Patrick Schmidt paid $4,500 for a retired 1990 church bus in March 2015 and, in roughly three months, turned it into a 189-square-foot home with a bathroom, a hot shower, a bed, a kitchen corner and solar panels on the roof. He spent about $9,000 on the interior, around $13,500 in total, and then drove it close to 10,000 miles through 30 US states. The bus, nicknamed "Big Blue," became one of the best-known early examples of the "skoolie" movement, and its numbers still answer the question most people ask first: can you really build a livable home from a school bus for less than the price of a used car?
The short answer, based on Schmidt's own accounting, is yes, with caveats. Below is how the project came together, what it cost, what living in it was actually like, and what anyone tempted by the idea should know before buying a bus of their own.
Who Patrick Schmidt is and why he chose a bus
When his story spread in late 2015, Schmidt was 29 and had been living in Seattle, where he worked long shifts at an airport. Most of his pay went on rent, bills and car costs for a 718-square-foot apartment he barely saw. He later wrote that he had dreamed about life on a bus since watching the film Into the Wild in 2007, and that owning the roof over his head, outright, was the main reason he went ahead.
Some early reposts described him as a young man from Long Beach, California. The detailed accounts, including his own, place his working life in Seattle, his parents in Las Vegas and the bus's origin with a church congregation in California. The conversion itself took place at his parents' home.
The bus: a 1990 International 3800 with a church history
Big Blue is a 34-foot 1990 AmTran Ward body on an International 3800 chassis, powered by a 7.6-litre DT466 diesel engine. Those engines have a reputation among bus converters for being simple and long-lived, which is one reason older International buses are popular for conversions.
The bus had covered only about 68,000 miles when Schmidt found it on a sales listing, because the church had mainly used it for occasional trips. The asking price was $5,500; he negotiated it down to $4,500. Before the sale, one of the volunteer drivers who had taken the congregation on outings showed him how to handle it.
The interior was stripped and rebuilt with warm wood, a raised roof and a style that many visitors compared to a 1970s living room. The finished space includes:
- an enclosed bathroom with a flushing RV toilet and a hot-and-cold shower;
- a dining table that folds down into a bed;
- an electric heater designed to look like a wood-burning stove;
- a window air conditioner, built-in speakers and colored lighting;
- solar panels across the roof and a roof deck his father helped to finish.
What the conversion really cost
Schmidt has been unusually open about money, which is a big part of why his build is still cited. The figures he and the press reported break down roughly like this:
- Bus purchase: $4,500.
- Interior build: about $9,000 over around three months (one later write-up says $8,500 and four months; the gap is small and likely reflects rounding).
- Itemised extras mentioned at the time: about $400 for the solar panels, $400 for a mattress and roughly $2,000 for the electrical hookup.
- Total: roughly $13,500 for a home he owns without a mortgage.
The running costs are just as important. He later listed about $215 a year for registration (the bus is registered as a reconstructed motor home), $400 a year for RV insurance, fuel at around 6 to 9 miles per gallon, and a set of six new tires estimated at $2,200. Neither he nor his father had any metalworking background when they started, which shows how much of a skoolie build can be learned on the job.
The people who remembered the bus
The part of the story Schmidt says touched him most had nothing to do with carpentry. Once photos went online, he began hearing from people connected to the bus's first life: church members, spouses of the men who used to drive it, and adults who had ridden it as children. They wrote on Twitter, Imgur and on his Instagram account to say how glad they were that a vehicle tied to so many good memories had been given a second life rather than sent to scrap.
That reaction is common in the conversion world. Old school and church buses carry decades of field trips, choir outings and summer camps, and many former passengers feel a real attachment to them.
Life on the road after the build
With the bus finished, Schmidt set off on a long loop through the country that ended in Florida, where he spent the winter parked at a friend's house. By then he had covered almost 10,000 miles through 30 states, paying his way with a mix of short-term jobs. He kept a blog under the name SkoolieLove.
His plan at the time was simple: head west again in spring, possibly work-camp on the way to Las Vegas, return to Seattle, find land to park on and keep moving whenever he felt like it. He also floated the idea of running a small bus bed-and-breakfast.
The story did not stop there. By late 2019 the bus had covered about 35,000 miles across 43 states, and his wife, Mary, had joined him on board in September 2017. He was candid about the downsides: the bus is loud, the window seals age, parking in big cities is hard, and a broken serpentine belt once left him stranded.
Thinking about your own skoolie? Practical lessons
Schmidt's build is a useful reality check for anyone dreaming of a bus home. A few lessons stand out:
- Start with the mechanics. A low-mileage bus from a church or small fleet is often a better buy than a heavily used district bus. A mechanic's inspection is worth the money.
- Budget for the second year, not just the build. Tires, insurance, registration and fuel add up, and a bus at 6 to 9 miles per gallon is expensive to move.
- Check the rules where you will register and park. Registering a conversion as a motor home, and finding legal overnight parking, vary a lot by state and city.
- Keep it simple. Many of his comforts were standard RV parts: a flush toilet, a small heater, a window AC unit and a modest solar setup.
- Expect noise and maintenance. A bus is a heavy vehicle first and a home second.
The appeal is easy to see. For the cost of a few months' rent in many cities, Schmidt ended up with a home he owned outright and the freedom to change his view whenever he wanted. The trade-off is a life built around engines, weather and parking, which suits some people perfectly and others not at all.
Sources: Photos by Patrick Schmidt (@skoolielove); Patrick Schmidt, "Four years ago I moved into a school bus"; TODAY; Do It Yourself RV; originally shared via The Mind Unleashed.
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