Conversations, Part II: Vans

Vans. They're everywhere.

We all have our own stories about vans, whether we rode in one as a kid, camped in one as a teenager, own one as a parent, or live in one that's stocked with a fridge, furniture, a TV, and other amenities.

Chances are we've all ridden in a van at least once. Earlier tonight, two generous men drove a separate van of Urban-15 dancers to our performance gig at San Antonio College. I sat in the middle of three rows with five other ladies, and we had a great time laughing and listening to oldies on the KONO 101.1 radio station.

While my family never owned a van, I have plenty of memories of riding in vans with childhood playmates. I remember peering out the back window of my parents' car as we drove past vans on the highway. As a kid, I was fascinated by the fact that some of the vans had decorative curtains in the rear and side windows. I know now that the curtains were there mainly for privacy, though they still have that same homey appeal.

Jeff Spicoli not only rode in a Volkswagen Van with his high school buddies in the 1982 movie, Fast Times at Ridgemont High, he wore black-and-white checkered Vans while doing so.

Then there are vans that are useful for carrying heavy items. Japanese mini trucks, or Kei trucks, are a popular import in the U.S. Back in 2008, I interviewed a man while I worked as a field editor for Indiana AgriNews who built a family business out of buying and selling them to farmers. The vehicles are built in Japan and meet U.S. requirements for low and medium-speed vehicles.

I've also ridden in cargo vans that had too light a load in the back, resulting in a deafening clatter of metal to the floor of the van every time the driver turned a corner.

Good times.

While they'll never be as flashy or individualistic as the motorcycles Dennis Hopper, Peter Fonda, and Jack Nicholson rode in Easy Rider, vans are a great way to carpool, a terrific conversation piece, and a kitschy icon of American roadie culture, serving as a sort of ombudsman and reminder to share the road as well as the back seat.

But vans can carry social stigmas, too, depending on the context in which they're driven or ridden. Take, for instance, the resurfacing of the infamous video of Donald Trump riding in a van with Access Hollywood reporter Billy Bush in 2005 and making lewd comments about an attractive young reporter waiting outside the van.

Then we've all heard the horror stories about kidnappers driving around in unmarked vans, or the mysterious white vans rumored to be conducting surveillance.

There's a social dynamic to riding in a van, or any vehicle: The people inside are so insulated from their surroundings, they're liable to say anything. While there are public and private places, the inside of an automobile is both. It's built for comfort and for speed. The space inside may be small compared to the rest of the world, but it's sealed off, like the protective shell we wish we had.

It's a sad fact, though a testament to the strength and durability of cars, that buildings have been torn down, cities have blazed, and earthquakes have rattled the Earth, but that sun-bleached Millennium Hip-Hop party CD cover is still sitting on the backseat of my car, undisturbed since 2006, and that empty granola bar wrapper will remain lodged between the driver's seat and the console until I decide to throw it away.

That got me thinking about how we think of driving in terms of comfort. People choose a certain car or truck over another as much for interior comfort as for price and fuel economy. We want our rides to be as fun as they are functional.

So can cars be fun and functional, or are the two mutually exclusive?

Autos seem to go beyond statement-making design and mobility. In a way, they define who we are. Our roles in life may mature and change, but aside from technological additions, our modes of transportation stay basically the same.

George Carlin wrote about how vans and minivans were an insult to manhood because married men had to trade in their flashy cars once they got married and had children. It's that age-old conflict between individuality and community, which leads me to another philosophical question: Should riding in a car be a solitary activity, or is it better with buddies? What can vans tell us about how we've dealt with this dilemma?

It feels different when it's just me driving with no passengers. There's something about sitting by myself in a car in traffic that embodies that age-old feeling of being "alone together" with other people.

It's hard not to see how we've modeled the faces and physiques of our cars and trucks after the bodies of insects – highly mobile creatures with strong social hierarchies. Volkswagen even named one if its cars "the Volkswagen Beetle." While we as humans value our privacy and individuality, we are social animals with a need to make personal connections with other people. We want things to be personal, until we don't, whereas insects seem to fulfill both needs at once without sacrificing one or the other.

Maybe that explains the van's exotic curb appeal among the other road warriors. When you're riding in a van, it's not just you behind the wheel – you're sharing the space with other people.