A couple orders of business before we get into tonight’s story. First, it’s Allison’s second birthday! The best puppy in the world is right now chomping on her birthday bone. Such a good girl.

Second, I had a little health scare yesterday and I’m still sorting it out. So, while I really did want to see what happened to Rich when he gets to Michigan, that part 2 is still on ice (heh, see what I did there?). For now, though, make sure your tanks are full and top off your battery, we’re going out on the road…

It’s fitting that the first time either Sierra or I heard about the “Ghost Van” was in Death Valley, right? We parked Eugene, our sky blue short bus Skoolie next to the Ford Transit in the Wildrose campground and met Dave and Cindy who introduced themselves and their adorable black lab, Tina.  By the time the sun went down we were joined by a couple other vanlife rigs – a good looking Westfalia and a stealth Ford Econoline. Everyone seemed to know everyone else – they were all on their second, third, or – in the case of Alan in the Econoline – fifth year on the road. They’d all crossed paths numerous times.

Meanwhile, Sierra and I had only gotten Eugene roadworthy a couple weeks back. We were the rookies here, but the others made us feel welcome in the community.

We were all gathered around the propane firepit Dave and Cindy brought out and Alan said, “So… uh, I saw it the other day.”

There was collective gasp from the others. Sierra and I exchanged looks and when no one appeared willing to break the silence I asked, “Saw what?”

“The Ghost Van,” Dave said solemnly.

“Ghost Van?” Sierra asked.

Alan nodded and took a swig from his IPA. “The Ghost Van. I was boondocking up in Coyote Mountains outside Anza Borrego. Woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom and in the moonlight I saw it parked about a hundred yards away, just grey and still. Next morning… gone.”

“What is the Ghost Van?” I asked.

Dave started, “It’s a dark gray Sprinter that seems to stay out in the deserts – we’ve seen it in Mojave, once out south of Goldfield in Nevada…”

“We saw it in the Superstition mountains in Arizona,” said Amy who drove the Westfalia.

“Why do you call it a ‘Ghost Van’?” Sierra asked.

“Because no one drives it,” Alan said. “You’ll see it parked and there’s no one inside, ever!”

Dave added, “The rumor is the couple who originally drove it were murdered by an escaped murderer.”

“No, I heard the van broke down here in Death Valley – out by Teakettle Junction and the couple died from heat in the van,” Cindy said.

“That wasn’t it,” Alan corrected. “It was carbon monoxide leak that killed them in their sleep…”

The next night we were boondocking Eugene out at the Volcanic Tablelands BLM land outside Bishop when the couple in the Ram Promaster conversion told us they had just seen the Ghost Van out by Lone Pine – as they were taking down their awning they saw it glide past them out of the campground in the early morning dawn, no one behind the wheel.

We thought we spotted it out by Crowley Lake just south of Mammoth but it was just a this elderly couple in a Winnebago Revel RV. They weren’t ghosts, but they shared a wonderful apricot cobbler!

The next night, though, we were camped on BLM land outside of Tonopah, Nevada. I was on the roof of Eugene working on the solar panels in the cool night air when I saw a dark grey Sprinter van pull in. The headlights were off, and I couldn’t see inside as it passed within ten feet of Eugene before parking a hundred feet down the dirt road. I heard the engine shut off, but no lights came on inside. It just sat there in the darkness, still and silent.

“Sierra!” I whispered as I scrambled down the ladder.

“What?” she met me at the side door.

“Look!” I pointed down the road.

It took her a minute for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. A minute later she caught her breath, “That’s not…?”

“Yeah,” I said. “It just pulled in. No lights, no sign of life.”

“What do we do?” she asked, eyes wide.

I looked at her, then at the Ghost Van in the darkness and said, “I’m going over there.”

“April, no!” she pleaded.

“I have to see!”

She reached inside Eugene and grabbed the big MagLite. “Fine,” she said resolutely. “I’m going with you.”

I knew it was pointless to argue with her, so I just nodded at her and we started off towards the dark van. As we came within twenty feet, my first thought was “Man, these ghosts take good care of their rig!” Where Eugene had only been out in the desert for a couple months, his blue paint was dusty and starting to show some blowing sand damage. The silent gray Sprinter, on the other hand, looked like it had just come off a dealer’s lot!

We walked around the van slowly and quietly, listening for any noise within – maybe someone cooking, just moving around. But everything was silent except for the quiet ticking of the hot engine cooling down. I moved to the side door, looked at Sierra who nodded encouragement, and knocked. “Hello?” I called.

Nothing.

I reached out and tried the door handle – it was unlocked. Before I second guessed myself, I threw open the sliding side door. No one was inside. The inside looked just as good as the outside – I shone my flashlight on the bed in the back, sheets perfectly laid out, undisturbed. Sierra shone her Maglite in towards the empty driver and passenger seat. No one.

“What the hell,” I said quietly.

“April,” Sierra whispered, fear clear in her voice. “I don’t like this.”

“I don’t either,” I started to say, but without warning the side door slammed shut and the engine roared to life.

“April! Move!”

I dodged out of the way as the van accelerated past me and sped away into the darkness. Sierra and I stood there and watched the dark gray form melt into the desert. We were quiet for a long time. Finally Sierra said, “Well, I guess we have a story to tell around the fire next time.”