Selecting the right vintage camper for us was a journey in itself.
This is the first installment of a series that will document the decision making and lessons learned as we pick out, restore, and ultimately take to the road with our family’s vintage travel trailer.
Our new-to-us travel trailer, ready for pick up from the seller.
This last year, we fell in love with our my mom’s 1963 Airstream Bambi. Using it extensively for several months solidified our preference for a travel trailer over the various other options. I had previously considered a truck camper, but I use my truck too much for my day job to deal with the on/off routine. At one point, a converted panel van seemed attractive (#vanlife will do that to you) and we saw plenty of enviable examples, but they can be small, cost prohibitive, and I don’t want to have another vehicle to take care of. We have a reliable truck, and room to store a camper… so a travel trailer made a lot of sense for us. And given our recent history with Bambi– and the fact I’m a carpenter– a vintage travel trailer would be the top choice.
The Bambi: cute as a button, but a little small.
In pulling the Bambi around on frequent camping trips with the boys, I came to understand a few criteria for what we’d want:
— not too big. Coming from a hiking & bikepacking background, we don’t need a huge interior space… and we like to dry camp. A lot of camp spots in Joshua Tree National Park, for example, can’t handle a camper much larger than 24′ judging by my own eyeball work. We don’t spend much time in RV parks, and our working philosophy for camping leans more toward living outside for meals, gathering time, etc.
— not too small. At 16′ the Airstream Bambi is a great size for a couple, over a weekend… but once you increase days, or number of people, and it begins to feel “small” fast. At least for us, anyway. We wanted two “real” sized beds, and a comfortable “living space” where we could all be together for meals or inclement weather.
— dual axles, and heavier duty tires. More rubber on the ground means a wider distribution of load, which I take to mean *potentially* lower risk of a failure that’d stop us in our tracks. Since we’d been pulling Bambi on forest roads, sometimes in remote locations, this became an important factor. Which leads to…
— a little more ground clearance. Because we like to go over hill, and over dale…
So… an Airstream, right?
I’ve long been attracted to Airstreams– their quality construction and elegant style are both timeless… I started looking at 22′ and 24′ Airstreams, and quickly discovered they’re pretty much the most sought-after lengths, apart from the less common, shorter sizes like the Bambi’s. One thing led to another, and I started learning about Argosy’s, the shiny Airstream’s cousin. What’s an Argosy? Most briefly, they were a line of coaches produced by Airstream in the ’70s, aimed to bring a medium price point to the competitive market at the time. Considered the “painted Airstream,” they’re painted rather than polished. This is necessary because their “domes” are made of galvanized steel rather than strips of aluminum. The rest of their shell is made of aluminum throughout (again, painted, not polished) and these models were early to incorporate some of the experimental “new” features that came to shiny Airstreams later– such as the panoramic front window (which is fantastic) and the wider body floorplan. The more I learned about the Argosy line, the more I came to enjoy them.
Making the decision to pull the trigger on an Argosy
In deciding on an Argosy, I considered factors such as “how long do we want to keep it?” and dollars in, to dollars out… time invested, work that’ll need to be performed, etc. In non-restored condition, Argosy’s fetch a little less in initial cost than a comparable shiny Airstream, and can come up in value quite a bit after work has been done. Not as high as a fully decked out shiny Airstream, but then again I’m also not doing this as a “flip” project.
In addition to the work you’d expect of any Airstream remodel, I also had to came to terms with the fact that an Argosy– being 40+ years old– would most likely require a new paint job. I decided to look at this as an opportunity to paint our future camper whatever color(s) we want to dream up, and factor that into the project cost.
Argosy checked a lot of boxes.
Nuts & Bolts
There were a number of considerations for go/ no go in looking at any vintage camper: Does the roof leak? How’s the plumbing? (freeze damage is sometimes easy to fix, other times not so easy…) Is the subfloor in good shape? How’s the cabinetry, countertops, and interior framing holding up? Do the appliances work? All of them? On electric, and propane? How are the tires? (most travel trailer tires expire by age, rather than wear, it seems) Do the electric brakes work?
I resigned to assume that any vintage trailer will most likely require its wheel bearings to be repacked, and new tires to be put on to hit the road with peace of mind. More dollars to add to the plan.
Saying yes, making a plan
Right after we took possession of our new camper, I did a thorough “walk through” of all the work that’ll need to be performed. I did this in a walk around fashion, starting at the front with the propane bottles and walking clockwise, then going inside front to back, examining everything and taking notes on paper. Are the propane valves expired? How are the hoses? Does the exterior light work? How about the awning? And so on. Once I had a list of all the wants & needs, I organized them by type, and made a priority sheet. This started more or less as a “dream” sheet (the one that has the onboard solar power, LED uplightling, etc) and worked into a “right now” sheet, or a “needs to happen before we can camping this summer” sheet.
The next step, which we are on now, is determining how much money can be spent over how much time, and then… setting a goal for our first time to take it out camping!
Ordinary Not Average 