Review: Airstream Interstate 3500

Editor's note: In late November 2008, Daniel Dumas and Steven Leckart drove a 2009 Airstream Interstate from San Francisco to Los Angeles for a field test.

Subprime mortgage bust? U.S. automakers in distress? Unemployment rates skyrocketing? Times are tougher than tough, but every jet-black fiscal cloud has a silver lining: oil prices are dropping faster than, well, GM stock ($1.75/gal in San Francisco when we fueled up for the trip). Now is as good a time as any to stop throwing away money on rent and invest in a healthy chunk of mobile real estate. But why settle for some ratty tin can your grandpappy tooled around in?

We couldn't wait to commandeer this bright, white road warrior for an overnight voyage down California's Central and Southern Coast. First introduced in 2006, Airstream's Interstate line takes founder Wally Byam's aluminum aesthetic and, literally, turns it inside out. Instead of the aeronautics-inspired silver-bullet body Byam pioneered with his iconic trailers of the '30s, '40s and '50s, the Interstate flies under the radar. Beneath that relatively bland, commercial-grade Dodge Sprinter exterior lies some of the most luxurious acoutrements Airstream has to offer: sleek aluminum paneling, gorgeous laminated wood floors and cabinetry, leather-laced power seats (including a reclining couch-bed), power awning, stainless steel kitchen sink with matching propane stove top, and a rear-mounted backup camera with night vision.

On paper and in the flesh, this $112,500 mobile home (yes, that's six figures) is downright awesome. In addition to the surprisingly peppy 154-hp Mercedes-Benz V-6 purring beneath the pearl white hood, the 2009 model flaunts an upgraded chassis and a set of rear doubles that puts stability and heft miles ahead of last year's Interstate 2500. While we didn't tow anything behind us, it was comforting to know we had enough brawn to pull up to 5,000 pounds, more than enough for a separate trailer (really, what's cooler than an Airstream toting an Airstream?).

Despite the impressive power, acceleration was noticeably smooth. For an 11,000-pound mobile apartment, the handling was surprisingly responsive — even at 90 mph on the highway, or on sandy beachside roads. Windy conditions on 101 weren't exactly fun, but blustery crosswinds will always be an issue for a vehicle that's almost the same height as a pro basketball hoop.

The latest addition to Airstream's fleet of mobile housing refashions a lot of the comforts of home to the road — and intelligently so. Rather than slap a fixed showerhead in the small, though not uncomfortably undersized WC (note: I'm 5' 8" and 145 pounds), Airstream rigged a chrome telescoping head that attaches high (for a real shower) and can be positioned adjacent the bathroom sink (like an impromptu bidet).

Although it's slightly disconcerting to know your crapper is less than two feet from your kitchen, once you get cooking, the deluxe galley's finer points conspire to let you make a decent meal. Workspace isn't ample, but the stainless dual-burner stove and sink are recessed with hinged, glass covers that properly sit flush with the rest of the counter. Our Spartan breakfast of eggs, salsa, tortillas and coffee used minimal cutlery, but true mobile gastronauts will be hard-pressed fitting tons of dishes, various ingredients or a large cutting board into the teensy cooking area. Then again, the Interstate's fridge is dorm-size, so traveling with a plethora of perishable foodstuffs would be tricky.

Watching your traveling companion heat up water for coffee is about as exciting as, well, watching water boil. But the good news is the rear living/bedroom comes stocked with a 19-inch LCD, with built-in DVD, and curtains that reduce the glare.

The trick with RVs like this is managing every system operation from minor to major: the power you're consuming while playing Halo, the amount of black water (aka poo) your driving companion may have flushed after inhaling a massive burrito — things like that. The Interstate's digital onboard monitoring system will delight any traveler who won't settle for roadside water/power guesstimations. Because the rig's main brain is right above the TV and easily accessible, particularly paranoid travelers can do quick, frequent checks without leaving the comforts of the cabin.

And when we say "comforts" we mean it. The rear living-room couch is stuffed with memory foam and converts into a soft bed intended for two. The ceiling-mounted air conditioner has a reasonably responsive thermostat. The driver and copilot seating is extraordinarily comfy.

But enough with the good; let's downshift into the bad and just plain fugly.

The more time we spent driving and parking the van and sleeping (or at least trying to) and exploring the cabin, the more minor annoyances got our attention and design flaws became more obvious. The bathroom-mounted "fart fan" wasn't as powerful as we'd have liked. In 90-degree (Fahrenheit!) November L.A. weather, the shower-toilet transformed into a pungent urine sauna after just one user (who will remain nameless) defiled the bathroom at a pitstop.

More than anything, we were stoked to try out the backup cam — especially with a pricey rig that stretches to almost 23 feet! While the night vision was particularly sharp on the 5.5-inch LCD, the cam delivers an unacceptably vague, almost fisheye lens view that distorted depth perception and made parking more difficult. Almost every time we dropped the rig into reverse, we had to roll down the window and stick our heads out to watch the direction we were backing — just to ensure we didn't run anything over.

At night, the ceiling lights provided more than ample illumination — enough to easily read by. But the floor lights, while not overpowering, could have benefited from a dimmer switch.

Without a doubt, our biggest gripe with the Interstate is the diminutive bedroom. Neither of our drivers are what you'd call "tall" or "wide" (an average of 5' 9" and about 150 pounds). During the day, the bed sure felt like it'd be big enough. But as the night wore on, legroom proved scarce, unless we positioned our heads up against the back of the RV. For any relatively tall person, the only option is to sleep diagonal. If you bend your knees too much, you'll encroach the personal space of your traveling companion — take our word for it. The amazing part about this gripe is that it could be easily remedied.

After a night of relatively restful, though somewhat cramped sleep, we realized just how huge the front-side dining room is. Not only are there two seats with enough legroom to make Virgin America's business class look like a chintzy Greyhound, but both seats recline Our suggestions: shave four to six inches off that part of the cabin and donate it to the rear sleeping space. Seriously, how hard would it be to convert the dining room into a smaller, but a very much appreciated extra bed?

WIRED Electrical outlets galore, including an exterior one (suntanning while you Wii = awesome). Straightforward wastewater dump controls (for expelling, uh, dumps). Vehicle prewired for optional 50-watt solar hookup. Relatively quiet generator (we received no complaints from the senior citizens at our campsite). Alternator (220-amp) and 750-watt converter/inverter allows you to watch TV, charge gadgets in transit without draining onboard juice. Digital tripometer calculates gas consumption, time on the road. Hidden gas cap requires the driver's side door to be open (take that, diesel thieves!).

TIRED No iPod port? Seats eight, but sleeps two (math whiz says: "six of you will be banished to the tent of shame"). Backup cam's peephole lens gives inadequate to no depth perception. Crappy fart fan. Paltry 17 mpg. Interior lighting bright enough for an operating room, but needs dimmers for nocturnal sleep cycle. Only one tabletop fixture, though there are two places to set up a table (i.e. only one table at a time).