On A Rig-Picking Expedition — Why You Should Care About Your Car-House’s Condition

Not long ago, a friend of mine (with itchy feet, champagne taste, and a red-ripple budget) found what he thought was a steal on a used class A.

Boy asked my opinion. I said it sounded like a sweet deal — but I told him to have ANY rig inspected before dropping them fat stacks on the table.

Did he listen? Of course not. (That’s why I have an educational anecdote to share with you today.)

My short-sighted-buddy was blinded by visions of hitting-the-full-timing-road-for-less-than-a-$1,500-initial-investment. So he jumped the gun, wrote a check, and brought his nomadic acquisition home — only to discover that it was gonna take $20,000 worth of work to make the damn thing driveable!

Please-for-the-love-of-god-when-you-go-pre-owned-RV-shopping, don’t let this be you.

I get that ye olde moolah-versus-mechanical-health dilemma is a big one for us modern-day-bedouin-minus-the-sand types. I myself agonized over the state of the rigs I could afford (falling apart) versus the cost of those that were in any kind of decent shape (exorbitant) — and it does occasionally seem (during those I-can’t-look-at-one-more-classified-ad-or-I-might-cry moments) that never the twain shall meet.

The key to motorhome-fifth-wheel-travel-trailer success is equipoise.

You don’t have be in this huge freaky-deak rush to snag the first budget-matching-opportunity that appears. (Plenty of recreational fish in the sea.) Focus too heavily on sticker price, risk shooting yourself in the foot with a big-ass-hollow-point-armor-piercing-44-caliber repair bill — shop with an eye for functionality-meets-lowest-long-term-expense, the rolling-domicile-market will give you a far better value.

Remember, your TRUE bottom line ain’t what’s written on a dealer invoice — it’s that final TOTAL, after all-the-fixing-and-honey-doing-and-upgrading expense to get everything in perfect-for-you-condition.

And please don’t let this warning scare you away from buying used (unless you especially relish the idea of instantly losing thirty-plus-percent of your investment to depreciation, the moment you drive that fucker off the lot). Just do your frigging homework — or find an afterschool-tutor-who’ll-help-you-out.

So let’s say you’ve got a hot-mobile-prospect. Insist on hook-ups, and start with your own probe — eyeballing interior/exterior spaces, giving each system a basic-once-over, listening to your gut. Peek in every storage area, flip all the switches, don’t miss opening a single window, try out each appliance and piece of furniture. Turn on the heat and a/c, flush the toilet, run the water, see how hot the shower gets.

Then if everything seems kosher, move on to an independent certified inspection.

The National Recreational Vehicle Inspectors Association can point you toward a willing-to-crawl-under-and-climb-on-top expert in your area. (If whomever-you-hire-to-complete-this-assessment does onsite visits, score — if not, you’ll have to tote-or-get-the-seller-to-tote said rig to the shop.)

And should an RV-vendor refuse to allow this stem-to-stern-by-a-trained-objective-third-party perusal? You throw the contract in his face, spit on his shoes, and run screaming out the door. Seriously!

I can hear you right now, thinking that your own examination should be plenty.

It’s not — I promise.

If you’re ever going to cheap-out on something portable-residence-related, this ain’t it. A comprehensive down-to-the-last-mold-spore-leaky-pipe-and-loose-rivet-understanding-of-your-core-taking-off-as-a-full-timer-purchasing-decision is NOT the place to be a tightwad. (I say this as a veteran skinflint, myself.) Suck it up, devote a day, shell out a couple-hundred-dollars — and save yourself a lot of future heartache.

But I’m living proof that “livable” does not have to equal “unfaffordable.”

When I found my selling-for-less-than-the-cost-of-a-tow-vehicle Stella, I tried not to get too many hopes up. I knew a 1989 model would need work. (At the very least, that mauve-and-gray-upholstery-so-popular-during-my-senior-year-of-high-school would have to go.) But I worried about significant rewiring-plumbing-axles-falling-off-the-chassis overhauls hiding beneath the surface.

So I was understandably-delighted to find my bargain-basement-baby in excellent working order

Just a few minor-largely-aesthetic fixes. (I replaced the crappy-and-yes-that-pun-is-entirely-intentional-camper-looking-commode with a for-realz porcelain toilet. Removed a horrifically-ugly-and-dysfunctional vinyl accordion room-divider at the bedroom threshold. Swapped the broken folding shower door for a curtain. Evicted that old-dribbly-like-standing-under-a-cold-leaky-faucet shower head and welcomed a “low-water-volume-high-pressure” sprayer into the family. Biggest expense was changing out those old-enough-to-drink-gray-grody-water-stained window treatments — discount-magnet that I am, I found some funky wholesale fabric online and bartered my services with a custom-curtain-maker.)

Much more than that, and I’d’ve walked away. Came close to hitting my do-it-yourself limit, as it was.

You’re guaranteed at least a few alterations to make — although “your RV needs work” doesn’t mean “you have to pay for it.” (Not if you’re good at hand-stuff. Or negotiations.) Just don’t overestimate your diy-skill/willingness/availability, or you’ll burn out before ever getting that dream-camper barbified!

Author Bio

Ramona Creel is a woman of mystery and power, whose power is exceeded only by her mystery. A 20-year veteran Professional Organizer, Accountability Guru, and Golden Circle Member of NAPO, Ramona runs a one-babe cottage industry composed of 27% eyeliner, 13% tattoo ink, 18% dark chocolate, and 44% raw determination. (Believe me, she needs that extra 2%!) As a former Social Worker, Ramona describes her role as ‘resource-finder-and-problem-solver-extraordinaire.’ She plans eventually to take over the world using nothing more than unicorn glitter, cat fur, and movie quotes -- and her proudest credentials are ‘decreaser of world suckage’ and ‘queen of friggin’ everything.’ Ramona has worked with hundreds of clients, and has delivered scores of presentations on getting organized, being a better business person, achieving financial freedom, tin-can traveling, and embracing voluntary simplicity. She leads by example (having radically downsized herself) — traveling the country as a full-time RVer, living and working in less than 200 square feet. Ramona spreads the gospel of simplicity with everyone she meets — teaching others how to have more time and space for the truly important things in life (and be happy letting go of the rest). A modern-day Renaissance woman, Ramona has found a way to bring her many passions together into one satisfying career — as an organizer, coach, writer, artist, and speaker. Feel free to check out her latest triumphs and stupidities (kudos if you can figure out which are which) at www.RamonaCreel.com.