroom, requiring you to climb over your sleeping partner; in a walkaround, you can, yes, walk around the bed. (To see why this is important, I recommend the YouTube video “Turning a Corner Queen RV Bed After Xolo Digs It!”) And slides? Easiest way to explain is to describe how it first felt when I entered that Dynasty: cramped, narrow, “This is not what it looked like in the pictures!” Then the driver pushed a button and the living room wall cantilevered outward, expanding the interior space exponentially, and my reaction changed to “Ahhh…” The bedroom in our — or should I say “our” — Spirit is a slide room. A slide-out can expand an RV’s interior space by six to 12 feet, Ron Fleming told me, adding substantial square footage to a typical RV. (The standard width is 8 feet.)
But then there’s the mileage.
10 mpg. Ouch. That’s what Ric estimated we’d get with the Spirit. That Jetta I mentioned? It’s a diesel. I know, I apologize for ruining the environment, but it wasn’t my fault and VW had better make good. But it gets 40 mpg, people! Ron Fleming told me that some newer RVs get 16 mpg. 16! He mentioned that towables don’t require a tractor trailer for transport; a smallish SUV would do the trick. Which is good to know, but we don’t have a smallish SUV. Ouch obtains.
And where would we park it?
What I’d heard about but needed to be reminded of: You can park your RV at a Walmart for free. Not forever (two nights is the limit), but two nights could come in handy on a lengthy road trip. National parks are good options, too, though their parking lots, being of older vintage, more easily accommodate smaller RVs. Otherwise you’re looking at RV parks and resorts. They abound in Florida; there’s a whole magazine devoted to them called Camp Florida. We checked out the options up north; one in the area of the Cape Cod National Seashore, Atlantic Oaks, charges between $53 and $74 a night (including water, sewer and cable TV hookups), depending on time of the year and the level of electric power you require, and also offers a full-season rate (May 1-Nov. 1) of $3,300-$4,450. Which isn’t bad for rent on Cape Cod.
But would we really want to live in one?
Maybe not. The number of people who live in their RVs, says Lazydays’ Ron Fleming, is “in the 2 to 3 percent range.” The folks who are looking for a permanent, or even semi-permanent, living arrangement are more likely to look into mobile homes. “For everybody else,” says Fleming, “it’s by definition a recreational vehicle.”
So, Fleming asked me, were we going to buy?
Alas, no — though I have to say our eyes were opened to the possibilities. Someday…
But we had to agree there’s an unexpected side benefit to living in an RV.
“If you go to a campground and you don’t like your neighbor,” Fleming pointed out, “you move.”
This article appears in May 26 – Jun 2, 2016.