In the autumn of 2022 my trusty van (Hustla) died on me. I don’t mean the starter or the sparkplugs went bad – I mean, the engine broke. To be fair, there were 243,000 miles (over 370,000 kilometres) on the thing; she owed me nothing. Still, I lived in a van for over three years, but even after my partner bought a house, I still spent an inordinate amount of time cruising around in my tiny wheeled home. I was heartbroken, so I made the difficult choice to spend the money to replace her heart; but, thanks to production and shipping delays, it was months before she was running again. So, I tucked in, ready to tackle a winter without wheels in my partner’s house at 10,200 feet (3,110m).
I…
