The Toter Philosophy

Camping is a lot of fun,

...except for that part about sleeping (or trying to sleep) on the cold, wet, buggy, lumpy ground, and all that work of setting up and breaking camp.

RV’ing is a lot of fun,

... except for that part about lumbering about in a gas-sucking behemoth that dares not venture far from the interstate and requires enough petroleum to bankrupt an oil emirate; as well as having a plethora of marginally functional systems that require more maintenance than a Hollywood starlet.

THERE HAS TO BE A BETTER WAY!

There is. But, like Hermann Hesse’s “Magic Theatre”, it’s not for everyone.

The Toter might not be for you if:

Your idea of camping involves carrying an electric dishwasher with you. (If Yosemite would be just as spectacular to you with a couple of dishpans (or even paper plates) , you might be Toter material.)
Your water has to spew from an indoor faucet at 10 gallons per minute. (There are a lot of waterfalls outside that are worth visiting.)
You need to be inside the same structure with people you need to avoid. (It has been scientifically and empirically determined that only one person at a time can have a hissy-fit inside a Toter. If you can’t share the space and the experience with your co-campers, then somebody has to go outside…but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.)
You feel it is your patriotic and moral duty to contribute as much as you can to the profits of the world’s oil companies. (There are plenty of big old honking motor homes for sale these days.)
You have a large number of offspring (or Great Danes) that you take camping with you. (Toters are by their very nature too small for even a ménage à trois--—but if you are a paterfamilias or materfamilias in need of a little privacy, a Toter might be a welcome addition to your camping convoy.)
You do not want to meet new people. (Toters seem to attract attention and a lot of questions from the envious, the incredulous, and the merely curious. If your goal is the avoidance of human interaction, don’t get a Toter.)
You are climbing Mount Everest. (Even the most intrepid Sherpas will balk at schlepping a Toter up to Base Camp 3.)
You can’t bear the thought of vacationing without taking along Grandpa’s anvil collection. ( I guess Whitewater rafting, rock climbing, and cross-country skiing are also probably out of the question for you)

So, if you’re still interested, the Toter has a number of advantages over other forms of going:

You can enjoy the outdoor part of camping that drew most people to camping in the first place, and still sleep in a warm (or cool), dry, comfortable, familiar bed.
The Toter is economical to operate, yet offers many comforts of a “home away from home”.
Setting up and breaking camp is as easy as (or easier than) a motor home or a big travel trailer.
Pulling a Toter is not the “white-knuckle experience” traveling in a behemoth camper can be.
You don’t have to rent a small Third-World country to store your Toter when you’re not using it. (Some such countries are available if that’s what you prefer.)
You may want to go to some place that just hasn't gotten around to building a Class A Motor Home facility or a four-star hotel (or for that matter, even a motel named after some other number).

So, why not build your own teardrop?

Hey, go for it. We have done it, as have a lot of other people. It can be a lot of fun --and a lot of headaches. But unless you want to spend several months of your spare time designing and building it, we recommend that you buy one of ours and spend those months going fun places and doing fun things.

So, why buy a Toter and not one of those other trailers?

Nobody else offers the comfort, styling, and engineering of a Toter for a comparable price.