In researching camping vehicles, I came across a company that struck my fancy for many reasons. 1) They are a New Zealand outfit and who doesn’t love the Kiwis? 2) The vans come equipped with ample storage, a large bed, and a galley with a pump sink and a small fridge. 3) Each van is custom spray painted graffiti-style. 4) They described the bedding as a duvet and pillows. 5) They were cheap.

So it was with equal parts eager anticipation and dread that I landed in LAX and went to retrieve my chariot for the next three months. The dread was because when I called to reserve a van, I got the last one available (yes, I procrastinate…a lot). I knew with near certainty that “the last one on the lot” would be ugly, a laughing stock, a failed experiment, or worse. As it turns out, perhaps it is to some, but to me, it is oddly perfect. You see, my van has purple and blue mushrooms painted on a green background. And there’s a squirrel and a Smurf, too. They call it The Shroom. As the rental guy told me about his high school experiences with shrooms, I got lost in my own reverie of my father and I tromping through the woods with our dogs in search of edible mushrooms. According to the many books we had on mycology, edible fungi ranged from, well, “edible” to “good” to “excellent” to “choice.” I found my van to be in the “choice” category, and it honored my wonderful, adventurous father.

But before he handed over the keys, he announced they “just” had to clean it out and give it an oil change, which would take a couple of hours. No worries, mate, I said gamely and looked around the dismal parking lot for somewhere to sit. This delay, however, proved to be extremely eye-opening as it gave me the chance to observe and query fellow renters/adventurers. It started with a bang, when a drop-dead gorgeous young Aussie came over and asked if I was the other Rowan. Turns out, we share a last name, as well as a penchant for wandering around the American West in hippy vans. Next up was a couple from Belgium who was just returning from their trip. The young male approached me and asked if I’d like to buy their brand-new bear spray for half price. One item checked off the list before I even left the parking lot! Then another young couple from England regaled me with their travel stories and just how “brilliant” the van was. And they were all duly impressed by the fact that I was going to be traveling around for three months in the thing.

As I watched renters come and go, I realized that my campervan tribe is strikingly young, foreign, and incredibly good looking, which, alarmingly, made me the token older American in the bunch. After five minutes of questioning just what in the hell I thought I was doing, the rental guy came over and said my van was ready.

After getting the grand tour and operating instructions, 75% of which went straight over my head (laughably, I even asked where the spare tire was, as if I’ve ever single-handedly remedied a flat), The Shroom and I made for the open road. One hour later, we had gone approximately 17 miles—LA traffic is no myth. An hour after that, I reached my friend’s house in Thousand Oaks, who later told me that when I pulled in, her seven-year-old daughter announced that the “workers are here.” But The Shroom was redeemed the next day when, stopped at a traffic light, a younger guy with dreadlocks knocked on my passenger window and said, “Awesome van.” Awesome, indeed.