[img]https://cdn.vox-cdn.com/thumbor/dna3inISVgfgEg6o2a96GmTsibs=/0x0:3000x1982/1200x0/filters:focal(0x0:3000x1982):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/14965549/SKOOLIE_WINQUIST_01041.jpg The Smith family bus is outfitted for the needs of

three children and two adults. There’s long been a belief that school bus homes, and nomadism more broadly, don’t fit society’s ideals of what constitutes a successful, healthy life. Graham Pruss, a doctoral candidate at the University of Washington studying vehicle residency, calls

this the ‘nomadic bias.’ “All the things we see are good—like having a job, house, family, education—they are all based on being settled,” he says. “That reinforces this idea that in order to be a good person you need to be settled down.”Some skoolies struggle with the nomadic bias.

“It feels like people look down on you,” says Amanda Bockelie, who lives on the Broccoli Bus with her husband and four kids. Several skoolie families told me they’ve been turned away from R.V. parks. “It doesn’t matter how nice your conversion is,” says Justin McCormick, a skoolie

dad of five. “They want to keep a certain standard.” This winter, I sat in a bus as two young skoolie couples (not parents) griped about how a van woman at a meet-up sent them a threatening note following a strobe light mishap. One man seemed to think that homeless people who

live in buses lowered the reputation of skoolies among van lifers. “Well, some people aren’t living in a bus that’s a home, but in a bus,” he says. “So, they’re just homeless in a bus.”I came upon one such family on a Friday last August as I drove south through Oregon to see a friend. The flat, dusty stretch of Interstate 5 was clogged with logging trucks, Winnebago motor homes, and cars cruising the 65 mph speed limit. With all the travelers, I wondered

whether I might see a #skoolieinthewild. Spotting one is a hobby, like bird watching, played by bus enthusiasts. Many post their sightings to the Skoolie Nation Facebook group, hoping the owner is one of the 16,733 members (“Chicagoland area. You on here? Slick rig!”).I pulled off at a rest area and as I searched for a parking spot, I saw it. A #skoolieinthewild. The bus was painted in rainbow stripes and said “Here we go again” in white cursive on the front. I parked and walked to inspect it. The curtains were drawn, and a gray pitbull stared out the

windshield. I looked around for the owners. Near the restroom, road trippers examined the state map. A veteran in a wheelchair asked passersby for money. And underneath the bathroom awning, a woman and three children sat shielded from the sun. A cardboard sign lay by

their feet. “Family of five living in a bus. Staying alive. Anything is a blessing! Food, fuel, $, a place to park our bus, world peace, brotherly love,” it read.The woman’s name was Spring, and her husband, who approached shortly after me, introduced himself as Ash Lyndon. The sides of his head were shaved, the chipmunk-brown hair on top pulled into a long ponytail. He wore an earring and army pants and was missing a front tooth.

When the job market collapsed in 2008, Ash was working as a roofer and plumber in Florida. The work disappeared, so he spent his tax refund to convert a bus and set off across America with his family to find temp jobs. They hadn’t become skoolies by choice.Now, a decade

later, Ash and Spring had become sick of the lifestyle. They were parked at the rest stop, they said, because Eugene officials kicked them out of the city under the 4.815 ordinance, enacted in 1996, which prohibits camping on any sidewalk, street, lane, alley, park, or other publicly

owned property. Then a cranky homeowner had shooed them off his sidewalk and they now needed money for gas. “With buses, it’s always a stereotypical thing,” said Ash. “If they see a bus, they immediately think, ‘dirty hippie.’” He wanted to find a job in forestry or trucking,

something where he could use his bus driving skills “so we don’t ever have to do this again.” When I asked about getting in touch, he gave me a number—along with a warning. “In about two weeks we’re going to disappear,” he said.Several months later, I called the number, which rang

through to a man’s voice recording. “Thanks for calling. If you’d like to leave a voicemail, you can leave a message after the tone.” The voice sounded somber and resentful, a lot like Ash’s. I never heard back.When I visited the Mulvihills last September, their fridge didn’t work, power supplied by solar panels had gone out for two weeks, and they brushed their teeth using a trickle of water from the 44-gallon tank. Danny had recently gone 12 days without a shower. Alex washed her hair

outside in a bucket. “Sometimes I go into the city and I’m wearing flip-flops and I look down and I’m like, ‘Oh man, my feet are dirty, dude,’” said Danny. [img]https://cdn.vox-cdn.com/thumbor/wAmyjJC8yBurN_jS6rkv11YBNkw=/0x0:3000x1983/1200x0

/filters:focal(0x0:3000x1983):no_upscale()/cdn.vox-cdn.com/uploads/chorus_asset/file/14965380/SKOOLIE_WINQUIST_02073.jpg The Smith family posing outside their bus. Some skoolie parents admitted they missed small aspects of their stationary life, like ice trays and Thai

restaurants. If asked, families expressed their loneliness on the road. “The coffee house or the brewery or the neighbors down the street you say ‘Hi’ to, you don’t have that on the bus,” says Aaron Tokarz, a skoolie dad of five who is a retired police officer. “It’s a tough thing.”Some

hardly see the downsides, though. “The only contrast I can see the positive side of being located in one spot is going grocery shopping,” says Julie Good. “When you go to a new grocery store it takes twice as long.”I kept a list on my phone, neither in full nor applicable to all skoolies,

of sacrifices I experienced or noticed while living the skoolie life: hot water, hot showers, long showers, inside showers, showers, full-length mirrors, bathroom sinks, bathroom doors, kitchen tables, bedrooms, bedroom doors, washer, dryer, coffee, sex, loud sex, babysitters, date

nights, alarm systems, carbon monoxide detectors, smoke detectors, ovens, toilets, toilets that flush, the Oscars, Wi-Fi, parallel parking, air travel, baths, mail, magazine subscriptions, Amazon, soap, heat, air conditioning, the gym, neighbors, block parties, Netflix, curling irons.For

the Browns, the downsides became unbearable. Last September, Chad Brown uploaded a to YouTube about why his family decided to sell their bus, Buster, after only two months and $20,000 spent. In the video, Brown chalked the decision up to his difficulty maneuvering Buster, missing must-see sites along the Oregon coast, and his physical discomfort while driving.