Who designs
motorhomes, anyway? Though we like the simple interior of our Winnebago View,
we cringe at the exterior. The basic white surface, which has the advantage of
reflecting sunlight and reducing heat, has a couple of swirling decals on the
sides that might have been painted by a chimpanzee on steroids. And our little View
is rather tame by comparison with most of the new RVs on the road today, in
garish colors and cheesy designs. Readers of RV magazines are starting to write
annoyed letters to the editor about the swirls and swoops, but the
manufacturers are so far ignoring them.
Part of the
problem may be the “if you’ve got it, flaunt it” mentality of some customers.
The motorhomes that cost a million dollars or more ought to be beautiful,
tasteful homes on wheels; instead, some of them have lighted mirrors
everywhere, Christmassy lights in the bathroom sink (!), and far too many TV
sets. In a review of a new coach in a current magazine, Bob Livingston writes, “The HDMI Matrix central video
selection system is a nice touch and being satellite ready and having the
Blu-ray home theater components is great, but getting everything to work in
harmony is complicated. There are three TVs in this coach, counting the one in
the outside compartment, and connecting them to the system requires on-screen
programming and poring through multiple instruction manuals. . . we never did
figure out how to connect a satellite receiver without an HDMI input.” This is
insanity!
Of course, there
may be customers who will buy this garbage. I’m reminded of one RVer who pulled
into his campsite, hoisted his TV aerial, and stayed indoors for days. One
would hope that he at least looked out the window at the rocky cascades below.
And that reminds
me of other despicable RVers: The ones who allow their children and dogs to run
through our campsite. Those who run their noisy generators for hours. The
overcautious drivers who allow traffic to pile up behind them instead of
pulling off the road for a minute.
(Then there are their opposites, the speeders who feel they belong in
the fast lane, whatever they are driving.) The owners of 40-foot rigs, towing
boats and cars, who try to fit into 24-foot spaces. The drunks. The woman who
shouted at me at midnight, “If you want to sleep, go to a motel!” The teenage
boys who lurked around the entrance of the women’s showers. The people who
leave huge bags of recyclable materials in the Dumpsters rather than recycling
them. Those who decorate their campsites with lighted pink flamingos.
One of the most appealing
motorhomes I have seen, designed in the 1930s, is a Pierce Arrow on display at
the Nethercutt Museum in Sylmar, near Los Angeles. The interior was wood-paneled, and had
cleverly planned built-in compartments somewhat like those in an Arts and
Crafts home. Appliances were basic and simple. There was nothing ostentatious
about the coach, even though it was the high-end line of its day, but
everything was functional and attractive. I’d be willing to bet that the
wealthy owner would be appalled at some of the rigs—and their owners—of today.
