Honest Van Life Adventures and Reviews
Let’s be honest — the DVLA’s checklist for turning your van into a ‘motor caravan’ feels like it was scribbled out during a lunch break in the ’90s and somehow became gospel. The obsession with stickers and side windows? It’s like they made it up as they went along. Still, if you want that shiny logbook update, here’s what you’re up against:
Read moreIf you’ve ever dreamed of converting a van into a camper, let me tell you—it’s not all sunshine, neatly organized toolboxes, and smooth progress. No, it’s a battlefield filled with stubborn screws, mystery leaks, and a whole lot of “why did I think this was a good idea?” moments.
Welcome to my latest adventure, where I attempt to transform a Mercedes Sprinter 313 into a cozy camper. The video takes you through the first major step: ripping up the floor to see what horrors lie beneath. Spoiler alert—there are plenty.
In this video I’m attempting the “simple” task of taking out the bulkhead. Thwarted yet again by the battery guard 3000.
Getting down and dirty in this video with the Mercedes sprinter van build, although it’s more of a van destruction as I take on the nemesis, the battery guard 3000.
Every van build has to start somewhere. Without a clue, tools, guidance or a care in the world, I start my first ever solo van build with my Ex British Gas Cadent Mercedes Sprinter 313.
Alright, let’s get into it. This is the beginning of my journey converting a Mercedes Transporter into a fully functional home on wheels. For those with an ex-British Gas van, you’ll appreciate the rugged base these vehicles provide for a conversion. Here’s a look at what the first day entails.
Here we go then, I’ve gone out and got myself a van, but I have doubts. Did I get the wrong van despite spending hours researching the Mercedes Sprinter 313? A chain-driven van for life, or a perpetual rust bucket of misery?
Happy one-week anniversary to me and my new van — a 2016 ex-British Gas Mercedes Sprinter, or as I’m now calling it: Regret on Four Wheels.
I thought I’d scored a deal. A clean 65,000-mile Sprinter with decent bones. But just seven days in, I’ve got buyer’s remorse, a turbo that might be howling at me in distress, and a van that randomly beeps like it’s trying to contact alien life.
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