Let’s talk about Airstream products. Before we begin, we may want to set some parameters. If you are looking for facts, figures – you know, real, valuable information? Whoa. You have WAY overshot your mark by visiting this blog. Now if you’re interested in a half-assed story that is intellectually and factually lacking, well my friend, this is your lucky day. Read on.
Airstream marketing types may be reaching for their Zoloft prescriptions right about now. I seriously doubt anyone at Airstream has ever heard of the Slowsky blog, but if they have, they have given it the true level of attention it deserves. That’s rhetorical – don’t start. It’s too early in our relationship.
Speaking of better living through chemistry, many Airstream owners name their trailers, us included. One was named Vickie (completely random name) because our daughter thought I spent so much time with her that she must be my girlfriend.
To surprise my bride and kids, I went to the tag office (DMV) to get a vanity tag. “I’d like to get a vanity tag for our trailer.” “You want a vanity tag for a trailer?” “Well, it’s an RV and I’d like to get the tag Vickie.” “Is that your wife’s name?” “No.” “Are you married?” “Yes.” “Does your wife know you’re here?” “No.”
With New England roots, we named another trailer Wandafa – kind of the New England way of eliminating the sound of R, except for where it shouldn’t be.
And most recently, we gave our tailer our last name – Slowsky. Don’t ask.
Airstreams come in any length you want. That’s a lie. I guess they go from about 16 feet (BaseCamp) to 33 feet (Mac Daddy – that’s my term but you get the gist). There used to be a 34-foot length, on three axles. But I guess the suits determined that 33 was the longest they could squeeze onto two axles. For me, give me four axles and a double-wide in a trailer park.
Airstream makes more than just trailers. They make Class B RV’s (Interstate) as well as a Class C RV (Atlas). Regardless the model, they all, in my humble opinion, sleep two – max. I could argue they sleep one, but I suspect I may get a cool reception at home.
Airstreams come in all sorts of colors. Not. Well, not the outside. Think silver. Mostly.
The inside is a different story. For new Airstreams coming out of the berthing ward you can generally get light, medium, or dark interiors. We have, proactively or inadvertently, chosen each of these three options over the course of our Airstream addiction.
Our first entry into the Airstream world was with a used 1999 34’ Classic. I mean, who picks these fabrics? Love has no pride.
What with teenagers at the time, we decided to go big, and bought a new 2005 34′ Classic with a slide-out. In retrospect, you need more than a slide-out for teenagers, but what did we know.
We then traded the ’05 in for a brand new 2008 International Ocean Breeze. Very beachy. Not light enough to think you were in a hospital room or an insane asylum, but light enough to make you think you belonged at the ocean.
Along the way, Karen, who enjoyed far more vacation than I did, bought herself a 1998 B190. Even current Airstream owners may not know what that is, but it was the precursor to the current Interstate model. The B190, known as Girlfriend (are you seeing a pattern?) allowed Karen to travel even when I could not.
While we think beige really connotes the strength of our character, we have also gone from light to dark interiors. We currently enjoy a dark motif – sort of that rich Corinthian leather in our 2019 30’ Classic. Queue Ricardo Montalban and Barry White.
Depending on your budget and preferences, Airstream trailers come in three basic models: a) “Ooh baby, you want me”, b) “Oh, I want that, but I’ll take this”, and c) “I don’t need that crap – let’s go camping!” models. A quick perusal of the Airstream website will confirm my assessment.
Every year there are different names for these models. Odd that the Airstream marketing department has not reached out to me for help in their naming conventions. I was kind of thinking Hooter’s might be a natural. You can find Eddie Bauer, Pendleton, Pottery Barn, PanAmerica and a host of ever changing co-marketing versions.
Every Airstream needs a tow vehicle – you know, something to pull the damn thing. Tee hee. Don’t go there. You can take a reasonably normal old white guy and turn him into Son of Sam at the very mention of tow vehicles. Rules of the military apply here – don’t ask, don’t tell. I’m not kidding.
To see the magic of Airstream, you can always take a tour of their maternity ward, otherwise known as their manufacturing floor at the Jackson Center, OH plant. These trailers are largely hand-built, and it is a pretty interesting tour.
At this same location is their service center, which performs any type of repair on Airstreams. Because of the volume of their work, you need to schedule an appointment many months out.
We have had our trailers in to the service center a number of times for either repairs or upgrades. We jest sometimes at Airstream’s expense, but that is patently unfair. In our experience, Airstream (the company) has been nothing but great. When in the service center and in situations that were clearly marginal, and could have tipped either way, Airstream has stepped to bat for us. And there are clearly well-qualified staff that perform the work.
For as many miles as we have travelled, and with as many off-road miles as we have travelled, it is amazing to me how few repairs we have needed over the course of time. We have had a number of situations where we needed service, but more often than not it was for self-inflicted wounds. Those are the most painful.
Take a look at the pictures that follow and see if anything floats your boat.
And how about some cool insides?
It’s too bad Subaru grabbed what should have been Airstream’s tag line… “Love. It’s what makes an Airstream”.