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During a thoughtful moment in the new comedy flick RV, opening next Wednesday, hapless newbie Robin Williams observes that if you really want to find out about yourself, put your family in a recreation vehicle and drive.

I know what he means. After seeing the goofy billboards featuring Williams and his garish green and purple motorhome teetering atop a mountain, my boyfriend and I gave in to our own fish-out-of-water fantasies and rented a 25-foot Cruise Canada motorhome for a weekend.

Like dive bars, suburban bungalows and retro cocktails, the RV -- which includes everything from the compact trailer to the full-on motorhome -- is ripe for a turn in the pop-culture spotlight.

And not just for the humour potential in dealing with your own sewage, steering the thing and watching your belongings spill out of drawers as you careen around a corner. (Yes, Williams's RV mines it all.)

After all, people like Toronto artist Lise Beaudry see RVs and their aficionados as subjects worthy of capturing with a camera lens. Her show, called Bolerama, named for the iconic pod-like Boler trailer, hung recently at Toronto's Glendon College art gallery.

A new generation of high-minded eco-savvy campers is embracing a cute little Euro-style trailer called the T@b, which comes personalized in Orange Krush, Mellow Yellow or Cherry Red exterior trim and trumpets the slogan "smart, stylish and independent -- just like you!" (http://www.tab-rv.com).

Then there's the lightweight Airstream Basecamp, the latest model of the iconic silver-sided trailer that signified luxury in the fifties and now channels an ideal of retro chic. (The Basecamp has ditched the onboard can and is designed to fit extreme-sport equipment like kayaks.)

Before we even hit the road, I found something compelling about our rented motorhome, even though it was certainly no silver bullet.

"I don't want to be stereotypically girly, but I think I'm loving the Barbie van aspect of this," I said as I inspected the wee stovetop, airplane-size sinks and the four-seater (complete with seatbelts) dinette.

"Well, boys love driving trucks," said my co-pilot.

No wonder RV ownership is at an all-time high, despite soaring gas prices. According to the U.S. Recreation Vehicle Industry Association, eight million American households have one, a 15-per-cent jump since 2001 and a 58-per-cent increase since 1980. And 2005 shipments were up 3.9 per cent over 2004 too.

Beyond urban thirtysomething thrill seekers like ourselves, the boomer bulge is what's driving sales as they cruise into their 50s and 60s and shake up RV conventions.

"That's going to happen and is happening," says Dave Winick, a Michigan-based vintage trailer restorer who designed a slick, mid-century modern-esque interior for Airstream's 75th-anniversary edition of its Bambi trailer this year. "Really, some people can't afford to retire into homes. I think people are actually going to be living in Airstreams as the generation retires."

And many of them will be feeling the Everyman pull of RV co-star Jeff Daniels, who drove his own 1998 Gulfstream Tourmaster from his Michigan home to the RV set in Vancouver.

"I consider myself the John Travolta of the interstate," he told an interviewer. "Every other actor now seems to be flying his own jet, which we don't need."

The Travoltas of the RV world are being well served. A company called Country Couch can sell you a luxe mobile pad for a cool $1.6-million (U.S.). At this end of the convoy, plasma TVs, designer decor and full-sized baths are the norm.

RVing "is no longer an escape from daily life," Country Coach's director of marketing, Matt Howard, told a U.S. paper. "Now, people can essentially turn a key and take their luxury homes on the road."

It doesn't hurt that they can stay in touch with both their families and their second careers via BlackBerrys and cellphones.

But it's as a design objet that the RV has got hipsters excited. Take the surfer-dude Airstream Bambi with its customized interior by the California surf company Quiksilver, featuring such things as Hawaiian print curtains and tiki cupboard handles.

"To some people, it's all about design. That's how I came to embrace working with vintage trailers," says Winick, who has heard that his new Airstream may be headed for the Museum of Modern Art in New York.

So what did we learn about ourselves as we dabbled in the RV for the Easter weekend? (I say dabble because we used our RV as a roving guest house. Our families got to enjoy company; we got to steal their hydro.)

That RVing is in our blood. When we invited family inside for cocktails, we learned my beau's grandfather, his namesake, built a motorhome from scratch. And me?

"You were conceived in a trailer. I think," said my father, sitting at the dinette. He was referring to 1968 when he and my mother were renovating their first farmhouse.

Not surprising, since RV beds are actually comfortable. We learned that it's lovely waking up right next to a window, even on a rainy morning. And that towns with wide main streets are easier to manoeuvre in. And that adapter thingy on the main electrical line? Don't leave it behind.