Ever since I saw a giant RV roll into a Mount Rainier campground and start rotating its rooftop satellite dish to pull in TV stations, I've sworn to stick to tent camping - preferably backpacking to truly escape such wheeled apparitions.

The RV, big as a bus, had squeezed into a campsite next to mine. It was loaded: plush armchairs, thick carpet, a full kitchen with a microwave.

Why, I kept wondering, as the drone of the RV's television drifted into my tent and its bright lights dimmed the view of the stars, would anybody bring all that stuff to the woods? Wasn't camping supposed to be a way to get away from it all?

But this summer, a bit older and a bit mellower, I joined the ranks of RV campers.

I confess: I enjoyed it. And I'm ready to do it again, especially in the fall and winter off-season when camping with a roof over one's head becomes quite appealing.

I won't be alone whatever time of year I go. About 64 million Americans are campers (at some point in their lives), according to the Recreation Vehicle Industry Association. And almost half of them roll around the country in RVs.

The vehicle I rented for a family camping trip this summer - a Volkswagen EuroVan - is so small compared to many recreational vehicles that old hands may hardly consider it an RV.

But it has most of the same stuff the big rigs do, just in miniature and ingeniously wedged into a space not much bigger than a mini-van. It does lack fancy extras such as carpeting or a TV - and that was just fine by me.

A van minus the flowers

In a week of camping in British Columbia, my husband and I and our 6-year-old daughter rolled along happily in our little house on wheels.

The EuroVan is the yuppie, 1990s version of the VW camper van so beloved by the generation that came of age in the '60s. It's built in Germany; a Winnebago factory in the U.S. then outfits it as a camper.

It's a big change from the decades-old VW vans. The EuroVan is front-wheel drive, with the engine in the front (the old ones had the engine in the rear) which frees up more interior space. And it has about 20 percent more power than older VW vans, which were notoriously puny on hills.

Even for someone like me who's accustomed to a compact car, the EuroVan is easy to drive.

It's firm-riding, allows good visibility and is small enough that we could maneuver easily into campsites or city parking spaces - unlike some of the large, unwieldy RVs that get husbands and wives snarling as they try to park their land yachts.

Snacking and snoozing

As we drove B.C.'s back roads, our daughter, stretched out on the rear bench seat, was delighted to find she could raid the EuroVan's built-in cupboards to get snacks without even unbuckling her seat belt. With her books and cassette tapes handy in another cupboard, she was content for hours of driving.

Once we arrived at a campground, we'd settle down with cold drinks from the fridge. It seemed almost decadent after years of drinking lukewarm Tang while tent camping.

The van's "pop top," was a magnet for our daughter and children from nearby campsites. The slanted canvas canopy of the pop top extends the roof so the van is tall enough, at one part, for virtually any

adult to stand up straight. The kids would play in the pop top's bed for hours.

At night, we'd unfold the lower bed from the rear seat and crawl in, reading by the built-in electric lights (they run on campground electrical hookups or on a battery) and untroubled by the rain squalls that sometimes swept through our West Coast campgrounds.

The EuroVan (and older VW campers) can sleep four, according to the brochures. My advice: don't try it.

The two beds certainly are more comfortable than a tenter's sleeping pad, but each is narrower than a double bed and there's little storage - the built-in clothes cupboards hold the equivalent of about two suitcases of stuff. Four people soon would be at each other's throats.

The van worked for the three of us, although one of us often slept in the tent we'd brought along for more space and quiet. And I wish I'd packed less and stowed it more efficiently so I wasn't forever pawing through bags to find things and slinging stuff out of the way to unfold the beds or cook.

The EuroVan could make two people very happy campers.

A twosome could make use of its comforts without feeling too cramped - the propane-powered fridge, two-burner stove and heater; kitchen sink (cold water only); a dining table that unfolds.

Everything is little - the fridge is about the size of a hotel minibar fridge - but adequate. There's even a small propane-fueled furnace.

About the only creature comfort the EuroVan lacks is a toilet (there's not even a portable one). But there is a shower of sorts - a hose that stretches out of the rear of the van for outdoors wash-offs. We used it mostly to wash beach sand off our feet.

Beware the yahoos

Renting a van or other RV opens up off-season camping.

Tent-camping can be miserable in the chilly rains of fall and winter. With an RV, there's always somewhere warm and dry at the end of the day.

After a noisy night in a jam-packed campground during our summer trip, I longed for the half-empty, peaceful campgrounds of the off-season.

Every camper has a tale of yahoos they've encountered somewhere along the road. We ended up camping right next to some one night at the otherwise lovely Miracle Beach Provincial Park campground on Vancouver Island.

They rolled in one afternoon in a couple of big RVs, started drinking at dinner and continued until 1:30 in the morning around their camp fire. The men bellowed out their dumb stories, the women screeched with hyena-like laughter, and the beer cans kept popping.

They were so belligerent that we were too nervous to go over and tell them to be quiet. And we couldn't move to another campsite; the campground was full.

Off-season advantages

The next morning I glared toward the merry-makers, sleeping late in their RVs, and barely resisted making loud, offensive noises in retaliation.

Trouble is, more and more campgrounds are jammed in the summer prime-time, thanks in part to the increase in campers that RVs have brought in recent years. The pressure is especially acute in state and federal parks which have the most spacious campsites and the best locations.

Washington, British Columbia and Oregon now have reservations systems so campers can reserve a spot at some state and provincial park campgrounds in summer (federal parks and national forest campgrounds in the Northwest remain mostly first come, first served). But the reservation phone lines often were swamped this summer, particularly in Washington.

By renting a RV, campers can beat the rush and camp all around the Pacific Northwest in the off-season.

It won't be warm, it probably won't be sunny. But the scenery is equally dramatic; winter storms can be stunning to watch on the coast; and skiers could winter-camp in comfort in the mountains.

RV campers also can head to privately run RV campgrounds which have more amenities and electrical, water and sewage hookups for RVs. But there's no need for hook-ups every night (although some of the big rigs can't last too long without their mechanical umbilical cords).

In a week of traveling in the EuroVan, we never used hook-ups and didn't need to refill the propane tank. However, we were sparing in our use of the stove and lights.

Complex as the EuroVan is, with its propane, water pump and electrical systems crammed into a small space, nothing went wrong on our trip. But I kept shuddering at what it would cost to fix these life-support systems if they broke.

But I don't have to worry about repairs since I'll never own a EuroVan unless I win the lottery. The 1995 model we traveled in cost about $33,000 new.

For our family RV travels, we'll keep on renting.