This segment is an extension from a recent series of posts on how I constructed a home in the back of my truck. Click here for Part I and Part II.

After detailing the construction of that tiny home in the back of my truck, it seems only natural to explore the benefits and drawbacks of living within it. Naturally there are many of both. On any given day, I might sway one way or the other, but in general these dozen or so factors are what keep me motivated–or complaining.

PROS

1. It’s stealthy.

Everyone who sees my truck from the outside is surprised it’s livable. I’ve awoken to people leaning on my truck, talking with a friend as they smoke. They had no idea I was inside, listening to them debate the likely size of their boss’s genitals. For better or worse, they’re fooled into thinking leaning on my car is okay because I couldn’t possibly be inside.

Currently, Los Angeles law legalizes living in your car. This wasn’t always the case (read more here) and may not always remain the case (details here). If the legality of the situation changes, I doubt I’d be pestered anyway. I’ve slept in the truck in nine states and never been bothered. Should I choose to sleep where vehicular dwelling is frowned upon–which I believe is unethical and inhumane–it’s unlikely anyone would be the wiser. Unlike RV’s, fifth-wheels, oversized campers, and vans, my truck is inconspicuous. What I give up in space I gain in privacy.

2. It’s easy to manage.

My necessities are generally close at hand. Particularly with an accompanying storage space–far from essential, for those living simpler than I–it is easy to switch necessaries in and out between storage and the truck. The small space forces me to simplify. I can afford to purchase prepared foods and random nick-knacks, so the situation is ideal.

3. The space is still expandable.

My truck has room to grow. My driver’s side wall has yet-unused space and my ceiling is mostly bare. My roof has yet to be used. Other spaces can be re-situated to include new items. In a way, the truck is still a work-in-progress, ready to meet new needs that may pop up in the future.

4. Keeping it tidy is a cinch.

Having a small space makes it easy to clean. Except from the fact that I eat where I sleep–which sometimes results in spills needing to be cleaned–the truck-home requires little in the way of custodial duties. I just make my bed and I’m off. I wash sheets when I do laundry, I vaccuum occasionally. It’s rarely a mess in there.

5. I take pride in my custom build.

It’s nice to step into my home every day and know I built it. Well, not the entire truck, but the part I sleep in. It brings me joy to share it with others, a pleasant reminder that my lifestyle was a planned one, not a consequence of squalor as some might first assume. That’s important when defying the status quo and remains a fringe benefit of home-free living.

6. It saves me a fortune in rent.

No need to beat a dead horse on this point, but it’s both the greatest cause and greatest effect of my lifestyle, so it’s worth another mention.

CONS

1. Limited power sources.

I explored this a bit in the previous post, but I have yet to fully solve my power source issues. My original plans included a large solar panel to be installed to my roof, powering a deep-cycle battery attached to a small fridge and an outlet for lighting and electronics. That hasn’t happened. My enduring fear of theft supercedes the need. I worry that having a solar panel strapped to my low-rise roof and left unattended in the city would simply be too easy to lift.

Instead, I’ve piecemealed my power sources. I gave up the idea of running the fridge full-time, running a cigarette-lighter-plug power cord to the back for use on road trips. For temporary use, it’s fantastic. My lights are battery powered and my devices are usually charged in public libraries, at work, or in cafes. On occasion, I will use the car battery to charge devices–keeping a power inverter on hand for just that. I also have a folding solar panel, with accompanying battery pack, for iPad-and-smaller devices.

I will post updates should I find better solutions that work for me.

2. Ventilation on hot city days is a problem.

In the wilderness, airing out the truck is a cinch–just open all the windows and let the breeze blow through. In the city, though, solutions are harder to come by. Preferring to remain concealed, opening my windows is more evidence of my presence inside than I care to advertise.

The solution thus far is a meager one. The battery-powered fan helps circulate air entering from the camper’s side windows. The portal to the cab, with cracked windows flushing through air, gives a touch of air flow. Shaded from the sun, this is usually enough to keep me cool. But in the absence of shade, it simply gets too hot in there.

I’ve toyed with introducing alternatives–from portable a/c units to a full moonroof to a smaller RV-style pop-up vent. Each has drawbacks that have deterred me, whether by over-reliance on energy use or threat of leakage. Meanwhile, I just jockey for shaded parking and or leave the truck entirely. But when it’s hot and I need a nap, I yearn for a solution.

3. Leakage can sometimes be a challenge.

Removing the windows between the cab and shell, as discussed here, has created some problems for me. Recently, I seem to have solved this with the right kind of silicone caulking adhesive. But I’m ambivalent to call that a long-term solution. The fact remains: Making modifications to a factory-sealed auto body risks leakage. Were I living in a more dynamic climate, I’m afraid this would be a more pressing issue. As it stands, it’s merely a sometimes-nuisance.

4. Holes in truck bed let in unwanted guests.

The bed of a truck is not designed to be air-tight. While this is great for ventilation, it can be a problem when foreign objects enter the camper shell interior. This is rare but does occur. The most common threat comes from dirt and limerock roads, such as the barren rally-tracks of Anza-Borrego Desert State Park, a favorite haunt of mine for its low visitor attendance and free dispersed camping. But a trip through the more remote parts of Anza generally leads me to a wholesale cleaning effort upon return, dusting every surface and vacuuming every nook.

That’s the easy one. The nightmare happened last summer: Ants. Last May, I had found a slice of shade under a low-hanging tree and was loathe to give it up. So I stayed parked there, walked to the store, biked to the gym, and enjoyed a couple days of shade. I kept as clean as usual, but did store some food–bread, rice cakes, etc.–neatly packed away on the inside. One night, laying my head down to bed, something felt off. I shined my light on the inside to discover a veritable ant farm in the back of my truck. Hundreds of the stupid bastards. For someone who keeps his place neat and tidy–for anyone, probably, but for this fact especially–this was horrifying.

After a deep cleaning effort, I was back with a clean, ant-free home. But I did learn my lessons: Don’t stay parked in one spot too long and beware of creeping summer critters.

5. Limited bathroom access.

Men can relieve themselves in a variety of convenient ways. But occasionally, we, too, need a toilet. Instead of packing one of those portable toilet doohickeys–my space seems too small for that–I just remain aware of my nearest Relief Posts. Disaster has yet to strike. But in the wrong situation this could be a serious, um, emergency.

6. Space is always at a premium.

I can’t keep my sweet canvas print of Seattle’s Black Hole Sun sculpture on the wall. I have to run to storage to pick up my hiking gear. Or my bike. In truth, living simply means giving up a lot.

While this is a drawback, it’s also a benefit. Needing so much less means having time for so much more. With only a few options on hand, I make quicker decisions about what clothes to wear. Free from great clutter in the bedroom, I slide more easily into a routine of relaxation. There are as many perks to downsizing as there are drawbacks. Occasionally I miss using my croc-pot. I wonder what it’d be like to jam out right now with my electric amplifier or slide across the wooden floor in my tube socks. For now, that’s just not possible.

At this point in my life, I have decided that perks are not the point. I live this way so I have the time and money to achieve more important goals. As those ambitions come to fruition, my prioritization makes more and more sense. It’s likely that one day I’ll live in a larger space again. It will be then that the sweetness of the details of a larger space will mean that much more to me, no longer taken for granted as necessary.

Until then, the Pros outweigh the Cons. And I suspect will continue to for some time.

– TOH