Test drive: Airstream's new model for Millennials

When I first told friends this summer that I was headed to Seattle to test out a new Airstream trailer, the most common reply was, "They still make those?"

The Airstream, hand-assembled in Jackson Center, Ohio, was inspired by the early aerospace and automotive industries and has changed little in the last 80 years. The trailers have quarantined and transported astronauts, made cameos in movies and TV shows, and become part of the permanent collection of New York's Museum of Modern Art.

Although they represent a small share of the U.S. RV market, Airstream travel trailers have been around longer than those from any other manufacturer, and the design — both retro and futuristic — has captured the imagination and nourished the wanderlust of Americans. For a certain traveler who isn't willing to sacrifice style in the great outdoors, the Airstream trumps all.

In August, I set out in Airstream's 2016 22-foot Sport trailer, using a 2015 Ford Expedition King Ranch as the tow vehicle. My plan was to set out for two nights at a campground outside Mount Rainier National Park with four friends, two of whom would stay in their 1970s-era pop-up trailer (similar to the one I grew up with).

The single-axle Sport is Airstream's smaller, lighter weight model. It comes in 16-foot ($44,383) and 22-foot ($51,623) options. The company says 90% of Sport customers are first-time RV buyers, nearly one-third are women (compared to 18% for their other models), and more buyers are in their 30s than of their other trailers. It's also Airstream's least expensive line, as some pieces shed from the larger versions help reduce its weight and price.

While I'd admired Airstream trailers from afar, I hadn't spent time inside, short of a quick showroom peek. The 2016 units rolled out this summer, and the interior refresh brightens the trailers, with light-colored flooring, a white laminate countertop and LED interior lighting. The hip décor also includes black ultraleather kitchen bench cushions with orange fabric accents.

At Airstream Adventures Northwest, the company's dealership in Seattle, Ron from the service department walked me through the trailer and its amenities: stainless steel kitchen sink, shower, gas range, refrigerator, convection microwave, air conditioner, brushed aluminum mini-blinds and JVC stereo system. He showed me how to turn on the propane tanks, level the trailer and set up the awning once I arrived at the campsite, and where to find the fuse box and outdoor shower (good for muddy dog-washing). Since the campsite wouldn't have electrical hook-ups, we brought along a generator. Ron explained that a digital console in the bathroom monitors the amount of battery power and levels in the water tanks.

He then showed me how to attach the hitch and sway bars. Airstream's marketing folks had told me women don't buy as many trailers as men, in part because they're intimidated by the hitch process. I took copious notes and practiced attaching the sway bars on my own. But by the time Ron finished his instruction and the service manager came out with a tape measure (which I learned later was only for the initial set-up), I was convinced that I better keep the vehicle and trailer united, lest I botch the job and lose a 4,500-pound Airstream somewhere in central Washington.

Before I left, Ron casually asked if I'd ever towed a trailer before.

"Just my dog's trailer, behind my bike," I said. "Any tips?"

He shrugged. "I don't believe you'll even know it's back there."

Aside from turns, which were nerve-racking at first, he was right. The Airstream towed beautifully — and if I'd been driving fast enough, I would have benefited from its aerodynamic shape.

With some coaching, I backed into a campsite at Dalles Campground, located along the White River. All the systems functioned seamlessly: We tested burners (making pasta and tea), the fridge (storing frosting for birthday cupcakes), the shower (similar to that on a ship) and the radio. My beagle was delighted to be able to be in bed and in the kitchen concurrently. As the sun fell the first night, we ate dinner at the picnic table, sat around the campfire and gazed at the silver beauty that seemed to have dropped down from space amongst the Western red cedars and Douglas firs. I converted the table to a bed (the trailer sleeps three adults), brushed my teeth in the bathroom, tested out the toilet and crawled under the sheets, looking out the moon roof on the ceiling.

The next morning, I walked around the campsite and marveled at a recently fallen 700-year-old Douglas fir, 9.5 feet across. Back at the trailer, decidedly bright and cheery during the day, I curled up with a book on the plush pillow-top memory foam bed (Airstream sells special fitted sheets to cover the curved mattress) and enjoyed the panoramic windows — views were lovely, even from the bathroom.

As much as I delighted in the sleek surfaces and pleasing curves, I found myself remembering what my mother says say about light colors — they show everything. We tracked in dirt, bugs and dead leaves that would be less conspicuous in a brown-interior RV. I discovered a few little glitches (a bench storage cover not fitting quite right and the bathroom door requiring jiggling to open), but Tim Maxwell of Airstream later reminded me that every piece of an Airstream is made by hand, and nearly everything is curved, adding an extra challenge to manufacturing. If I'd purchased the unit, those two things would be an easy fix at the dealership.

I also asked Maxwell about the hitch issue. He said when customers purchase a trailer, hitching novices will practice that (and backing up) in the parking lot. "I've heard of dealers spending four to six hours going through everything with the customer," he said. "Those are the hardest parts, and if you don't have experience, you'll be second-guessing yourself the first couple times." He said simply driving an Airstream can also be daunting initially, simply because you get the feeling — from all the waves and thumbs-up — that everyone's watching.

On my return to the dealership, I felt like an old pro. I'd confidently towed and turned, relaxing enough to notice the admirers and start feeling a tad smug about the looker in my rear-view mirror.