By Britta Lokting Mar 6, 2019, 8:00am EST

Share I entered the Dougan Creek Campground in southern Washington by hairpin switchbacks and dirt roads so narrow my sideview mirrors brushed foliage. As I wound through the grounds without cell service, I was on the lookout for a white school bus called the Bus Code, named

for the samurai code of honor called bushido. Campers lounged under R.V. awnings and played cards at picnic tables. The Bus Code sat parked across from an outhouse swarming with flies. I pulled up, mistaking the tinted windows to mean the family wasn’t home until Danny Mulvihill poked his head through one of the top panes. “Come on in,” he said.The Bus Code was long and dim, with two very bright bulbs on the ceiling that looked like interrogation lights. Behind the driver’s seat, an unlit wood stove spanned the width of a large lounge chair. A stuffed bear slumped on the kitchen counter and a hodgepodge of produce—a bunch

of bananas, one pepper, a loose orange, and a bag of lettuce—hung from a metal rack. Farther back, a broken washer and dryer were being used for storage beside a bunk bed, a compostable toilet, and a wooden frame that would one day be a shower, but which for now was where

the dog slept. The Bus Code had little decor. There was a wall tapestry in the bathroom with a poem by the Dalai Lama, souvenir fridge magnets shaped like palm trees and Hawaiian shirts, and a skateboard over the windshield that said “Skate Free.”Less than a year after they

bought a house in Spokane to settle down with their two young daughters, Danny and his wife, Alex, got bored. Danny hated his job. Alex couldn’t bear the months of rain. The couple, who married five months after meeting at a hostel in Mexico, preferred to travel, live

spontaneously, and reside in warm places. They’ve lived in Reno, Austin, Ecuador, Peru, West Palm Beach, and Santiago. One day, they came upon bus on YouTube featuring families talking about air hoses and wanderlust and couches that turn down into

beds. Convinced that becoming skoolies—people who live mobile lives in converted school buses—would afford them freedom and adventure, they sprung for a white 36-foot 1995 Thomas Built Saf-T-Liner for $4,500. They spent about $20,000 and seven cold Northwestern months

converting the Bus Code. They pulled their older daughter, Amaia, from kindergarten and, last June, rented out their house. In the first three months they lived in the Bus Code, they hopscotched from campsite to campsite across Washington using a $35 yearly Discover Pass,

which allowed them to stay in state parks at no additional cost. In 55 days, they spent zero money on lodging. (They did have to sleep in a Home Depot parking lot one night when all the nearby campsites were full.) [img]https://cdn.vox-cdn.com/thumbor

/0c8sffBgwfV9Bim8i8iQmZekP8Q=/0x0:3000x1737/1200x0/filters:focal(0x0:3000x1737):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/14965198/SKOOLIE_WINQUIST_01667.jpg Interior of the Schannep family bus. I took a seat on the couch. As a non-skoolie, I wanted to

understand why a family would willingly forsake modern-day conveniences and what the lifestyle offered that couldn’t be attained in a stationary life. It isn’t easy tracking down skoolies, who are nomadic and impulsive by nature, unsure how long they’ll stay in one place. They

park on remote land managed by the Bureau of Land Management or in cell service-less forests. Alex and Danny were conveniently camped within driving distance of me, so I seized the opportunity to meet them. For the next four hours, we hung out and ate mushroom tacos. Danny works 10 hours a week as a software engineer, for $100 an hour, but wants to work less. To obtain that goal, the family is on a strict expense

budget of $2,000 a month.Before the sun set, we walked to the river and built rock castles. Amaia held my hand and showed me her new black boots from Goodwill. “I like that they don’t look like they’re from Goodwill,” she said. Amaia is unschooled, which means she doesn’t follow a curriculum but learns

by asking questions. By Danny’s account, she will complete as much homework in a year as most kids do in a month. “I don’t give a shit what she learns as long as she develops the ability to learn,” he said, which he evaluates based off her reading and math levels in comparison

to other kids they meet on the road. In a few years, he and Alex might look at the common core requirements, but for now, her schooling is informal and unstructured.By 8 p.m., the girls tucked into their bunks. Danny and Alex retired to their twin bed between the Bus Code’s

engine and Danny’s “money making station” (desk with computer). I checked my phone. Still no service. It was a Saturday night and I was feeling restless. I wanted to go for a drink, but living like a skoolie an hour from the city, that idea wasn’t feasible. Without a book or a

magazine, I lay in the pitch black under the Bus Code’s emergency exit latch thinking about how Danny locked the front door by sliding a thin block of wood through the handles. He assured me he once jiggled the block as a security test. Plus, the safe in back held his handgun. And they had the dog. “I was a little worried because it was really loose,” he said.