Overland Journal :: Spring 2009 by Overland Journal

Overland Journal Spring 2009

CONTENTS

Spring 2009

Feature s 22

Overland Expo, Scott Brady

Angola: Red Tape, White Knuckles, and Brown Mud, Lois Pryce

Camp Chair Review, Jonathan Hanson

Kenya: Pioneering a new tourist circuit, Jonathan Hanson

The Stuff of Dreams: Toyota Land Cruiser 45-Series Troopie, Chris Marzonie

Great Expectations: Adventure Motorcycle Jacket Review, Jonathan Hanson

Home on the Road: Touring the country with your family, Mark D. Stephens

Dep artments

Overland Post

Editor’s Column

News from the Trade

Overland News

Latitude

Conservation Vehicle, Roseann Hanson

Overland Conservation, Roseann Hanson

100

Overland Medicine: Traveler's Diarrhea, part II, Dr. Edward Beggy

105

Skills: Safe and effective use of the winch, Bruce Elfstrom

118

Overland Chef: Mexican S'mores, Stephanie Brady

120

Classic Kit: The Michelin XS Desert Tyre, Tom Sheppard

128

Tail Lamp: The Road to Sturgis, Erica Ryberg

On the cover: Lois Pryce stands on Africa's Atlantic coast. This photo: Miles Olivares, San Rafael Swell, Utah. Photo by Sinuhe Xavier. Back cover: Beachcombed camp chair, Sea of Cortez. Photo by Jonathan Hanson. Overland Journal Spring 2009

Overland Journal Spring 2009

OverlandPost Table of contents page in Summer 2007.

Keep it Coming I am in receipt of my charter subscriber renewal reminder and just subscribed for another two years. I’m sure you hear it all the time, but can one ever really partake of too much praise when it is rightfully due? I have benefited from reading each and every issue, and typically read it twice to make up for the fact that it is not a monthly publication. I have enjoyed seeing the refinements and evolution of the journal as it has grown. It’s hard to believe such a sophisticated and intelligent work is produced by such a young organization. In the hope that your egos can still negotiate the doorway, I will wrap it up by saying that I’m looking forward to the next two years of Overland Journal, with my only gripe being that I couldn’t find a “Life Membership” option. Andrew Walcker 1997 Land Rover D90

Read Cover to Cover

To our readers, You might have noticed this issue is a bit late. We decided to delay printing in order to include a special report on the first Overland Expo, produced by ConserVentures and held in Prescott April 24th to 26th. The event was an astounding and gratifying success, and proved that overland exploration has a bright future. Please see our coverage starting on page 22, and thanks for your patience. The Overland Journal team

I wanted to let you know I’ve really been enjoying the articles about the upgrade of the conservation vehicle Land Cruiser, and especially its conversion to a diesel powerplant. Having spent lots of time in East Africa driving the workhorse BJs and HJs with their ever-reliable diesels, I long for one in my Cruiser. Keep letting us know how this conversion works out. I also wanted to let you know again how great a job you are doing on Overland Journal. You are in the same class as Gray’s Sporting Journal, in that these are the only two publications I actually sit down and read cover to cover, and then go back to consistently for re-discovery. The quality of the writing and photography, and the diversity of articles is just plain spot-on. So I hope you guys can keep this wonderful publication going, as it has become an icon for those of us who love exploring and good journalism. Bill Dunn 1971 Land Cruiser FJ40 2008 FJ Cruiser

Watercolor painting of Overland Journal's Summer 2007 table of contents page. Sent to us by a fan of Overland Journal, Melinda J. Nino.

Happy Overlander I just got your letter regarding charter subscriber renewal, and have completed my renewal online. Thanks for a great publication. I spent seven years living in Saudi Arabia, and did a number of trips deep into the Rub’a Al-Khali desert and across Arabia. Then four years in Angola. (I’m looking forward to Lois Pryce’s travels there.) Now I am ensconced in the Pacific Northwest and enjoying backcountry driving and sea kayaking here, but missing the more unpredictable and wild international side. I bump into Jim from ARB occasionally (our kids go to the same school). I love my Tacoma and find it very capable, but I’m wanting to make it more so. Next big trip in the works is a backroad/kayak adventure to Baja with my son. Keep up the good work on Overland Journal and maybe sometime I will make it down your way. Dan Lewis 2005 Tacoma SR5 TRD

Write us a note

attention: Overland Post editor@overlandjournal.com P. O. Box 1150 Prescott, AZ 86302 Include your name, address, e-mail address, daytime phone number, and the year and make of your vehicle. Letters may be edited for length and clarity.

Where in the world has your Overland Journal been? Send us a photo, along with your name, the location, and a brief description.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

29,648 miles 17 countries 2 continents 176 days

"Over a hundred nights spent sleeping cozy and comfortable in my Eezi-Awn roof top tent from Equipt Expedition Outfitters. From the desolate white sand beaches of Peru, to the 17,000 foot Bolivian Andes my Eezi-Awn kept me safe and protected from the elements. Equipt also kept the beverages cold with their exclusive National Luna dual battery isolator and monitor controlling my ARB 60-liter fridge."

- Dave Connors

Dave Connors on expedition in South America

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Spring 2009 Publisher Scott Brady Executive Editor Jonathan Hanson Editorial Director Chris Marzonie Senior Editor, Africa Graham Jackson Senior Editor, At-Large Douglas Hackney Conservation Editor Roseann Hanson Medical Editor Dr. Edward Beggy Contributing Editors Stephen Bodio, Tom Collins, Brian DeArmon, Bob Hazel, Adam Jeske, Christine Jeske, Lois Pryce, Andrew Moore, Kevin Rowland, Chris Scott, Tom Sheppard Director of Design Stephanie Brady Senior Photographer, South America Jorge Valdes Photographer At-Large Sinuhe Xavier Director of Advertising Brian McVickers Director of Operations Jeremy Edgar Contact Overland Journal LLC P.O. Box 1150 Prescott, AZ 86302 service@overlandjournal.com editor@overlandjournal.com Overland Journal is a trademark of Overland Journal LLC. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is prohibited. www.overlandjournal.com LET US KNOW WHAT YOU THINK Send comments to editor@overlandjournal.com or P.O. Box 1150, Prescott, AZ 86302

Subscriptions 5 issues/year Payment must accompany all orders. Domestic & Canada 1 year $45 US, 2 years $80 US International 1 year $75 US, 2 years $140 US Online at www.overlandjournal.com or P.O. Box 1150, Prescott, AZ 86302 Back Issues Payment must accompany all single-copy orders. Domestic & Canada $15 US (includes p&h) International $20 US (includes p&h) Online at www.overlandjournal.com or P.O. Box 1150, Prescott, AZ 86302 Advertising advertising@overlandjournal.com Moving? Send address changes to service@overlandjournal.com. Include complete old address, with zip code, as well as new address. Allow two to four weeks for address change to become effective. Postmaster Send address changes to: Overland Journal LLC P.O. Box 1150 Prescott, AZ 86302 Overland Journal Spring 2009

JOURNAL ENTRY: From the Editor

Overland Expo Finding the true spirit of overlanding

2009

f you ask me what was my favorite part of the Overland Expo, there are at least a dozen answers I could give. There was, of course, the astounding camaraderie of 800 people gathered together for one purpose—to celebrate overlanding and the exploration of our world. At no event of this size I’ve ever attended has this been the defining theme, and the result was a non-stop roar of convivial conversation from late Thursday to Monday morning, when the last of us reluctantly headed home. In fact, throughout the weekend, with the exception of a couple of trailer manufacturers who indulged in a somewhat lively debate as to the respective merits of their products (you know who you are), I don’t think I heard a cross word all weekend. Everyone was enthralled by everything. Land Rover loyalists chummed with Land Cruiser disciples, roof-tent campers exchanged anecdotes with Unimog fans, motorcyclists eyed Four Wheel Campers, and newcomers whose former idea of roughing it was a hotel with no concierge were caught sitting in Jeeps making engine noises. Then there were the women. No, I wasn’t ogling; I was simply impressed with how many women (and children) were in attendance. This has not been a characteristic of 4WD-oriented shows in the past, unless one counts the Hooters girls. The comments we received from women who came solo or with their mates indicated that overlanding is well on its way to being accepted as a family-friendly activity accessible to anyone. One fellow who brought his slightly dubious wife along reported that when they passed the Iron Horse Motorcycles stand she pointed to Overland Journal Spring 2009

Jonathan Hanson

a shiny new yellow F650GS and said, “I like that one.” He thought, Score! and said, “Yeah, that would fit me,” to which she replied, “Uh, I meant for me.” The range of accommodation for different budgets and attitudes was miles wide, from the Unimog-chassised, cherry-cabineted Global Expedition Vehicle brought by Mike and Rene Van Pelt, down to John Lee of Expedition Exchange, who despite driving a Land Rover stubbornly sleeps in a miniscule Bibler mountaineering tent, like some 21stcentury flagellant. Whether your interest was 250CC motorcycle touring, or ensuring satellite TV reception after a hot shower in camp anywhere on the globe, you could satisfy your desires here. Walking through either the vendor displays, the feature vehicle section, or the participant campsite was bewildering. There were so many outstanding vehicles present that playing the usual “If you could pick any one” game made my head spin. Up at the top of the list: David Berry’s exquisitely restored, yet utterly practical 1966 FJ45 Land Cruiser station wagon, or the diesel-powered Land Rover 130 crew-cab pickup with the Hi-cap bed, which left before I could talk with the owner. Who were you? A mere day visitor, parked in the lot for a few hours and then gone, was a superb ex-Camel Trophy 110. Who the heck were you, and why wasn’t that thing parked in the feature vehicle section? Overland Experience participants were lucky to enjoy the patient and tireless guidance of two of the most awesomely experienced, yet down-to-earth and self-deprecating guest instructors one could imagine: Tom Collins and Lois Pryce. And always present and always calm were the two driving forces behind the entire event: Roseann Hanson and Graham Jackson. All wonderful aspects of a wonderful weekend. But I’ll tell you— there was one person and one moment that summed it all up for me. Rather than pay for pre-made centerpieces for the banquet on Sunday, Roseann organized an optional centerpiece competition for participants. Upon request, one received by mail a flag of a random country, and was charged with making a centerpiece with that country as a theme. The centerpieces were to be auctioned off at the banquet to benefit Disabled Explorers, after a vote-by-applause to determine the crowd’s favorite. The winner was to get $100 off next year’s attendance. There were several imaginative and even hilarious entries. But a young man named Drew Wagner stopped the show. After receiving the flag of Mongolia, Drew, with help from his mom, Mandy, crafted a cunning mountainous and high-plains landscape on a square-foot board, with a Land Rover climbing a rocky ridge and a ger (yurt) out in the flats. But Drew didn’t stop there. He did some research, and discovered that many Mongolian herders are losing their livelihoods because Americans have drastically cut back buying products made from the fine cashmere wool that comes from their goats. When Drew described his centerpiece, he exhorted us all to support those herders, and included website addresses. Thus his entry—the applause for which very politely stomped the competition—combined imagination and a thirst for adventure with a higher goal—a drive to be a responsible and compassionate citizen of the world. Now that is what overlanding is all about.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

CONTRIBUTORS

Spring 2009

Mark D. Stephens

Lois Pryce

Mark Stephens has made a fistful of journeys into Mexico and a litany of others throughout the backcountry of the American Southwest because, as he says, “The cultures I’ve encountered while traveling dirt roads and empty spaces were fascinating and friendly. Like home. But elsewhere.” He brings his trademark narrative voice to this issue in a true tale of trying events while traveling with his wife and 11-month-old daughter. A writer living in the Sonoran Desert, he holds a degree in English from Arizona State University, and insists on driving a partuliar black Nissan Frontier. markdstephens.com

Weary of the daily grind in jargon-infested London media-land, Lois Pryce jacked in her job at the BBC to ride from Alaska to Tierra del Fuego astride her Yamaha XT225. Upon her return she wrote the book of this trip, Lois on the Loose, which was published in the U.S. and the U.K., as well as being translated into German and Dutch. Itchy wheels struck again and it wasn’t long before she was poring over maps of Africa, plotting another adventure. In October 2006 she set off on a Yamaha TTR250 to ride from London to Cape Town, crossing the Sahara through Algeria and Niger and continuing down the west coast through the Congo and Angola to South Africa. The tale of this trip is captured in her book Red Tape and White Knuckles. Lois lives on a Dutch barge in London with her husband, fellow motorcycle adventurer Austin Vince.

Erica Ryberg

Erica Ryberg has been an itinerant slouch for most of her life, a condition brought on by a feral upbringing at the hands of her exploration geologist father. After learning to drive in a ‘76 Chevy on a Nevada mining claim at age 12, she was immediately put to work as a surveyor’s assistant. Six years ago, after earning a degree in biology, she announced to the world that she would henceforth be known as a professional writer. She’s been carrying her “Will write for food” sign everywhere since then. Her focus is narrative features and storytelling, and she’s on the web at ericawriter.com.

Kevin Rowland Kevin Rowland resides in Rochester, New York, where he works as an industrial designer to support his travel needs. In addition to working in the design field, Kevin teaches design and consumer behavior studio courses at the Rochester Institute of Technology. Kevin is the full-time caretaker of a 1985 Land Cruiser, which he recently converted to run on Toyota’s world-famous 1HZ diesel engine. The Cruiser is the main exploration platform for Kevin, his wife Amy, and their dog, Tubby, and has safely taken them from the Arctic Ocean in northern Alaska to the Mexican border, helping them explore almost every state in between.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Bruce Elfstrom Born in Connecticut to a Swedish mother and a journalist and documentary filmmaker father, Bruce has been driving 4WDs since the age of seven. At age 10 he was driving the woods of Maine; at age 13 a Range Rover with 70mm roof-mounted gun through Beirut and the Bekah Valley of Lebanon; at age 20 through the backdoor to Libya. In 1999 he established Overland Experts driving school and expedition logistics company. When not training, consulting, producing IMAX films, or running trips to Mongolia or Iceland or elsewhere, Bruce resides in East Haddam, Connecticut with his wife, Kacey, and two daughters, Oaklea, 10 (above photo), and Petra, 12 (both of whom can drive a 200 Tdi Defender 130 on a 40-degree side slope), growing grapes or fixing old wooden boats. Currently Bruce is expanding OEX to include two new locations, Virginia and Costa Rica.

Tom Sheppard Tom has an exploration career spanning 40 years, and totaling over 110,000 overland miles since 1960, including significant exploration in northern Africa and the first-ever lateral crossing of the Sahara from the Atlantic to the Red Sea. Tom is a freelance writer/photographer and consultant, and author of the Vehicle-Dependent Expedition Guide (Desert Winds) and the new Four-by-Four Driving. From the Royal Geographic Society, Tom has received the Ness Award, and the distinction ARPS (Associate of the Royal Photographic Society).

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Overland Journal

BLOG

For current reports on what the Overland Journal staff is up to, visit our blog at overlandjournal.com/blog

Overland Journal Spring 2009

NEWS FROM THE TRADE Exploring the newest gear for overlanding

diesel and alternative-fuel news by Kevin Rowland

Quantya

Two-wheeled EVs Thanks to the stark situation facing most auto manufacturers, many new efficient engine designs have fallen off the drawing board. Since the 4WD community is not getting the kind of alternative energy options we want, what about bikes?

Motorcycles have always been a good platform for innovation. So it’s only fitting that we can find refuge from the barrage of bad automotive decisions in the cult of the motorcycle. Recently, motorcycle designers have responded to the interest in electric vehicles, and despite my misgivings about EVs (their limitations and true environmental impact), for a majority of motorcycles, electricity is a perfectly viable energy option.

Mission One

Electric motorbikes remove some involvement that has long been an inseparable part of the motorcycle experience, but who would really miss changing oil and filters and spark plugs, or adjusting valves, or messing with carburetors? Take all that away from a package that makes little noise and no vibration (Harley owners, weep), has no on-site emissions, and is powered in such a way that all the torque is available at zero RPM, and you have an electric motorcycle. The remaining issue with electric motorcycles is range, obviously a vital issue for overlanders—unless, of course, you use your electric bike to commute and save your Land Rover for expeditions.

Turbodiesel adventure bike But here’s the news that will make you sit up straight: The Dutch firm EVA has been working on a real revolution: a turbodiesel adventure motorcycle. They have taken the wraps off a slick new design and are planning to step up production.

What about really going the distance? That’s where my old favorite, the diesel engine, shines. Diesel-powered motorcycles are not new. Hayes Diversified Technologies is well-known for their military contract M1030M1 dieselpowered KLR look-alikes. Royal Enfield of India briefly produced diesel-powered Bullets, a popular cult classic with a whopping 6.5-horsepower engine that boasted an impressive 600 mile range from its Lilliputian tank. Overland Journal Spring 2009

The Track T800 is an adventure-ready motorcycle. Its inline three-cylinder turbocharged diesel engine produces a very respectable 50 horsepower and 74 foot-pounds of torque, delivered through a continuously variable transmission (CVT), and capable of around 100 mpg, for a range pushing 600 miles. The catch? It’s only available in the Netherlands right now, and the price will inevitably be higher than the competition—that is if you can find any competition for a turbodiesel adventure bike. There is hope, however, that the Track could be offered in the States. EVA plans to release the bike to the rest of Europe in 2010, and according to EVA there is still a possibility for U.S. availability, depending on demand and price feasibility. evamotor.nl

Zero X

Quantya: The Swiss-made Quantya has entered the U.S. market with three model variants. Their little back-roader weighs 195 pounds, reaches 45 mph with about 42 footpounds of torque, and runs for 2.5 hours on a two-hour recharge. quantya.us Mission One: Despite its lack of dirt road ability, I can’t help mention what is being touted as the worlds fastest production electric motorcycle: the Mission One. With a top speed of 150 mph and a 150-mile range, the Mission One goes the farthest, the fastest, and recharges the quickest of anything out there. A full recharge is accomplished in under two hours on 220V. This true superbike brings raw power and sex appeal to the ecologically friendly side of transportation. It might not be trail-ready, but I am sure it will serve as inspiration for things to come. ridemission.com Zero X: The California-based Zero X weighs a scant 151 pounds with a 23-horsepower motor and 50 foot-pounds of torque, has a range of about 40 miles, recharges in two hours—and is available for mail order purchase direct from their website. ZERO motorcycles is a big proponent of the electric sport and has organized the first “24 Hours of Electrocross” motocross endurance event, in addition to welcoming user feedback and hosting video competitions. zeromotorcycles.com

Overland Journal Spring 2009

NEWS FROM THE TRADE Exploring the newest gear for overlanding

OME Nitrocharger Sport $100

Adventure Trailers Teardrop $18,000 (est.)

We know a product is going to be a success when Overland Journal’s designer, Stephanie Brady, takes a keen interest in it. Stephanie is normally indifferent to our talk of trucks and gear, but every once in a while something grabs her attention. The new Adventure Trailers Teardrop had barely rolled into the Overland Expo before she had walked over to take a closer look, and to suggest it be available in orange. Besides its retro-cool appearance, the trailer is packed with innovation, including AT’s long-travel independent suspension, an Engel fridge, maple interior, and LED lighting. So Mario, is it available in orange? adventuretrailers.com, 877-661-8097

Old Man Emu has released a new hybrid shock design with a focus on improved durability and handling. The new Nitrocharger Sport shock includes a high-density polyethylene dirt shield, and a twin-tube design to allow operation of the shock even if the outer tube is dented. Improved ride and handling result from the 10-disc compression stack and 10-disc rebound stack (three stage). This system provides damping through disc deflection, rather than aperture restriction, thus reducing heat and aeration while providing a 500-pound increase in variable load capacity versus the classic Nitrocharger. The Nitrocharger Sport is initially available for Land Rovers and Land Cruisers. arbusa.com, 866-293-9078

Therm-a-Rest is responding to the increased popularity of vehicle-based camping with their new Sleep System. The Sleep System replaces the traditional sleeping bag with a +40 degree, 650-fill down comforter, an inflatable mattress, a fitted sheet, and a stuffable pillow. The brushed polyester sheet slides over the mattress, and the comforter attaches with snaps around the bottom. The pillow fits over the head of the mattress so it can’t slide off at night, and doubles as mattress storage. The entire system packs up easily and compactly, yet gives much more of an athome feel to a camp bed. thermarest.com, 800-505-9500

Therm-a-Rest Sleep System Overland Journal Spring 2009

$200

Overland Journal Spring 2009

NEWS FROM THE TRADE Exploring the newest gear for overlanding

Advanced Dual Sport Riding DVD $30 As a continuation of the successful and informative Dual Sport Riding Techniques DVD, Ned Suesse and his team of adventure riders have produced a second volume, focusing on the advanced riding skills required for more technical terrain. The curriculum in this DVD includes improving throttle/brake timing, advanced cornering, managing the suspension, and use of momentum. The DVD also contains some very entertaining trail footage, with skilled riders piloting KTMs over unimaginable terrain. Both inspirational and educational, and worth the price. dualsportriding.com, 888-706-4380

Front Runner Rack Accessories

Racks $800 and up;

accessories, $10 and up

Front Runner of South Africa is coming to the U.S. in a big way, launching a series of racks and accessories through Equipt Expedition Outfitters in Salt Lake City, Utah. Front Runner is known for their strong yet easily customized racks, which allow for a flat surface to mount a roof tent, or a bolt-on rail for retaining stowed equipment. Available accessories include a propane bottle mount, 40-liter water tank, kayak and bike mounts, fuel can mounts, sand ladders, and a spare tire mount. All of these accessories mount easily and securely using Front Runner’s rail and groove system. equipt1.com, 866-703-1026

Gerber Axe

$60

Gerber has exploited their long history of building folding knives and multi-tools to design the forged, Teflon-coated Kick-Axe. The design allows the unit to fold into a 7 by 3-inch rectangle that stows in a webbed holster and weighs only 1.15 pounds, perfect for stashing in that brand new truck to keep the brush scrapes at bay for the first few weeks. gerbergear.com, 800-443-4871

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Photo by Chris Marzonie

OVERLAND NEWS Showcasing expedition travelers and resources from around the globe

Jeep Wrangler Unlimited Overland It’s always an exciting development for a growing industry when the big manufacturers take notice. So we were thrilled to see the Jeep “Overland Edition” Wrangler Unlimited concept vehicle making the rounds of the North American show circuit, debuting at the Easter Jeep Safari and the Overland Expo. The Overland package features several AEV components, including their stamped-steel bumper and snorkel system. Mopar accessories contributed the overland-sensible two-inch suspension system and 17-inch steel wheels. An ARB roof rack, roof tent, and awning provide shade and shelter. A great job from the company formerly known as Willys-Overland. jeep.com

Emperors of the Ice

Royal Geographical Society Overland Workshop According to Sam Watson of the RGS, “There has been so much interest in overlanding amongst folk that the Royal Geographical Society are supporting an Overland Travel Workshop near York (U.K.) on Saturday May 23rd. The format is a day-long series of talks on various topics, with 10 typical overland trucks to look round. A medical workshop is being run, and there is a range of trade stands in attendance.” The RGS has always supported vehicle-dependent overland travel, including the production of several books on the subject. As the interest in overland travel grows, educational opportunities will be even more important. For more information on the Royal Geographical Society, or to subscribe to their publications, visit rgs.org, +44 (0) 20 7591 3000

by Richard Farr $20

Many lessons can be learned from the explorers who came before us, and no greater period of intense exploration occurred than in the period from 1910 to 1914, when humans struggled at great cost to reach the South Pole. These explorers included Norwegian Roald Amundsen (first to reach the pole) and, from England, Robert Scott (second to reach the pole), and finally the epic expedition of Ernest Shackleton, who never actually reached Antarctica, but survived, along with all of his men, one of the greatest exploration epics of all time. Richard Farr’s book, Emperors of the Ice, is a fascinating account of Scott’s tragic retreat from the pole—not from the perspective of Scott, as recorded in The Worst Journey in the World, but from the perspective of that book’s author, Apsley CherryGerrard. Emperors of the Ice is the story of Cherry-Gerrard’s own life and his courage in the Antarctic, including the detailed account of his attempt to resupply Scott before it was too late. ISBN: 978-0-374-31975-5

Overland Journal Spring 2009

By Scott Brady

I always know when I am in a group of overlanders, because the conver-

sations in English are often inaudible among a sea of other languages, as travelers share their experiences from Tegucigalpa to Timbuktu. Overland Expo.2009 was no exception—the halls of Yavapai County Fairgrounds in central Arizona were abuzz April 24 - 26 in various languages, as Dutch, French, German, and Swiss travelers browsed the vendors with over 800 Americans in the single largest gathering of overland adventure travelers in North America. A production of ConserVentures, an Arizona-based adventure and conservation consultancy owned by Overland Journal contributing editor Roseann Hanson, Overland Expo.2009 exceeded its attendance and vendor goals, despite the rocky economy. ConserVentures teamed with Overland Training, working with director Graham Jackson and his team of 25 trainers and special presenters to produce the groundbreaking three-day event, which sold out with 200 Overland Experience education attendees and over 60 vendors. Title sponsors supporting the event were Overland Journal, Sportsmobile, Four Wheel Campers, Equipt Expedition Outfitters, and Expedition Exchange. Overland Expo.2009 mirrored much of what Overland Journal provides in print, including technical instruction, adventure presentations, equipment testing, and the highest-quality products. There were also over 70 expedition vehicles on display, ranging from a Honda Element ECamper to a Global Expedition Vehicles Unimog; a Suzuki DR200 to a brand new BMW 1200GSA.

The Expo represented the best of the North American marketplace. Jeep and Toyota brought demo vehicles, and companies such as ARB, AutohomeUS, Viking Off-Road, Aluminess, Total Vision, Baja Designs, Eezi-Awn, Baja Rack, Ex Officio, and many others displayed and debuted great products. We cannot wait for OX10!

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Photos by: Scott Brady, John Lee, Charlie Nordstrom, Jonathan Hanson, Nathan Hindman, Chris Marzonie, Ho Chung, and Chris Collard

Training and Presentations Overland Expo.2009 assembled an all-star cast of training professionals and presenters from around the world. The curriculum included one- or two-hour introductions to vehicle recovery, adventure motorcycle riding, four-wheel-driving, personal security, overlanding with a family, wilderness medical skills—just a few of the 35 topics offered. Each class mirrored a longer, more robust curriculum available through Overland Training. Highlights of the event included presentations from Lois Pryce and Tom Collins. Lois traveled from England to teach motorcycle riding classes and to share her experiences riding a 225cc motorcycle solo from Alaska to Ushuaia, and a 250cc bike from London to Cape Town. Tom was one of the lead instructors during the event, and provided both driver and rider training to the attendees. He also spent several hours on Saturday night sharing his experiences from the Camel Trophy.

vikingoffroad.com

"It was a fantastic chance to meet the whole tribe, and the sense of community was almost overwhelming. Unlike any 'trade show' I think I've been to before, it was much less about 'selling stuff' and so much more about sharing advice and experiences. Fantastic." Jay Shapiro, EcoRoamer / Muskoka Foundation

loisontheloose.com

Bill Baker, who as a Land Rover executive was responsible for the introduction of the Range Rover to the U.S., was the keynote speaker during Sunday night’s banquet, where he entertained a crowd of 200 with tales of the Continental Divide, Camel Trophy, and British pubs.

overlandtraining.com

Overland Journal Spring 2009

jeep.com

"We absolutely enjoyed it, including my wife. Where before I was just pulling her along (on overland trips), now, because of Overland Expo and her experiences here, she's beside me, or leading!" Andy Trabucco, Solvang, CA xpcamper.com

Overland Vehicles Walking through the gates of the show grounds revealed a skyline of expedition trucks, starting with the impressive Global Expedition Vehicles Unimog camper, a row of new Adventure Trailers, and a semicircle of Sportsmobiles. Up against the building was the Overland Journal booth, which housed a diesel 110 Dormobile and the 60-Series Land Cruiser conservation project. Our KTM 950 Adventure project motorcycle and a new BMW F800GS filled in the gaps along with the EarthRoamer Jeep, fresh from a trip to the Darien Gap. ursaminorvehicles.com

Four Wheel Campers was at the show in force, with two new models (and almost a third, which is not quite finished, and will be revealed in a future issue). Four Wheel Campers is progressing through an aggressive design cycle, focusing on improvements in all systems by using higher-quality materials, lighter-color woods and laminates, European appliances, and more convenient layouts. Jeep was a big supporter of the show as well. The company brought two Rubicons for use on the driving course, and a specially prepared “Overland” edition of the Unlimited Rubicon, outfitted with steel wheels, Mopar suspension system, an ARB roof-tent, and an awning, in addition to several other extremely practical options. Let’s hope this package makes it to dealers, as it would be a true install-and-go overlanding kit to complement a fine vehicle. The Expo also represented the launching point for several new expedition vehicles, including the ambitious F650 EcoRoamer project from the Muskoka Foundation, and the prototype XPCamper, which was first announced in Overland Journal last fall.

sportsmobile.com

Overland Journal Spring 2009

vanishingamerica.n

"It was wonderful - and inspirational. It opened new doors for me, as well as affirmed my husband's knowledge about overlanding - I'm much more comfortable now than ever before." Mandy Wagner, Wittman, AZ

arbusa.com

trdparts4u.com

fourwheelcampers.com

ironhorsemotorcycles.com

aev-conversions.com

"There was such a wealth of knowledge and experience present at each of the classes I attended that the instructors acted more like facilitators than traditional teachers. I found the instructors eager to choose topics and guide discussion rather than a more traditional teaching format. Everyone brought something to the learning table; we were all students and teachers at the same time. All the instructors did a truly stupendous job leading the discussions and restating the real world experiences from around the globe to create a very unique and effective learning experience." Aaron Shrier, Los Angeles, CA

globalxvehicles.com

Overland Journal Spring 2009

"The involvement and enticement of women to overlanding [was a great success]. As a husband, I say 'thanks' for helping to bring my wife more into overlanding and having other wonderful ladies there as examples. My wife bought both of Lois Pryce's books (and got them signed of course). From the Sportsmobiles to the folding Adventure Trailer to the entire feel of the event, it was balanced and fun versus testosterone madness. Thank you!" Lance Blair, Phoenix, AZ totalvisionproducts.com vikingoffroad.com

adventuretrailers.com

expeditioneers.com

Overland Journal Spring 2009

arbusa.com outlandertrailers.com

Overland Equipment

Innovation reigned at Overland Expo.2009, as vendors launched new equipment to support the quality, weight, and durability needs of the adventure traveler. There was an entire line of G-Wagen accessories, the most interesting of which were an in-spare-tire storage compartment, and an auxiliary fuel can mount. ARB showcased their new freezer/fridge and color-coded (and comprehensive) recovery kits. Total Vision Systems launched several new camera systems and control panels, and Baja Designs lights demonstrated their new LED lighting systems. Equipt Expedition Outfitters also launched several new products, including a lightweight but extremely sturdy roof rack system from FrontRunner, and two new Eezi-Awn tents. One of the most effective ways to transport and house a family and equipment—without resorting to a Ford Excursion—is with a highquality, all-terrain trailer. Overland Expo.2009 was filled with trailers, both in the vendor and camping areas, and the Adventure Trailers, Outlanders Trailers, and Campa booths were alive with activity and innovation.

arbusa.com

expeditioneers.com

Adventure Trailers launched two new trailers here: a retro model styled like the classic teardrop, but complete with the impressive AT independent suspension system, and the new Trek model, a clamshell-style unit that boasts an enclosed, standing-height changing and sitting area, an elevated floor, yet a mere six-inch access height, greatly improving access for the disabled.

"This weekend has shown me that the world of overlanding is an accessible one, even to the average person like myself. Though my goal is to explore Africa someday, my short-term goal of exploring the American Southwest is all the more plausible after this weekend and I have a firm sense of how to make that goal a reality." Chris Bradley, La Habra, CA

equipt1.com

Overland Journal Spring 2009

The Adventurers

themuskokafoundation.org

es conserventur

.net

Overland Expo.2009 instantly established itself as the premier family event for the vehicle-dependent adventure travel community. ConserVentures did a thorough job of setting guidelines on appropriate dress in the booths, and provided free attendance for kids under 15 and free daycare to overland experience participants, as well as classes tailored to families. It was the highest percentage of female attendance I have seen at an event of this type—fully half the Overland Experience attendees were women, and several women traveled solo to the event in preparation for their own global travels. I was also impressed by the international aspect, with a half-dozen participants interrupting their Alaska to Tierra del Fuego expeditions to attend the event. One participant had visited 110 countries in his old Land Rover 101 Forward Control, and the map on the side of the camper box drew a bigger crowd than the huge MAN truck parked nearby.

turtleexpedition.com

Overland Expo.2009 also marked the public launch of the Overland Society, another organization whose goal is to engage travelers in conservation projects that will help preserve the cultures, places, and wildlife overlanders enjoy in our travels. The success of Overland Expo.2009 can be wrapped up in this quote from Scott Brown, the West Region communications director for Jeep: “[Overland Expo] brought us together with a common goal . . . conservation and responsible exploration. What a great thing! I think you could say that history was made last weekend, that this event validates . . . that this is an industry, a way of life that is growing, strong, good, and here to stay.”

overlandsociety.org

Photo by Chris Collard

I spoke with several participants who were in the final stages of preparation for their own global expeditions, including Jay Shapiro and his family from the Muskoka Foundation, who are building a custom Ford F650 with a massive camper mounted to the 22,000-pound GVWR chassis, to travel the eastern coast of Africa. The Muskoka Foundation is working to provide a framework of philanthropic opportunities for overland travelers as they explore the world. I also spent time with Lance Blair, the director of Disabled Explorers, a non-profit group that works to support the needs of the disabled as they venture into the backcountry and across borders. A raffle and auction, including an OverZone tent donated by AutohomeUS and an awning donated by Camping Lab, raised thousands of dollars for Disabled Explorers.

RESOURCES

Overland Expo ovexpo.com Overland Training overlandtraining.com Overland Journal Spring 2009

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Overland Journal Spring 2009

Red Tape, White Knuckles,

Brown Mud part one

Two-thirds of the way through Africa on her 250cc motorcycle, Lois Pryce tackles the war-torn roads of Angola Story and photography by Lois Pryce

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Riding my Yamaha TTR250 solo from London to Cape Town was never going to be a breeze, but hell,

that was the whole point. It was always meant to be an adventure, and as we know,

real adventures don’t come easy. Crossing the Sahara through Algeria and Niger had been a truly life-affirming experience, not to mention the most exciting few thousand miles of adventure motorcycling I’d notched up in my 33 years. Onwards into Central Africa, and all had been going swimmingly until things got a bit too sticky in the Congo. But that’s a whole other story, and although I made it out of there just about in one piece, I have to admit to feeling a little world-weary as I approached Angola, unsure of what awaited me. I knew that 27 years of civil war had wrecked this vast and once perfectly functional country. There were no roads, railways, or infrastructure left, and by all accounts the entire place had been reduced to one giant poverty-stricken bomb crater, except for a small enclave of rich, foreign oil workers. Not exactly a top holiday destination. Which might explain the authorities’ reluctance to let me in. The Angolan visa has become the Fabergé egg of overland travel—much sought after, hugely prized, but even if you can get one, it’s gonna cost you. Eventually, after much to-ing, fro-ing, begging, waiting, and of course, paying, I was granted a transit visa— but the problem was it was for just five days. Which isn’t very long to cover 1,200 dirt miles across a former war zone on a loaded 250cc trail bike. But try telling that to an Angolan immigration officer. With the minutes ticking away on my visa, I sped out of the Angolan consulate and headed as fast as I could for Noqui, the entry post on the border with the Democratic Republic of Congo, only to find it abandoned. The doors to the offices were open, but there was nobody around. The border between the two countries was on a col, and my po-

Overland Journal Spring 2009

sition commanded a sweeping view of the valley below on the Angolan side. There was little sign of human activity down there, no towns or any roads slicing through the green wilderness, just the occasional group of huts and the faint grey scar of the track that lead away from here, winding its way down the hill. Twitching with the thought of my visa deadline, I considered just blasting straight through the deserted border post, but as I was weighing up the pros and cons of this idea, a lame black dog appeared from round the back of a pile of rubbish, spotted me and launched into a volley of barking which acted as a summons to the keepers of this faraway outpost. In the style of a Spaghetti Western, various men appeared out of nowhere, striding slowly but purposefully towards me. They emerged from behind buildings, out of the trees and from the shadows. All it needed was an Ennio Morricone strings arrangement and a spot of haunting whistling. “Ola,” they said as they approached, but the Sergio Leone showdown never materialised and they were shaking my hand, greeting me like a long lost relative, admiring the bike, and chatting away unintelligibly in Portuguese. It was strange to be hearing this new language and when I opened my mouth to return the greeting, an involuntary splutter of French came out after so long in the Francophone countries of North and Central Africa. “Bonjou . . . uh, I mean, uh, Ola!” They all laughed and led me into the tiny immigration office. I got the distinct feeling that not many people came through this way, since when I moved into the customs building, the officer floundered around, dusting off old box files, searching for the correct paperwork, and scribbling out his frequent

mistakes, as if he’d done something like this once upon a time, but it was all a bit hazy. As he scribbled and scratched his head and threw spoiled form after spoiled form in the bin, I sat in the corner and used the time productively, writing out a list of useful expressions from my Portuguese phrasebook. The pocket-sized book provided me with all the necessary niceties, but its target market was clearly, and quite rightly, holidaying families in Portugal, not motorcyclists in Angola. It included a few potential bon-mots such as, “This campsite is too muddy” and “This firewood is wet,” but to whom I was going to be complaining about such inconveniences, I had no idea. It was also deafeningly silent on the subject of land mines, which admittedly aren’t much of a concern in Lisbon. They were however, a huge concern of mine. I knew that despite Princess Di’s best efforts, Angola was still littered with mines and that the verges of roads were the favourite hotspots. Unfortunately, these same verges were also my favourite hotspots for just about every activity from checking the map and having a quick snack to answering the call of nature. There would be no more ducking behind a tree for me anymore, and I had spent an inordinate amount of time over the last few days wondering what new method I should employ. Once I’d jotted down “yes, no, please, thank you, I don’t understand, bread, water, oil,” and the old staples, “fill ‘er up!” and “Do you speak English?” I forced myself to face up to the facts about my forthcoming dash across Angola. I unfolded my map and totted up the distance from here to Oshikango, the Namibian entry post at Angola’s southern border. It was over 1,200 miles. I had four full days plus a couple of hours of daylight left today, but realistically I was looking at 300 miles a day. On good tarmac roads that would have been fine, even at my top speed of 60 miles an hour. But if the reports were true, and Angola’s roads had been literally blasted away, destroyed by the civil war, then it was going to be tough. By half-past three the customs officer had filled his wastepaper basket, but had also managed to make some sense of his forms and I was given the all clear. Angola was mine for the taking. All that was left for me to do was ride as fast as I could for the next four and a quarter days. As I buckled up my helmet and prepared to leave, the immigration man came out after me, babbling away and waving his hands up and down, wiggling his fingers. I

listened and watched and listened some more, but in the end I had to admit defeat and, shaking my head, I consulted my new list. “Nao compreendo” I said, a phrase I feared I would be using rather a lot over the next few days. “Woosh! Woosh!” he said, adding sound effects to aid my comprehension and pointing to the sky. I realised he was providing me with a weather forecast, but the exact details remained unclear. I dug out my phrasebook and flicked to the dictionary section at the back. I tried wind and rain and storm, but while he nodded vigorously at all of these suggestions

there was still something else he was trying to tell me. At a loss, I turned to the chapter about weather and showed him the page. “Sim! Sim!” he said, Yes! Yes! He was pointing to one particular phrase. A inundacao repentina. He looked at me apologetically, as if he himself was responsible for Angola’s weather systems. I looked at the book. It translated as “a flash flood.” But even this ominous exchange wasn’t enough to dampen the excitement that always accompanies the entry into a new country. An invisible line in the ground is crossed and everything changes; another language to grapple and stutter with, strange names, new places

Overland Journal Spring 2009

The route started out as a broken concrete path, but that didn’t last long,

and soon I was crawling along on a track

rougher than anything I had encountered before.

and people, another currency to count and convert and confuse, bank notes bearing portraits of national heroes you’ve never heard of; a whole new set of mores to absorb, to be befuddled by and to attempt to understand. It was like being a kid again, gazing around and lapping up the novelty; my tongue was practically hanging out, panting for more. This is the stuff that drives me, I realized, and I was reassured that my zeal for the new and the unknown and the weird was still safely intact. There had been moments when I feared the Congo had knocked it out of me, when I’d lain awake at night in some grotty flophouse, dirty and doused in sweat, listening to the scrabble of cockroaches or to strange men’s voices shouting in alien languages outside my door, and I’d promised myself a future of holiday cottages in Dorset, cream teas, and sedate ambles around National Trust gardens, if I only made it home. But Dorset could wait, Angola couldn’t. I had two and a half hours of daylight left, no idea where I was going to end up, and no idea what lay ahead of me once I descended into the valley below. I was way out in the sticks here and there wasn’t a decent-sized town for a couple of hundred miles. The route started out as a broken concrete path, but that didn’t last long, and soon I was crawling along on a track rougher than anything I had encountered before. For the first time since riding through Algeria’s Hoggar Massif I was in high country and the track crawled repeatedly up and down steep hills strewn with rocks, and so washed-out that where rainwater had poured downhill it had cut a trench several feet deep, effectively slicing the track in two down the middle. Steep rocky descents had always been my dirt-biking bete-noir, and perched at the top of a particularly long, steep hill, I felt the mounting dread I knew so well. The bottom looked an awfully long way down, and to make mat-

ters worse, immediately at the bottom the track crossed a small stream on a half-rotted log bridge, which to my fearful eyes looked horribly slippery and unstable. I sat poised at the top, studying my options carefully, but there was no clear route down the hill; rocks and craggy outcrops littered every possible path. I knew there was only one thing for it: keep my eyes focused on where I wanted to go and roll down as fast as I dared, letting gravity and momentum do the work. I took a deep breath and made the leap of faith. The hill whizzed by in a flash, and before I knew it I was at the bottom. The log bridge barely registered and I was still flying along, heading towards another identical hill, only this time I was going up it. There was no time to stop and consider my options; I just opened up the throttle and gunned my way to the top, bouncing over the rocks and throwing my bodyweight to the left to avoid sliding down into the wheel-swallowing trench that lay in wait for a careless sideways slip. This pattern continued for miles, but despite my gung-ho attempts I was still making piteously slow progress and by quarterpast five I had clocked up just 50 miles. The land had levelled out a bit now and the track had become a flooded, muddy strip, passing through tiny villages of mud brick buildings with thatched roofs where families huddled around a communal fire, cooking their dinner. After my experience of arriving in the Congo and being chased by shouting natives waving sticks I was a little wary about even making eye contact with these people, but my qualms couldn’t have been further off the mark. At almost every village they stood up and greeted me as I rode past, always waving and smiling, and gradually my fears were allayed. The light was starting to fade and I knew I would have to call it a day soon, but I had no idea where to sleep. Bush camping was out, thanks to the landmines. There were cer-

tainly no hostels of any kind out here in this remote corner of Angola; there weren’t even any structures more substantial than a mud hut. My only option was to call in at one of the villages and refer to my phrasebook: “Podermos a camper aqui para passer a noite?” Please can we camp here overnight? Okay, it made me sound like I had an imaginary friend, or worse, like a schizophrenic, but I didn’t know how to change the plural into the singular and I figured they would get the gist. I made my decision on which village to choose by riding past and gauging the enthusiasm of the inhabitants’ greeting. After a couple of warmish, but still decidedly average responses I was beginning to wonder if I was being too fussy; it was getting dark and sooner or later I was going to have stop somewhere. Then another little settlement appeared—and it was as if I was Princess Di, back from the dead. The children ran towards me shrieking with excitement, a cheery-looking chap standing next to a truck with a few young men waved with reassuring heartiness, and the women, often the least effusive, flashed shy but friendly smiles and raised their hands. This was the village for me. I swung a wide turn, pulled up to the group of men and reeled off my practiced line. The older of them, the cheery looking one, who I guessed to be the truck’s owner, gave me the warmest smile I had received in weeks and answered me in my own tongue. “Yes, yes, of course! You sleep here tonight. We sleep here too, you will be safe here.” “You speak English!” I said in surprise. “A little; I speak French and Portuguese better. I drive my truck between Congo and Angola, so I have learned to speak both languages, and I speak a little Lingala too.” He took my hand. “My name is Sabe,” he said, still smiling. Sabe’s greeting had pretty much exhaustOverland Journal Spring 2009

Bomb craters had seen off large sections of the road, creating muddy swamps and puddles

big and deep enough to sink a truck.

ed his English and we and his three companions slipped into French, with him translating into Portuguese for the benefit of the villagers who had by now formed a curious circle around me. The village consisted of only four huts but there was an enormous number of children for such a small community, and just a few women, most of whom were busy preparing the night’s meal. Noticeably absent from the scene were men, and I wondered if this was the cruel legacy of Angola’s war. I set about pitching my tent, and with plenty of helping hands it was up in record time. Sabe’s three companions were probably the sweetest, most helpful teenage boys I have ever met. If Sabe was my guardian angel for the night, these three boys were his cherubs, perched on my shoulder and flitting around me, ready to lend a hand at a moment’s notice. Strange as it sounds, I did feel as if Sabe had been sent to watch over me. Maybe this was merely an over-reaction on my part, due to the inevitable vulnerability that always accompanies the first tentative steps into a new 38

Overland Journal Spring 2009

country. Everything is strange and new, and lacking any reference points or familiarity, you have to throw yourself out there and see what happens, and that is exactly what I had done. Turning up alone at dusk in an African village and asking to be taken in for the night had required me to make a leap of faith, but something had drawn me towards this little collection of huts, and towards Sabe particularly; it was something I had sensed even as I passed by at 25 miles an hour. I threw in a packet of biscuits and the remains of a loaf of bread as my contribution to the meal, and we sat around on the ground eating the porridgey stew that the women had made. They were still a little shy towards me, but I knew that in their eyes I might as well have come from another planet; in Africa a woman without a man or children is eyed with suspicion, or at best, pity. The kids, on the other hand, still untainted by such ideas, were hysterically excited by every move I made, watching in wide-eyed wonder as I went about my usual mundane tasks of setting up camp,

unpacking my panniers, and checking over the bike. But when I rounded everyone up for a photo call, even the women overcame their shyness and the whole village, all twenty of them gathered together in an excitable gaggle. After the meal I discussed my route with Sabe, explaining my visa woes and the time limit that was hanging over me. “Do you think I could get away with taking longer?” I asked him, “Would there be trouble at the border when I leave?” “Possible, possible,” he mused. “Yes, they may make trouble, because you are a woman alone. You understand what the police are like. Maybe they make you pay money, maybe worse.” This wasn’t the answer I’d hoped for. I’d considered forging my visa exit date, but the Angolan visa was a proper printed piece of paper, glued into my passport, not a smudged inky stamp that could be easily doctored. I resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have to stick to the time limit, and I decided to view it as a challenge, a race against the clock. “What time will you leave in the morning?” I asked him. “When it is light, six o’clock. And you know about los minas, the mines?” “Yes, is it still a big problem?” ‘Not so bad as before, some have been cleared, but still there are many more. Stay on the track always,” he warned. I thanked him for his advice, and we agreed to leave at the same time tomorrow. I needed every scrap of daylight I could get. It was pitch black now, and the only light was from the embers of the fire; the night was strangely still and cool after my hot sticky nights in the Congo, but the sky was cloudy and I remembered the immigration officer’s forecast of flash floods. With 1,200 muddy miles ahead of me, that was the last thing I needed. I was woken the next morning by the sound of the women making a fire and preparing the first meal of the day. Sabe and the boys were up and about and ready to leave, but they waited for me as I packed up.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

“We will leave together; we are going the same direction,” Sabe explained. “But you must go first. You will be faster than us, but if we are behind and something happens to you then we will find you. So you are not alone,” he said, his kindly eyes twinkling. He must sleep with his smile on his face, I thought, and I thanked him for everything from the bottom of my heart. As Sabe had predicted, the truck was reduced to near walking pace and I soon left them behind, but as I rode on alone tackling the rugged terrain it was a comforting thought that my guardian angel was behind me. The track was as rough as the previous day, rocky and washed-out, climbing through steep hills, but as I moved towards the Atlantic coast, heading for the town of N’zeto, the sparsely populated wilderness of the north ebbed away and the first signs of a war-ravaged civilisation began to show its ugly face. The rocky trail ended, turning into an ancient, broken-up concrete track which made for harder and even slower riding, as my body and bike were shaken to pieces from the endless agonising jolts. Bomb craters had seen off large sections of the road, creating muddy swamps and puddles big and deep enough to sink a truck. After a couple of hours I reached N’zeto, the first town of any size I had encountered since entering the country. It was a bleak affair and my only task, to get my hands on some fuel, was not looking hopeful as I lapped the streets in search of a station. Eventually I was led to a young man who was selling petrol out of an oil drum in his back yard. It was pricey,

Overland Journal Spring 2009

but he had the monopoly in this part of the world. Predictably, a crowd gathered around me as he filled up my bike, pouring litre after litre into the tank using an old water bottle. But there was no hostility among the onlookers, just lots of questions, some valiant attempts at English, less valiant attempts at Portuguese from me, and lots of laughter. “It is very good! I am very happy to see you!” said a middle-aged man who was carrying his small son on his back. He took my hands in his and gripped them tight. “I never think I see tourist again in Angola. It is so good you are here! You make me think Angola has future. Thank you for coming here, thank you!” I was so touched I had to choke back a tear. Of all the people I had met and the countless

fleeting contacts I had made with strangers on my journey, I had never expected to incite a reaction quite like this, and I left N’zeto with a full tank of fuel and a warmer feeling than when I had arrived. I had been in Angola for less than a day, but I had the distinct sensation that there was something special here, and I cursed the stupid Angolan consulate and its five-day transit visa for hurrying me through.

Countdown on the transit visa.

Beyond Logs and Rocks 41

Our editor bravely assumes the burden of Overland Journal’s most demanding equipment test yet By Jonathan Hanson

Overland Journal Spring 2009

It was a sound I’d heard before. And by the looks on the faces of the other three guys sitting around the campfire, every one of them had, too. Each froze in place—one in mid-sentence, another with a bottle of Anchor Steam nearly to his lips. Each with the forlorn hope that if the sound had come from his quadrant, that the cessation of all movement, breathing, and even blood flow might prevent the molecules responsible for the noise from completing their parting of ways. Alas, it didn’t work—it never does. Tim, the one with the Anchor Steam, began a gradual but irrevocable list to the left, like a torpedoed freighter. Jettisoning ballast, in this case the beer, did no good. Any attempt at jumping ship promised to be futile, since the added stress would only hasten the capsize. So Tim gracefully rode the collapsing chair all the way to a horizontal position, while the rest of us dispensed with the slightest pretense of concern and roared with laughter.

Sitting around a campfire after a long day is a custom that goes back (depending on which archaeologists you talk to) at least 800,000 years. Given the innate tendency of humans to optimize their surroundings, it’s surprising that for well over 799,000 of those years the accepted fireside seating arrangement was a smooth rock or a log. That’s all behind us now. So to speak. Even backpackers and bicycle campers recline in ultralight Thermaloungers these days. If you’re traveling in a 4,000-pound-plus expedition vehicle—or even a 400-pound-plus adventure motorcycle—you’re likely to demand a real chair. And as long as you’ve evolved that far, is it worth risking a Timlike incident and the derision of your friends just to save a few bucks? In contrast to our last main equipment test (12-volt winches, Gear 2009), during which Chris and Scott had to ride herd on fantastically powerful machines and dodge sundry exploding bits, my assignment this issue involved mostly . . . sitting. Still, most of us spend a lot more time sitting than winching, so I consider this test of just as much import as theirs, even if I don’t emerge covered in dust and glory. And after all, there was always the risk of falling over.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Considerations This should be simple. You want a chair that is: R Comfortable R Sturdy R Transportable in the space (and GVWR) available R Easy to deploy and stow R If possible, good-looking We took seven candidates to a couple of the best sitting-around-at-sunset test facilities one could imagine: the Pinacate Biosphere Reserve and the Sonoran coast of the Sea of Cortez. “We” were myself, my wife, Roseann, and six conscripted testers forced to sit and relax without pay for protracted periods of time, in a sort of slowed-down version of musical chairs. While the final choice was mine alone, the additional comments should be very valuable to readers who don’t share my preferences, prejudices, or physique. Realizing that durability is a major question mark for a lot of camp furniture, we’ll be circulating these chairs among the staff and friends over the next year, and reporting on all of them, rather than just the Editor’s Choice.

Slumberjack Quad Chair $49 (China)

liding-joint camp chairs similar to the Slumberjack Quad have become very popular in recent years. They’re quick to set up, very comfortable, and collapse to a size that’s at least manageable, if not genuinely compact. Unfortunately, that popularity has resulted in an inevitable flood of underengineered copies—one of which was the culprit under Tim in our opening scene. Slumberjack addressed this issue with a substantial frame of steel, rather than aluminum, tubing, oval in cross section along the major lines of flex. The tubing is somewhat inconsistent in wall thickness, but I measured a minimum of .050 inch including the coating—nearly as thick as the aluminum in the Crazy Creek. The seat fabric is stout 300D and 600D polyester. Sliding joints, one of the inherent weak points in this design, are reduced to four—two on the back and two on the arms. The result is a very stiff chair that almost everyone, large or small, found extremely comfortable. It’s easy to sit upright to eat, or lean back to relax. Shorter users might find the back high enough for napping. The one-piece seat and back doesn’t allow much air movement in warm weather, but would be cozier when it’s chilly. Unfortunately the Quad has no drink holder or other

receptacles. It also sinks a few inches in soft sand due to the design of the feet. Nevertheless it nearly swept the second spot in comfort ratings among the op-ed testers. When it’s time to leave, the Quad accordions quickly, although you need to concentrate to keep your fingers out of the mechanism. In its sturdy carrying bag the Slumberjack is a very long 45 inches by 9.5 by 6 inches, putting it third highest in total volume. The frame members are curved, so the bag is slightly banana-shaped, which adds a bit to the awkwardness of packing. The Quad the second heaviest chair at 11.6 pounds, thanks to all that steel tubing. However, there are still issues to consider regarding the Quad’s construction. The joints are riveted, and the sliding pieces that connect the back to the arms ride on very long rivets that are subject to considerable leverage. One of them was noticeably bent after the test, apparently simply from the weight of people leaning on the arm to get out of the chair—a perfectly normal procedure. Also, a set screw went missing on one arm, which allowed the two-piece assembly to separate until I found a replacement. We’ll see how those joints and fasteners hold up over the next year. slumberjack.com, 800-233-6283

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Crazy Creek Leisure $56 (China)

ook, it was the only one in stock for immediate shipment, okay? Unless you can instantly differentiate a Pink Cahill from a Light Cahill dry fly, this might not be the fabric style for you. I sort of back up to sit in it, eyes firmly on the horizon. But never mind that, it’s the sitting that matters—and the Crazy Creek is as comfortable as one would expect a full-size director’s chair to be, with the added bonus of a folding side table large enough to hold an entire dinner of grilled rainbow trout. The Leisure folds open with an authoritative over-center snap, and displays remarkable sturdiness with virtually no side-to-side play—our heaviest tester felt secure in it, and in fact rated it his overall favorite (as did one other). Struts that connect the front and back legs about two inches above the feet help prevent the chair sinking in beach sand. If, like me, you cannot sit in a chair without tipping back in it, you’ll find the Leisure stiff and nicely balanced for that point-of-no-return leaning that’s so relaxing until you lean too far. In addition to the huge (11 by 14-inch) table, there’s a removable panel on the other side with a bunch of pockets, a couple of which look suspiciously cell-phone sized. The fabric (which does come in plain colors) is 600-denier polyester, and should resist UV damage better than nylon. The Leisure folds flat but does not collapse, and so does not store very compactly. Its 32 by 19 by 5-inch folded size made it the second-bulkiest chair to transport (however, it also tied for the second lightest at 7.2 pounds). Since there’s no carrying bag, you’ll have to find a protected spot for it to avoid damage to the chair and surrounding kit. It would ride well in a hardshell rooftop carrier such as a Thule. As sturdy as it feels, there are several areas that betray builtto-a-price standards on the Crazy Creek. The thin foam padding on the arms will soon degrade; it’s already showing wear on the test chair. At least that’s not structural. Of more concern is the riveted construction on thin-walled aluminum tubing, which my micrometer measured at just .053 inch including the powder coating. The stiff crossbracing should help keep flex stress to a minimum, and Crazy Creek rates the chair for 325 pounds, so they obviously have faith in it. It’s showed no signs of loosening up so far—another year of regular use should answer the questions regarding long-term durability. crazycreek.com, 888-331-0304

Overland Journal Spring 2009

GCI Pico $135 (China)

hey should have called it the Transformer—but maybe Hasbro has that locked up. From a Laptopcase-sized carrying bag, the Pico rises, spreads, and clicks into a full-size director’s-style chair that several testers, including me, thought was the most comfortable in the group. Considering the Pico occupies less packed space than all but one of its competitors, that’s quite a feat. Once erected—a process that takes about five seconds if you make sure all the click stops engage when you pull it up to full height before you fold it outward—the Pico’s broad, 600D polyester seat and back offer generous support, and the nylon mesh centers allow cooling air movement (at the expense of winter chill). The seat height and width accommodated everyone on the trip with no complaints, and quite a few murmured sighs of contentment. The chair is stable—although not quite as rigid feeling as the Crazy Creek—and won’t sink in sand, thanks to the struts connecting front and rear legs. Tippable? Check. There’s a stiffened mesh drink holder on the right side, which can be a two-handed proposition to manipulate as it stays folded over on itself after being packed. Cleverly, the Pico’s carrying case hangs

off the back, to store magazines or other odds and ends, and prevent it being misplaced. De-transformed, the chair becomes a neat rectangle just 21 inches by 13 by 4, carries easily with the shoulder strap, and stores almost anywhere. The aluminum tubing on the 10.2-pound Pico appears to be somewhat thicker than that on the Crazy Creek. The one upright section I could access measured .058 inch, including the anodized coating. However, this is a very complex chair, with numerous frame members, cast connectors, plastic caps, rivets, screws (a casual count came up with nearly 40), and the two main collapsible joints, which are mostly plastic. Given all this, it’s probably a good idea to brush dirt off the legs and joints before putting it away, to help keep grit out of the mechanisms. Full disclosure: An earlier example of a Pico chair in the Overland Journal equipment pool fractured a cast corner connector while supporting one of our beefier staff members. GCI cheerfully replaced the chair, and assured us it was a very rare failure. The review sample will no doubt get a thorough workout, considering it was the most popular chair among the volunteer sitters, garnering no fewer than four first picks. sierraexpeditions.com, 866-507-4254

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Kermit Chair

$129; leg extensions, $30; drink holder, $18 (USA)

The Motorcycle Comparison Originally we planned to compare several motorcycle camp chair options—little folding three-legged stools, Thermaloungers, etc. But as we sat and debated what to include, one of us, I don’t remember who, said, “Why bother? We know what we’ll pick.” And that was the end of that.

Trust us on this: If you own an adventure motorcycle, get a Kermit Chair. It folds more compactly than any of the slipcovers that convert a Thermarest-type mattress into a seat, and you’re up off the ground in a real chair. It’s more comfortable and stable than any three-legged stool. Finally, I’ve found that the Thermarest seats and folding stools tend to concentrate your sitting pressure points in about the same place as a motorcycle saddle—exactly what you don’t want after a 300-mile ride. In a Kermit you won’t mind sitting down at the end of the day after sitting down all day.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

ow many camp chairs have a following? The Kermit, handmade in Tennessee, was originally designed as a compact chair for motorcycle touring, and has attained legendary status among BMW riders. At just 22 by 5 by 4 inches packed in its nylon case—by a wide margin the smallest package here—it fits easily behind the seat of most bikes, and at exactly five pounds (also the lightest by nearly 50 percent) it adds little to GVW. Yet it is so strong and comfortable that I had no hesitation pitting it directly against much bulkier chairs. Assembling the Kermit from its fully knocked-down state is a bit slow at first—partially because you have to stop to admire the beautiful, dip-varnished, solid-oak frame pieces, stainless-steel hardware, and 1,000-denier hot-cut nylon fabric. Then you need to fit the leg braces into their slots, followed by the steam-bent back and seat spreaders. After a couple of tries I had it down to an unhurried one minute and 15 seconds. Furthermore, once assembled the Kermit can fold flat instantly, so four-wheeled vehicle users can leave it assembled if they have the space. The seat height on the base Kermit is 11 inches, which sounds short but is surprisingly usable, thanks to the ideal seat angle. First-time users expect it to be awkward, and are universally surprised. Adding the optional aluminum leg extensions raises the seat to a standard 17 inches—and suddenly that thing that emerged from the tiny nylon case is just a regular chair. The extensions are different lengths; installing the longer ones in back puts the chair at a good angle for eating and most use; with the longer ones in front the chair reclines. Leave off the rear ones and you can sit on a hill—put both the long ones on one side to mess with your friends who’ve had one too many. An optional clip-on drink holder can be used on either side, much appreciated by us left-handed campers. The slender oak frame members of the Kermit might appear delicate, but the chair is rated to 350 pounds—the highest here—and the company says it has been tested to 750 pounds. I hope not by one person. That’s astonishing, but somewhat of a moot point, because the Kermit simply won’t fit those over a certain size. It held our largest tester securely, but he was never really comfortable in it. Those users under 220 pounds or so found the chair nearly as solid side to side as the Crazy Creek (although the leg extensions add some play), and comfortable enough to stay in until forcibly evicted. kermitchair.com, 888-729-9836; expeditionexchange.com, 310-618-1875

Lewis and Drake Canvas Martin Chair $595 (India)

ay what you like about the British Empire (it was easily the most benign of the European colonial endeavors), you have to admit its administrators—military officers, etc.—knew how to bring comfort and style to the most remote outposts on earth. The British perfected the concept of campaign furniture, designed to be knocked down for global travel, yet virtually indistingushable from the Victorian pieces back home once assembled in Peshawar or Bulawayo. Eventually campaign furniture evolved its own features, with brass corner reinforcements, flush handles, and other bits designed to aid survival on long ocean passages. The chair style you see here is commonly called a tripolina. It was designed by an inventor named Joseph Fenby in England in 1877, but popularized later in Italy, whence the name. Versions saw service with British expeditionary forces around the world. More recently, firearms merchant and safari outfitter Lewis and Drake made sure their version measured up fully to gentleman officer standards: The tree bits are solid rosewood, the hardware is solid brass, and the heavy cotton canvas seat is reinforced with genuine buffalo leather. Even the heavy carrying case is firstclass. And it’s made in India, where much original campaign furniture was manufactured. Kitchener would have approved. Inside that case the Martin chair is a solid 11.2 pounds, but

surprisingly compact at 37 inches by 6 by 5; in fact in terms of total packed volume it’s only fractionally larger than the transformer Pico: 1,110 cubic inches versus 1,092. But while deploying the Pico draws admiring comments, breaking out the Martin chair results in something more akin to awe. The thing is simply a paragon of style. On a practical basis, it’s also a very comfortable chair. While undoubtedly better for reclining than sitting up, I found I could eat at a camp table with little trouble, and no circulation problems as with the similarly styled Snow Peak chair. The stiff fabric actually feels as though it could use some breaking in—it would be perfectly in keeping with the campaign furniture ethos if it got better the more one used it. Setup is simple: spread the frame, lock the two spreaders with your foot, and stretch the cover over the four corners. Taking it down is no more trouble. While the Martin chair is frighteningly expensive, there’s little doubt it will last long enough to be considered as much an investment as a splurge. There’s very little in the hardware to go wrong, and everything is overbuilt. Two much more humble Africanmade chairs of the same type have lasted my wife and me 20 years with little sign of wear. And no chair here will give you more satisfaction to use and look at—or a better reaction from your camp neighbors when you set it up. drake.net, 270-753-7200

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Snow Peak Bamboo Chair Long $130 (Japan)

he elegant Snow Peak Bamboo Chair is as much modern seating sculpture as practical seating surface—it would be as at home in MOMA as in Moab. Its tripolina-style frame comprises smooth, laminated bamboo and satin-finished aluminum struts; the seat is a creamy cotton canvas. The bamboo components represent the highest level of sustainable manufacturing, as bamboo is not only exceptionally strong, but extremely fast-growing—after all, it’s technically a grass. It’s also light: The Snow Peak chair weighs exactly the same as the Crazy Creek (7.2 pounds), but feels much more durable, as well as oozing higher quality. (However, the joints are still riveted rather than bolted.) This is a chair for lounging, pure and simple. The configuration enforces the most relaxed posture of any of these chairs; try to sit up straight and the front edge of the seat will quickly cut off circulation to your legs (it did so to a couple of the shorter testers even when they reclined). On the other hand, the back is high enough to support a napping head. Stick a low Zarges case or other impromptu footrest in front of the Bamboo Chair, lean back, and you’ll be worthless for any constructive activity for several hours. Stability is excellent, except in sand where the chair sinks noticeably. Overall the Bamboo chair looks and feels as though it will last a long time—with the odd exception of the sewn corners of the seat that hook over the front of the frame. Every single person who sat in the chair remarked with alarm that the seams did not look like they could possibly hold out for long. I suspect this is an optical illusion, but it was interesting that everyone had the same reaction. If the seam does begin to separate it would be simple to repair and even reinforce. One thing to keep in mind about this and other cotton seats is that they can soak up dew or rain overnight and be cold and clammy in the morning—best to store them under cover. The Bamboo Chair collapses into a long, narrow shape, 50 inches by 6.5 by 3.5, that wouldn’t be at all difficult to pack if it had a case; very disappointingly for a chair this nice, none is offered. I’ll probably cannibalize or stitch up something to suit, since I think the Snow Peak will become a popular pass-around item among the camp nappers on the staff. snowpeak.com, 503697-3330

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Blue Ridge Highlands $110 (USA)

he Blue Ridge Highlands would have looked right at home on the deck of one of the late 19thcentury Adirondack Great Camps, the rustic but luxurious lake resorts favored by the Vanderbilts and Rockefellers. The Highlands, like all Blue Ridge chairs, is built in North Carolina with solid, 3/4-inch-thick, oil-finished ash, stainless-steel hardware with nylock nuts, and polyester fabric. At $110 it is a bargain compared to several more expensive offshore-sourced chairs made from much less attractive materials. To erect the Blue Ridge one simply folds it open and inserts the back brace into cutouts in the rear legs. Done. Crosspieces on the bottoms of the legs keep the chair supported on top of even very loose sand. While similar in its U.S.-made wood construction, the Highlands is in other ways the opposite of the Kermit. The Blue Ridge chair was rated higher by larger testers, who appreciated its 18-inch-wide seating surface and taut fabric. Several lighter occupants felt the seating surface was a bit too unyielding. There are

well-placed armrests, but no drink holder, although Blue Ridge makes a brilliant little side table that would be a good companion piece. Unfortunately the Highland is also the opposite of the Kermit in packed size: It’s by far the biggest chair in the test to transport, at 32 by 27 by 5 inches, and the heaviest at 12.2 pounds. This is definitely a candidate for a hardshell rooftop carrier or a cargo trailer. Despite its size and stout lumber frame, it’s not very rigid side to side; the joints are mostly connected by single, large stainless-steel screws. But repairs, if needed, can be accomplished with common hardware—no riveting needed. Our biggest tester didn’t mention a problem with stability; perhaps the chair actually settles more firmly with more weight on it. Blue Ridge also makes a slightly more compact chair called the Outer Banks, which has a 12-inch seat height, and the original Blue Ridge chair, a two-piece design that fits together to form a low, but very comfortable beach chair. I’d love to see the company make a folding director’s-style chair that would fit somewhere in between these designs. blueridgechair.com, 877-218-1731

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Chair Comparison Chair

Weight

Packed size

Packed volume

Materials

Country of origin

Comfort, lounging

Comfort, eating

Carrying case, yes/no

Kermit

5.0 lbs 2.28 kg

22" x 5" x 4" 56 x 13 x 10 cm

440 cubic inches 7,210 cc

oak, nylon, stainless steel

USA

4 (with leg extensions)

Yes

Lewis and Drake

11.2 lbs 5.1 kg

37" x 6" x 5" 94 x 15 x 13 cm

1,110 cubic inches 18,190 cc

rosewood, canvas, leather, brass

India

Yes

Slumberjack Quad

11.6 lbs 5.28 kg

45" x 9.5" x 6" 114 x 24 x 15 cm

2,565 cubic inches 42,032 cc

steel, nylon, aluminum

China

Yes

Snow Peak

7.2 lbs 3.28 kg

50" x 6.5" x 3.5" 127 x 17 x 9 cm

1,137 cubic inches 18,632 cc

bamboo, cotton, stainless steel

Japan

GCI Pico

10.2 lbs 4.63 kg

21" x 13" x 4" 53 x 33 x 10 cm

1,092 cubic inches 17,895 cc

aluminum, nylon, polyester, plastic

China

Yes

Crazy Creek

7.2 lbs 3.28 kg

32" x 19" x 5" 81 x 48 x 13 cm

3,040 cubic inches 49,816 cc

aluminum, nylon

China

Blue Ridge

12.2 lbs 5.54 kg

32" x 27" x 5" 81 x 69 x 13 cm

4,320 cubic inches 70,792 cc

ash, nylon, stainless steel

USA

Testers’ comments Crazy Creek 50

Jeremy: Overall, the most useful with the table and pockets. Chuck: Very comfortable, nice arm height. My top choice. Mindy: I like it. Cool fish! Built-in table is nice. Clay: Functional, comfortable, easy to set up. Not compact; long-term

durability? Second choice. Brian: Uncomfortable.

Pico

Clay: Comfortable, stable, I like the materials. Long-term durability? My top pick.

Chuck: Similar to Crazy Creek, but more loose feeling. Marisa: My favorite; perfect for car camping, potentially for kayak camping Brian: I would buy this chair. It stores compactly and is the most

comfortable, whether relaxing or sitting up for eating. Mindy: My favorite for the type of camping I do. Most comfortable and compact.

Kermit

Brian: Nice features. Takes second place in all categories. Clay: This chair grows on me. Compact, stable, narrow seat, low arm rests. Chuck: Not meant for a big man. Too tight for me. I like the ease in folding.

Lewis and Drake

Clay: Shallow seat. Facing sideways or multiple positions it’s great. Great for reclining but not for eating. I like it but just not that into it. Brian: The seat is not long enough. Mindy: Beautiful, but I didn’t find it comfortable. Historical photographs: Osa and Martin Johnson, Wildlife filmmakers. safarimuseum.com

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Slumberjack

Brian: Very comfortable, but too large when folded. Clay: Comfortable; great back support. Folds up too large; no beverage holder.

Chuck: Nice chair height, but arms are too low. Level seat pan is nice. Mindy: My second choice for the type of camping I do.

Snow Peak

Mindy: I would like a couple of these for my living room, and maybe for luxury camping. Chuck: The seat is too angled and cut into my thighs. Clay: Great for relaxing; not compact. Stitching on front pockets looks like it could come apart. Brian: The most comfortable chair, but not as versatile.

Blue Ridge

Mindy: Looks, nice and it’s a plus that it’s made in the U.S., but too

upright.

Chuck: Comfortable, but hard to sit up straight. Clay: Not comfortable; wobbly. I like the fact that it’s U.S. made.

Special Thanks Special thanks to Mindy Cox, Clay Crowder, Jeremy Edgar, Chuck Hathcock, Brian Jones, and Marisa Rice.

Conclusion

’d probably have a difficult time convincing you how grueling this test was, so how about I just skip that part? Even though the final decision was mine, I found it extremely valuable to have the input of six other people. Comfort, in particular, is a personal thing, and a couple of chairs rated very highly by some testers were found wanting by others. Nevertheless, some common threads arose in their comments, and I’ve summarized them on the previous page, as well as taken them into account in my own deliberations. For me, the chairs sorted themselves out pretty easily—up to a point. Then the choices became less clear. That’s a good thing, because it means there were several qualified candidates for Editor’s Choice. The Crazy Creek Leisure surprised me with its rigidity and comfort—and, of course, that buffet-sized side table. It also impressed the two testers who rated it their overall favorite, regardless of cost. Given those considerations and its $56 retail price, the Leisure was the natural choice for the Value Award, despite its less-thancompact traveling configuration. There also remains the question of durability, given the lightweight, riveted aluminum construction, but the next 12 months should give us some answers there. The Blue Ridge Highlands earns big points for its made-in-theU.S. quality, sustainable materials, and reasonable price. It was second on my list for the Value Award for just those reasons. But it’s just too darn big for a lot of vehicles, and was not found universally comfortable by our group. However, the company offers several alternatives that are worth considering, especially if you believe in supporting small home-grown businesses. Snow Peak’s products are always a cut above the competition in spare elegance, and the Bamboo Chair is no exception. For legswinging relaxation nothing here betters it—but relaxation is its sole forte. You’ll need another chair if you want to sit up at the table. I do wish Snow Peak would furnish a case so this lovely chair can have a chance of staying that way in between naps. The Slumberjack Quad is one of the nicest examples I’ve seen of the ubiquitous sliding-joint camp chair, and seems better built than most of the off-brand versions, some of which I’ve witnessed fail on their first outing. Everyone found it comfortable and sturdy, and if not compact it’s at least reasonably transportable in its excellent case. However, I still have reservations about the construction. Time will tell; check back with us in spring, 2010. Your reaction to the Lewis and Drake Martin chair is likely to be one of two extremes once you see the price. You’ll either think, in-

credulously, “Six hundred bucks for a camp chair?” and go plop down happily in your trout-patterned Crazy Creek, or you’ll let your eye roam over the rosewood frame, the brass fittings, the heavy khaki canvas, and that splendid buffalo leather trim, and think, simply, “Right. I need one of those.” As a firm believer in the official British Colonial Office dictum that “If it can be done, it can be done in style,” I’m definitely in the latter group. Okay, that wasn’t really an official British Colonial Office dictum, but it could have been. On a purely practical basis, the Martin chair is sturdy and surprisingly compact to transport. The construction should ensure decades of use; age will only add patina and fodder for stories: “Oh, the blood stain? Spot of bother with a lion in the Selous.” (Whack artificial leg with cane.) In terms of comfort, most of the testers, including me, found the Martin luxurious for lounging, not quite as good for sitting up and writing despatches or eating. Sipping an India Pale Ale? Perfection—as long as you can afford it. In the end the Editor’s Choice was a close-run thing between the Pico and the Kermit. The Pico represents a fresh and ingenious approach to the paradigm of a camp chair that is both comfortable and easy to transport. Rather than simply modifying an existing design, GCI started with a clean sheet of paper, and the results speak for themselves, as does the Pico’s number one ranking among my companions, the volunteer testers, with no fewer than four top picks. My main concern with the Pico is long-term durability, given the complex construction and multitude of bits. Balancing that is GCI’s limited lifetime warranty—not much use in a remote camp, but a comfort nonetheless if a part breaks. We’ll know more about this one after another year of passing it around. And that leads us to the Kermit Chair—which I’ll be the first to admit is not for everyone. While its strength is unassailable, the simple fact is that it will not fit large campers. As a rough and subjective guide, based on the people I’ve actually seen sit in it, I’d define a nominal upper size limit of around 220 pounds—although I’m certain there are satisfied owners over that who’ll tell me I’m wrong. With that one limitation, no other chair here can boast quite the same combination of handmade quality, astounding motorcycleto-Land-Rover versatility, all-day comfort, and natural good looks. That tipped the balanced, and the Kermit Chair earned my Editor’s Choice.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

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Lati tude Eyes of Hope

Photo by Hariet

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Photo by Eric

Hariet is fourteen years old. She was born in Mayange, Rwanda, and is currently in Primary 6 at the Muyenzi School. Hariet lives with her mother and siblings. She enjoys taking photographs of her friends.

Eric is eighteen years old. He was born in Kigali, Rwanda. His parents were killed in the 1994 genocide. He has been taking care of himself for most of his life. He is currently in Secondary 1 in Gitarama, Rwanda. Eric is an accomplished photographer who has completed two internships, at a photo studio in Kigali, and for Rwandair magazine. He works at a photo studio in Kigali during the holiday to help earn money for school fees. Overland Journal Spring 2009

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Photo by Josiane

Josiane is seventeen years old. She was born in Kigali, Rwanda. Her parents were killed in the 1994 genocide. She recently finished Primary 6 at the Kagugu School in Kigali. She enjoys documenting the lives of people living in her community. Josiane uses photography to help her earn extra money for school fees. Overland Journal Spring 2009

Emmaculee is sixteen years old. She was born in Kigali, Rwanda. Her mother died in childbirth and her father is serving a prison sentence for his participation in the 1994 genocide. She lives with her brother in Kigali and is in Primary 6 at the Kagugu School in Kigali. She enjoys selling her photographs to people to earn money for food and school fees.

Photo by Emmaculee

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Photo by Odila

Photo by Eric The overlanding community's Muskoka Foundation is proud to partner with Through the Eyes of Hope Project to bring you these powerful photos taken by a group of school children in Rwanda. Started by New York photographer Linda Smith and Rwandan teacher Prossy Yohanna in 2007, the Project celebrates and affirms children's creativity while providing them with a means to generate their own funds through the sales of their photos. The Muskoka Foundation helps overland travelers "do good as they go" through volunteer programs by providing kits, workshop materials, and partnerships. Find out more about their photography program and others in entrepreneurship, arts, education, sports, and healthcare at themuskokafoundation.org. Find out more about Through The Eyes of Hope Project and purchase children's prints at eyesofhopeproject.com; make donations to Eyes of Hope at fracturedatlas.org/site/contribute/donate/1979. Overland Journal Spring 2009

Odila is thirteen years old. She was born in Kigali, Rwanda. Her parents both died of AIDS. Odila contracted the HIV virus from her mother. She is currently on ARVs and has been accepted to one of the best boarding schools in Kigali. Odila loves to photograph her friends and little children. Odila took a powerful photograph of her cousin praying at the grave of Odila’s mother and baby sister.

Christine is 13 years old. She was born in Mayange, Rwanda and is currently in Primary 6 at the Muyenzi School. Christine has used proceeds from her photography to provide a store for her school.

Photo by Christine Overland Journal Spring 2009

Rim to Rim across the

Great Rift Valley

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Four intrepid travelers sign up for a reconnaissance to help preserve community-owned wildlife habitat in southern Kenya Text by Jonathan Hanson Photography by Jonathan and Roseann Hanson

The journalist, hunter, and African traveler Robert Ruark once quipped, “The cape buffalo always looks at you as though you owe him money.” At the moment I recalled that line, a good 50 cape buffalo were eyeing us like it was time to pay up or be stomped to jelly. Arrayed in a horns-out defensive (offensive?) arc, they presented a sight to make a squad of mob enforcers with baseball bats and bulging pinstripe suits appear laughably unthreatening.

A scene that has not changed much in eons–except for the Land Cruiser. Right: Masai Mara lion. Overland Journal Spring 2009

Fortunately, our group of five Americans and two Kenyans was more or less safely ensconced in two Land Cruisers. I say “more or less” because it’s only a lack of math skills on the part of the buffalo that kept us immune to their scorn—if they knew that a fully loaded HJ45 barely outweighs a couple of really big bulls, they might have decided to try Toyota Tipping as a new sport. As it was, we were able to take our time admiring the massive bosses on the horns of the two outrider bulls that stayed between us and the rest of the group, looking like ambulatory mortar emplacements. While the rest of the group snapped photos, I stood up in the roof hatch and looked around. To our left, a herd of zebra grazed placidly, intermingling with a dozen wildebeest, while farther on a bunch of impala twitched their tails incessantly. The top of an acacia on my right shook as a giraffe pulled off new growth with its 20-inch-long prehensile tongue. Then, ambling out of the long grass bordering the Uaso Nyiro River, came a herd of . . . cattle, followed by a lone, red-robed Maasai warrior idly swinging his ngodi, or short staff, while over his other shoulder he balanced the legendary Maasai lion-killing spear, the imperi. He and his cattle strolled past buffalo, zebra, wildebeest, and giraffe, none of which paid the slightest attention. Herder and livestock were as much a functioning part of the habitat as any of the wildlife, and we watched, open-mouthed, to witness such a scene of man and nature existing in casual harmony. Did I mention that, as far as I could see in any direction across the broad African savannah, we and the Maasai herder were apparently the only humans in existence? That kind of experience is almost unheard of in modern Kenya, where the great wildlife circuit through the national parks, for all its awe-inspiring splendor, is managed like a well-honed machine, cycling tourists by the thousands through European-owned lodges and out to view the show in fleets of 12-seat safari vehicles. But if a pilot project envisioned by a group of Maasai communities and a small conservation organization proves successful, a few times each year groups such as ours will have the opportunity to enjoy a safari such as one might have expected 50 years ago, while at the same time helping to forge a new direction in cultural and wildlife conservation in East Africa. ***

Depending on which geologic naming convention you believe, the Great Rift Valley extends from the Jordan River in Lebanon, in the Middle East, 6,000 miles south to central Mozambique, in southern Africa—a rent in the earth’s crust that subtends a quarter the circumference of the planet. The Rift doesn’t just figure into human history; it’s been center stage for much of it. The Sea of Galilee, where Jesus gathered four of his fishermen disciples; the Dead Sea, on the shores of which was the wicked city of

Sodom destroyed in Genesis; the Gulf of Aqaba, overlooked by T.E. Lawrence after he marched across the desert with the Howeitat; the Red Sea, plied by Alexander the Great’s fleets—all are children of the extended Great Rift system. Come ashore in Africa and humanity’s roots in the Rift reach much, much deeper. In 1974 an anthropologist named Donald Johanson decided to take a short detour in his Land Rover from a dig in the northern Rift, and in a small ravine noticed something sticking out

of the slope. The something turned out to be an arm bone of a remarkably complete and unmistakably bipedal hominid later dated to have lived 3.2 million years ago. During the boozy celebration in camp, someone repeatedly played a tape of the Beatles’ song, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds—and the name Lucy attached itself to that three-and-a-half-foot-tall progenitor of modern man (although we’re not even certain Lucy was female). The Great Rift Valley is also the site of the greatest wildlife spectacle on Earth. Despite political upheaval, increasing human population, and spasms of poaching that devastated elephant and rhino populations, an American’s or European’s first experience with the overwhelming numbers of animals supported by the East African habitat is simply staggering. In a broad swath of the Rift and its bordering highlands straddling the Kenya/Tanzania border, animals in the millions migrate, breed, graze, and hunt just as they have since Lucy and her kin foraged among them. A bunch of factors combine to make this so, among them diverse terrain, tropical climate, a bi-annual rainfall pattern, and the long co-evolution of humans and plains animals— unlike, for example, North America, where migrating Paleolithic hunters burst upon an unadapted megafauna population and, at the very least, contributed to its extirpation. Whatever the causes, East Africa is unique—and its irreplaceable splendor was not lost on the European colonists who actively governed the region for what was historically a surprisingly short time. But the colonial approach to wildlife conservation centered around creating large national parks or game management areas and then, typically, kicking out the indigenous people who had

A herd of elephants crosses a dry lake bed in Amboseli Overland Journal Spring 2009

their stock and a hazard to their crops. Elephants, for example—which are rebounding in population after the ivory wars of the 70s and 80s—can completely destroy a planted field in just one night. An ancient, balanced co-existence has evolved into an adversarial relationship. And that’s where our safari came in. A small Nairobi-based NGO (non-governmental organization) called the African Conservation Centre, and its U.S. affiliate the African Conservation Fund, are working with a Maasai association of community-owned group ranches called SORALO (South Rift Association of Land Owners), to help them develop their own wildlife conservation programs, including, among several projects, Maasai-owned and operated camps and lodges to provide income to the community and jobs to residents. The goal is to restore wildlife as an asset to the Maasai, as it used to be when they referred to plains animals as Research coordinator Samantha Russell shows Dave Leman some data

lived there for centuries in perfect harmony with that wildlife. Human rights aside, the park system was undoubtedly the fastest way to achieve conservation goals at the time, and those parks still serve as important core habitat areas, providing concentrated, easily accessible viewing for tourists who want to see as much as possible on their whirlwind safaris. Park fees provide much-needed income for the countries that maintain them. But here’s a little-known fact: About 65 percent of Kenya’s wildlife lives outside its national parks, on tribal and private lands. Furthermore, much of the wildlife in the parks, especially the large mammal species, cannot survive confined to any one of them yearround. Seasonal migration and dispersal are essential to their existence. So not only do a lot of animals live outside the parks, many more move through tribal and private land on their way from one protected area to another. And that can cause problems. In the southern Kenya and northern Tanzania region, the Maasai, forced into a largely sedentary existence after centuries of moving with their herds right along with the wildebeest and zebra, struggle to survive in a world no longer tolerant of wandering pastoralists and raiders. With little or no income from mainstream tourism, and no way to benefit directly from the wildlife on their lands, for many Maasai communities wildlife is little but a threat to

Uaso Nyiro River. The track is in fact locked off by a community gate; John obtained advance permission to go through it for his scouting trip and our following safari. So the pieces were all there; we just had to connect them—and see if we could have fun doing it. With three Land Cruisers rented from Nairobi’s Cruising Cruisers—a diesel 75-Series Troopie, a diesel 45-Series Troopie, and a mid-wheelbase petrol FJ43, we gathered our four cohorts who had paid up front to be Guinea pigs: Dave Leman, Cal Hoagland and Linda Lanzl, and, on the last night before departure, Al Walter. Dave, Cal, and Linda were all Africa veterans; this would be Al’s first trip here, despite a lifetime of exploration elsewhere. Our plan was to bookend the exploratory part of the safari with visits to the Masai Mara and Amboseli, to compare the experience there with what we’d find on tribal lands. This would also ensure Al a memorable wildlife ex-

As far as I could see in any direction across

the broad African savannah, we and the Maasai herder were

apparently the only humans in existence. “second cattle.” My wife, Roseann, has been working with these organizations for several years to help them raise funds and international interest; she is also the conservation editor for Overland Journal. Central to SORALO’s plans is the South Rift Circuit, a proposed tourist route that would run rim-to-rim across the Rift, connecting the Masai Mara National Reserve in the west with Amboseli National Park in the east, but traversing tribal lands in between. Our proof-of-concept mission was to explore the existing roads and tracks that comprise the proposed circuit, and evaluate its potential as to cultural opportunities and wildlife viewing for tourism. Roseann had recced part of the route solo the previous year, and she and I covered another section of it the week before our group arrived. At the same time, John Kamanga, a Maasai elder and the director of SORALO, scouted the pivotal section: a scarcely-used two-track that descends the west wall of the Rift, from the Nguruman Escarpment to the Shompole Community area straddling the

perience no matter how the rest of the trip turned out. We packed up supplies at a guest house in Karen, a suburb southwest of Nairobi that comprises much of the former coffee plantation of Karen Blixen. Two of the Land Cruisers were equipped with Engel fridges, so we had room to carry both cold Tusker lager and fresh meats and vegetables. To take full advantage of that fresh food, we had also found a professional safari cook by networking through friends in Nairobi, and happily scored one of the best, Samson Karanja, who was trained at resorts on the coast but prefers the safari kitchen. The next morning John Kamanga met us with his shiny 78-series Troopie and, with Dave and Al in one Land Cruiser, Cal and Linda in another, and Roseann, Samson, and myself in the third, we headed west out of Karen, with reminders to the right-hand-drive neophytes in the group. No one experienced any blips in lane selection, but we were soon off the tarmac anyway, and headed over the Ngong Hills toward the immense extinct Overland Journal Spring 2009

stakes in front of the fire. Exactly 24 hours after he first arrived in Africa, Al Walter found himself sitting under the Southern Cross next to an extinct volcano, chatting with two Maasai elders while munching on pieces of a goat killed in his honor. The next day we hiked up the southern summit of the volcano, called Ol Donyo Onyoke, and got a fine view of the surrounding tribal lands, some of which have the potential to be set aside as wildlife reserves. Then we packed up and said our farewells to the community leaders, and headed west toward Narok, then south toward the Masai Mara National Reserve. The Mara represents a shining example of cross-border wildlife conservation. The reserve is essentially the northern extension of Tanzania’s Serengeti National Park; together they encompass nearly 10,000 square miles of African savannah. The international border is completely open to the vast north-south wildlife migration that is one of the natural wonders of the planet. We were scheduled to pitch our own camp at the proposed site of a permanent tented camp owned by the women’s group of the Siana Maasai community, just north of the reserve boundary. When we arrived, we found the spot pleasant and shaded, albeit tilted at an angle that would cause no problems for Left: The women’s group in charge of the South Rift Resource Centre also sells beadwork. Below: The welcoming committee at Mount Suswa, on the edge of the crater. Our vehicles lined up in the Ngong Hills.

shield volcano, Mount Suswa. Suswa is known for the forested magma raft that rises within its inner crater, isolated by a 500-foot deep moat between it and the outer rim, thus creating a nearly inaccessible “lost world,” frequented mostly by leopards and baboons. There are also giant lava tubes that were reportedly used as hiding places by the Mau Mau. The Suswa community is in the early stages of developing a tourism strategy, and we were met with the full-on Maasai community meeting juggernaut. Nobody does community meetings like the Maasai. Everyone arrives dressed to the teeth—which for Overland Journal Spring 2009

the women means lots of beads and flowing shukas, but for the men can mean, apparently at whim, anything from traditional dress complete with imperi, to western suits and ties— or bizarre blends of each. Then, everyone gets a say on every subject. The debate at Suswa seemed to center mostly around the choice of keeping impact and visitor numbers low, or going for the full, crater-edge safari lodge effect. As the sun headed down, we saw a group of warriors headed toward us with a phlegmatic goat in tow. Unlucky goat; lucky us, for it was soon butchered and arrayed in slabs on

Our camp on the edge of the extinct volcano

We were slightly early for the migration, but from high points could see

thousands of wildebeest gathering across the Mara River, waiting for the invisible signal that triggers their dash

past the crocodiles waiting in the water. platform-pitched permanent tents, but lent our own shelters a slight list. While Samson set up his kitchen anchored to the back of the FJ43, and into which we were forbidden to stray on pain of a sharp scolding, our group was treated to a dance put on by the ladies. While wandering around the site, I noticed a fair amount of fresh elephant dung— the almost scentless, cantaloupe-sized balls that surprise first-timers who expect elephant dung piles to be three feet tall. Oh, yes, one of our community liaisons remembered: This particular area was on a popular route taken by elephants foraging outside the park. In fact, she said, they had taken the liberty of hiring a couple of guards, as these elephants seemed

to annoy easily when their normal routine was interrupted. In due course two of the reserve rangers showed up, armed with ancient .303 Lee Enfield Jungle Carbines guaranteed to turn an annoyed elephant into a seriously annoyed elephant if you actually fired the thing at it. However, their first line of deterrence was a very large bonfire they soon had stoked. Roseann was a bit worried about ground tents, prone sleeping clients, and five-ton nocturnal passers-by, but I assured her that we were completely safe as long as we stayed in the tents, since animals can’t discern between a tent and a boulder, and simply steer clear unless they see a human crawling out of one.

Under a light rain we all finally went to bed, leaving the guards drinking tea and chatting. I was asleep quickly—until a full-bore, what-the-hell-is-this? elephant trumpet split the night no more than 20 feet from our heads. Cool, I thought drowsily, until the circulation in my arm stopped as Roseann grabbed it. “Are you sure elephants never bother tents?” she hissed. “Positive,” I replied, and was soon back to sleep. (And not more than a day after we came home Roseann forwarded me several photos of an African elephant methodically disassembling a roof tent. They almost never bother tents.) The next day (all of us present and unflattened), the Mara lived up to its reputation as Overland Journal Spring 2009

Celebratory dinner at Ol Kanjau

We stood in our vehicles in one spot where I estimated there were at least

200 elephants within view.

a premier wildlife destination, as within ten minutes of our entry Al had added three of the Big Five—elephant, lion, and buffalo—to his Africa list, along with a half-dozen species of plains game. We were slightly early for the migration, but from high points could see thousands of wildebeest gathering across the Mara River, waiting for the invisible signal that Overland Journal Spring 2009

triggers their dash past the crocodiles waiting in the water. Other tourist traffic was actually pretty light, since Kenya was still recovering from the effects of its election violence; nevertheless, we were rarely out of sight of another vehicle. Now it was time for the real journey to begin. With John Kamanga in the lead, we

drove north from the Mara and took a right at Ewaso Ngiro. The track wound through small villages and fields, then began a descent through increasingly dense forest in the Loita Hills, where colobus monkeys stood out in stark black and white against the foliage. We made several small river crossings—shallow during this, the dry season—under towering fig trees draped with vines, and then the track reached an overlook where the entire Rift Valley lay spread before us, a scene visually no different than what Burton or Speke or Thomson might have witnessed. I ordered low range second gear for all the vehicles, and we plunged off the edge, the track steep but in excellent condition, as John had reported. Blind switchbacks were common, but we had little fear of meeting anyone coming the other way, and in fact reached the valley floor three hours later without seeing another human except for the sleepy gate guard at the bottom. Just shy of the Uaso Nyiro we turned south and ploughed though patches of bulldust, which revealed numerous gaps in the door seals of the 75 Roseann and I were driving. Then a climb back into the edge of the Rift’s foothills brought us to Sampu Camp. Sampu represents what SORALO hopes will be the paradigm for camps on the South Rift Circuit. Started as an Olkiramatian community project, then neglected for lack of funding, it’s now in the process of a thorough renovation. Perched magnificently on the edge of a bluff overlooking the Rift Valley, Sampu Camp comprises raised platforms and large, comfortable tents with en-suite bathrooms and showers. A large group dining and kitchen area overlooks an acacia woodland and a view to the horizon. New thatched roofs shaded old tents when we arrived; new tents were literally en route, and a solar lighting system had already been delivered and was awaiting installation. We scheduled three days and four nights at Sampu, and by the time we left everyone wished it had been a week—or two. We piled into a pair of Land Cruisers and explored the grasslands and swamp near the river, finding that truculent herd of buffalo, along with lesser kudu, eland, hyenas, and dozens of bird species (future plans include an overnight walking safari here). Night drives with a spotlight revealed civets, genets, and jackals. Unlike virtually every standard safari in East Africa, we were free to simply wander around and see what we could find. Unlike the parks,

we also occasionally had to search for the wildlife, which somehow made it that much more thrilling when we found it. And we had it all to ourselves—except for a group of scientists who inhabit the nearby South Rift Resource Centre, a tented research station and educational facility situated on land donated by the Olkiramatian community, and managed entirely by the local women’s group (almost unheard of in Maasailand; in its first year of operation, the resource centre has generated more than $7,000 for the ladies group fund, which is used for children’s education and emergency food funds during droughts). We got to talk extensively with several of the research station’s scientists, including Dr. Scott Creel and Paul Schuette, who are studying and radio-collaring lions in the vicinity, and Samantha Russell, the station’s research coordinator. One of the centre’s five locally hired research assistants, a Maasai named Joel Njonjo, took us on a walk to see the baboon troop he is studying and acclimatizing to the presence of humans, part of a community science project of Dr. Shirley Strum of the University of California San Diego. And we learned that GPS-collared elephants are showing the area to be resurgent as a migratory corridor into the Mara uplands and even Tanzania—an inspiring development for the future of community conservation projects. In the meantime, Samson fed us—so well, in fact, that Roseann and I flogged the 75-Series Troopie to Nairobi and back in one day for a resupply. A refrigeration issue had raised its head: One fridge wasn’t getting enough voltage from its auxiliary battery, which we discovered wasn’t wired to the alternator and only received charge from a single solar panel. Decision time: Do we keep the Tusker lager cold and sacrifice the meat, or vice versa? “Tusker!” was the unanimous decision, so we spent the next few days in a carnivorous orgy to use up as much beef as possible. The result of our drive down the Rift, our stay at Sampu, and our experiences in the Uaso Nyiro area, was another unanimous decision: “Better than the Masai Mara!” The way was clear for the South Rift Circuit to establish a presence as an unparalleled African safari experience. But we still needed to connect the rest of the route, and we still had a week to have fun. Heading east after saying our good-byes at the research station, we stopped at Lake Magadi, a 40-square-mile soda lake dominated by the world’s second-largest soda ash plant, but

which is nevertheless also home to thousands of flamingos and dozens of species of shorebirds. Dave, our resident truly expert birder (as opposed to my own pretend expertness) annoyed me with his fast differentiations of seemingly identical wading species. I flunked waders in ornithology. After a short stretch of tarmac we again headed east on dirt, into the Kudu Hills and to the night’s camp, a charming but gap-yearvagabond-oriented establishment where waifish young women tried to chat up Samson for a handout, to little avail. We decided to explore other alternatives for future SRC trips. The next night was better, in a pretty but utterly deserted community camp two hours from Amboseli. There are several ways into Amboseli National Park, and we picked the one most likely to reduce a vehicle to its component parts. The Meshanani Road boasted the worst corrugations I or Roseann had ever experienced in decades of travel. My previous worst, in Zambia, were mere ripples compared to these. It was less like driving over corrugations than cutting directly across a plowed field over which concrete had been poured to solidify the ridges. At 100 kph we danced over them with actual tire-to-earth contact occurring perhaps 10 percent of the time. But the most astonishing sights were the occasional overstuffed Toyota Hi-Ace van taxis coming the other way at our speed plus, wheels pistoning up and down at an insane pace and the entire vehicle often sideways in a crazy drift around curves, so I could clearly see passengers’ unconcerned faces through the side windows as we headed at a T-bone tangent directly at them. Land Cruisers might be stout, but the humble Hi-Ace has to be the unsung toughest vehicle on the planet.

What a miracle, then, to pass through the Meshanani Gate at Amboseli, to be met by one of Mike and Judy Rainy’s guides, who led us several miles into the park to an enormous acacia tree, under which was a long table set with an elegant lunch spread. It was an unexpected welcome to the far end of our journey at the Rainys’ Ol Kanjau tented camp, set in the thorn forest outside Amboseli’s eastern border, under the mighty shoulder of Mount Kilimanjaro. Our “duty” was over—we had successfully proved the concept of the South Rift Circuit—and Ol Kanjau, with its classic tented accommodations, expansive, candle-lit dining tent, and the raconteur hosting of Mike, an ex-pat American, was the perfect reward. And again we had access to the best of classic African wildlife viewing. Amboseli National Park is tiny compared to the Mara/Serengeti system, or Tsavo to the east. But its status as a gathering place for wildlife is no less huge. We stood in our vehicles in one spot where I estimated there were at least 200 elephants within view. No place I have ever been is harder to leave than East Africa. But at last we had to, by one last back route north toward Nairobi (taken as much to avoid the Meshanani HiAces as for exploration). As we curved around outside the northern boundary of Amboseli I noticed a set of elephant tracks, headed west, the way from which we had come from the opposite side of the Great Rift Valley. With luck, some hard work, and with more visitors like ourselves looking for a rare African experience, the parallel tracks of our vehicles and the wandering elephants might coexist in harmony for a long time. Mission accomplished.

RESOURCES The African Conservation Fund will continue to run small group safaris, both full-service and self-drive, through the South Rift Circuit while a do-it-yourself route is established. Contact ACF through their website at africanconservationfund.org African Conservation Centre, conservationafrica.org South Rift Resource Centre, southriftccr.blogspot.com Uaso Ngiro Baboon Project, baboonsrus.com Cruising Cruisers, cruisingcruisers.com Tracks4Africa, tracks4africa.com OL Kanjau Camp, Olkanjau.com

The team: Dave Leman, Cal Hoagland, Linda Lanzl, Roseann Hanson, Samson Karanja, John Kamanga, Al Walter and, behind the camera, Jonathan Hanson

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Great Rift Valley

Route

Cartography by Andrew Long (longcreative.com)

Overland Journal Spring 2009

the stuff of

DREA M S : A Custom Toyota Land Cruiser 45-series Troopie

Story and photography by Chris Marzonie Overland Journal Spring 2009

“Twenty-seven Land Cruisers?”

Specifications 68

• • • • •

Hybrid Toyota FJ45 troop carrier 1HZ 6-cylinder diesel engine Five-speed manual transmission Two-speed manual transfer case FJ62 front and rear axles (non-U.S. spec full-floating rear with cable locker) • Leaf spring (spring-over) suspension front and rear

Modifications

• Includes donated parts from 27 Land Cruisers • Front axle relocated 3.2 inches forward • Spring-over FJ40 leafs with Bilstein 5125 shocks • ARB bullbar • Custom rear bumper with tire carrier and quarter-panel rails • Custom rock sliders • Warn 8274 electric winch • Custom roll cage with roof tent mounts • Technitop roof tent by African Outback Products (not shown)

Overland Journal Spring 2009

I could hardly believe it, but according to Jeremiah Proffitt of Proffitt’s Cruisers in Colorado, that’s how many Toyotas contributed parts for John Brasier’s dream. John, a man with an affinity for Land Cruisers, envisioned a 45-series troopie (troop carrier) with qualities that went beyond the original legendary 45-series design. He wanted the classic look of the 45, with a more modern drivetrain and better maneuverability for technical trails, both locally and in remote locales such as Central America and Alaska. He liked the cargo capacity of the 45 for gear and equipment, but also wanted the benefits of Toyota’s superb 1HZ diesel power plant, more ground clearance, and better articulation. Working at Proffitt’s provided access to a rich pool of resources, including the talents of Jeremiah Proffitt and Ian Fradl, who would help with the build. The foundation for the wagon included the front half of a ‘77 FJ40 grafted to the frame and bed of a ‘65 short wheelbase FJ45 hard-top pickup using approximately eleven inches of hand-fabricated sheet metal. The top was handmade using the sheet metal from no fewer than five Cruisers. John wanted the long boxed-in version of the wheel wells inside the cargo area for extra storage, like on an original FJ45 troopie, so a pair of FJ40 wells were mated to the originals for extended length. The cowl and side mirrors are from a ‘77 FJ40 and the dash once adorned the interior of an ‘83. The only 40-series Land Cruisers that came with a one-piece fold-down tailgate were the short-wheelbase pickups with the factory soft top, until now. The talented eyes and hands of Robert “Bob” Anderson, the resident body expert at Proffitt’s Cruisers, oversaw the body project. Once it was completely formed and welded together, a powdercoat was applied for maximum rust protection, followed by finish work and an overall paint job. The interior was stripped and coated with EZ Liner industrial-strength bedliner coating. Long-distance travel and fuel range were important considerations, and John wanted the option to use waste vegetable oil for fuel at some point in the future, so a diesel was in order. The power train was procured from various 70-series donors and is basically the same as the HZJ75 truck featured in our Summer 2008 issue: a 1HZ diesel engine with five-speed manual transmission and transfer case. The running gear comprises FJ62 axles with FJ40 leaf springs in a spring-over-axle configuration, and Bilstein 5125 shock absorbers, allowing room for 35-inch BFGoodrich MudTerrain tires on 15-inch American Racing alloy wheels. The rear axle is a non-U.S. Toyota full-floating design with a cable-operated differential lock. The front axle is equipped with Warn hubs, and was repositioned slightly forward of the stock location to provide a better approach angle, resulting in a wheelbase of 107.5 inches rather than the factory 104.3 inches. Anyone who has steered a 40-series with large tires using only muscles would appreciate the power steering unit from an FJ60 that was included on the list of modifications. Several clever and useful non-Toyota additions complement the overall utility of the vehicle. A roll cage was designed and fabricated to support a Technitop roof tent when the top is off. Armor includes custom rock sliders, and a rear bumper with swing-out tire carrier and rear quarter-panel protection. The front is protected with an ARB bull bar, and fitted with a Warn 8274 winch. After crawling under, over, and inside this truck, and knowing that 27 vehicles were used to create it, I asked how long it took to complete. Imagining the answer would be stated in years, I was left gaping at the reply: “One month.” Editor’s note: The latest news in the evolving story of this Land Cruiser is that it’s been sold to a new owner who is currently in Iraq, and who plans to do additional work on the Troopie when he returns to the U.S. A full complement of expedition-related modifications and waste-vegetable oil are some of the rumored future projects.

Left column: FJ40 leaf springs on FJ62 axles with Bilstein 5125 shock. Ready for the western U.S. or East Africa. Warn 8274 winch. Custom rock sliders protect the sills. Middle column: ARB bullbar. Classic badge. Ready to roll. 35” BFG Mud Terrains on 15-inch American Racing wheels. Right column: Toyota 1HZ 6-cylinder diesel engine. Classic 40-series bezel with “diesel” badge. The one-piece fold-down tailgate and hatch window open to a voluminous cargo area. Custom rear bumper with quarter-panel guards. Overland Journal Spring 2009

Great Expectations The quest for the perfect adventure motorcycle jacket Story and photography by Jonathan Hanson

Overland Journal Spring 2009

hink of what happens when you climb aboard an adventure motorcycle on a cold, but not bitterly cold, morning—let’s say 35°F—in a light drizzle. You’ve got a stretch of two-lane highway to cover this morning before hitting the dirt section of your route, so you accelerate up to a comfortable 55 mph. Comfortable? Not quite. The wind chill factor at that speed reduces the apparent temperature to 18°F, and that light drizzle is now a stinging barrage of needle-like jets doing its best to penetrate every stitch of your outerwear. You’ve essentially created the conditions that might be experienced by an alpine climber, and you need similar protection to stay dry and warm. Yet later the very same day, especially if you live in a climate similar to mine in southern Arizona, or are traveling through country with large elevation changes, you might find yourself riding under brilliant 90° sunshine. What then? Strip to baggy shorts, T-shirt, and flip-flops, like those 18-year-old squids you see doing wheelies on 160-horsepower Ninjas? Not likely, because, unlike them, you are aware of your mortality, and of the possibility, nay, inevitability, that sooner or later you’re going to come off that bike—probably on a low-speed trail maneuver that will result in a solid thump and perhaps a short skid, but just possibly on a fast stretch of pavement when someone dialing a cell phone pulls out in front of you and you lay it down at 50 mph. So motorcycle outerwear must combine several mutually exclusive characteristics: water resistance, flow-through air cooling, warmth, and skid (abrasion) and impact (armor) protection, at a reasonable weight and cost. And, if possible, all-round, all-day comfort. Dare we even mention style? A tall order. I concentrated on jackets in this review, since pants from each manufacturer generally follow the same approaches and use similar materials and technology. Any of the jackets here could be augmented with an electric vest for added cold-weather performance; however, I made them perform on their own. Most of these came standard with a zip-in inner jacket. For decades, leather was the standard in motorcycle outerwear, and for good reason. Even now, it’s debatable whether the best synthetics can match high-quality leather for abrasion-resistance. Most motorcycle racing suits are still largely leather (although racing crashes typically involve different dynamics than road crashes—high speed but low impact). My first motorcycle jacket was a rigid, surplus horsehide flight jacket; I probably could have been dragged my entire 20-mile commute in it with no ill effects. But leather, while it can be made very waterresistant, is extremely difficult to make both water resistant and wellventilated. So most all-around touring jackets these days are fabric of one combination or another. Fortunately, modern synthetic (and even natural) fabrics can be made remarkably abrasion-resistant, although one good pavement slide usually does it in for that section of fabric. Designers take one of two approaches to the conundrum of warmweather ventilation versus cold weather wind and rain protection. One is to make the outer, abrasion-resistant and armored shell from breathable fabric with big ventilation slots—or even from mesh—and add a removable inner shell of waterproof/windproof/insulative material. The other is to make the outer protective shell waterproof, and rely on clever arrangements of covered vents to let in cooling air when you want it while hopefully excluding drafts and rain when closed.

The former arrangement works well in that the outer garment can be as breezy as you like. But since it is water-permeable, it can become very sodden with absorbed moisture in a downpour, even though you might be dry inside the liner. The latter approach keeps water out right from the start, but is difficult to ventilate since every opening is a potential leak point. (Keep in mind that even a Gore-Tex shell will eventually absorb some moisture in the weave of the fabric, since the laminate is on the inside.) As you’d expect, in general the breathable/ventilated/ mesh outer shell with waterproof inner is more comfortable for predominantly dry, warm-weather riding; the weatherproof outer shell is superior for colder/wetter riding. On a round-the-world, Sahara to Himalaya to Amazon excursion you’ll have to choose which compromise you think will give you the best all-around comfort. Armor presents another set of mutually exclusive goals. Armor should provide impact absorption (cushioning and dissipation) first, and, if possible, additional abrasion protection, while not hindering movement or air flow. Advancements in materials, and developments in laminating different materials, have produced armor that retains adequate impact protection while reducing thickness and increasing ventilation. As with everything else, you get what you pay for. You can buy inexpensive armor that is effective but bulky, stiff, and hot, or expensive armor that is effective but light, flexible, and well-ventilated. (Beware really inexpensive “armor” that is nothing but squishy foam padding or, worse, hard plastic. If possible, take it out of the jacket and look at it.) Right now, the only commonly accepted certification for armor is the European CE (Conformité Européenne) EN-1621 standard, which involves laboratory testing with a five-kilogram impact device. If the armor in your jacket is CE certified, you can be assured it’s reasonable stuff (although the test reveals nothing about abrasion resistance). If not, it still could be effective armor, since many American companies don’t bother with the certification; however, you’re then relying more heavily on the manufacturer’s reputation. Also, the CE armor certification only tests the armor itself, not how it’s sewn into the jacket to stay in place in a crash. And, of course, the rating has nothing to do with comfort. Fortunately I didn’t have the opportunity to crash test any of these jackets. Range of comfort testing was easier, because early spring in southern Arizona means chilly mornings and warm afternoons. However, one day of measly drizzle was not enough to objectively evaluate rain protection, so I came up with a set of impromptu laboratory test dummies that, if I may say so, worked brilliantly: cardboard silhouette targets. I dressed each jacket in one, blocked off the neck, then blasted it with a hose for a few minutes. The cardboard instantly revealed the location and extent of any leaking. Here are six jackets, narrowed from a field of nine, that address valiantly that farrago of contradictory features demanded of a good motorcycle jacket. Each has its strengths and compromises, and I would happily own any of them for at least one reason, some for more. However, if you were hoping to read here about a crash-proof jacket cool in 100° weather that’s also rainproof and toasty at 20°, soft as an old cashmere sweater, weighs 20 ounces, and is as handsome as a waxed-cotton Barbour—well, I can help you with the Barbour. Otherwise, you’ll have your own decisions to make, based on your own priorities.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Clockwise from top left: Is it a motorcycle jacket, or a ski parka? Yes. Gore-Tex weather protection and impeccable seam-taping. Glove-friendly zipper pulls and plenty of reflective material. The Darien’s shoulder armor: shock-absorbing but bulky. The Darien’s hem drawstring Velcroes out of the way so it won’t flap.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Aerostich Darien Light

emember the old Saturday Night Live skit where the aerosol can of foam turns out to be both a dessert topping and a floor polish? The Darien Light fits the same mold. It’s an armored motorcycle jacket and a handsome urban foul-weather jacket all in one. When you think about it, that makes perfect sense if you’re on an extended bike trip and don’t have room for frivolous clothing, yet don’t want to look and feel like a linebacker when you walk down to a restaurant for dinner. The Darien Light’s armor—elbows, shoulders, and (optional) back—is completely modular, enclosed in individual nylon envelopes that Velcro into place and peel out in seconds. Remove it all and you have a lightweight shell that could pass for, and indeed function as, a trim ski parka. The U.S.-made DL’s three-layer Gore-Tex construction, backed up with what appears to be about a quarter-mile of flawless seam taping on the inside, is waterproof, period. I couldn’t make it leak, despite the eight-inch long pitzips and even longer horizontal back vent, which ram plenty of air though the jacket on warm days. In terms of laminate breathability, the current generation Gore-Tex is very good, although not as good as some competitors such as eVent. One of the main reasons to choose Gore-Tex is the company’s strict standard for construction, to which manufacturers using the product must adhere. The spray performance of the Darien Light is evidence for the effectiveness of this protocol. The main zipper has a double Velcro flap that completely blocks both water and wind—and of course Gore-Tex itself is impermeable to moving air, even if you’re moving through that air at 75 mph. Unfortunately Aerostich did not send me the inner jacket, so I couldn’t evaluate its contribution to the warmth of the entire system. Even so, for all its “Light” designation (it weighs just 3 pounds, 12 ounces, scarcely more than the non-armored Barbour), the Darien Light offers plenty of versatility and comfort for changing weather conditions. However, as light and comfortable as the jacket is, its TF3 armor isn’t. Not that it’s uncomfortable, but I certainly never forgot it was

$387, or $527 with inner jacket (USA) there, especially around the shoulders. The inserts comprise very thick (.625-inch) and wide closed-cell viscoelastic foam, with a partial harder shell over that. Despite a couple of long rides, the inserts never molded themselves to my contours, always sticking out around my shoulders and elbows like football padding. Given the minimalist approach Aerostich has taken with the Darien Light, I think the armor inserts could be made smaller in circumference to decrease bulk. The armor at least gives the impression it would absorb a lot of energy in a crash— viscoelastic foam feels squishy between your fingers but resists sharp impacts. Although the armor is not CE certified, Aerostich told me the center section under the hard shell actually exceeded CE specifications when tested. That hardened armor is probably a good idea, given the very lightweight, 200-denier Cordura material on this jacket. Generally, 500-denier Cordura (employed in the standard Darien) is considered a minimum for reliable abrasion protection in a motorcycle jacket. Aerostich is up-front about this—the Darien Light owner’s guide is one of the most honest you’ll find, and includes this fascinating tidbit: “ . . . Cordura is more slippery than leather, so in a crash you will slide slightly farther, but roll and tumble less.” So choose the Darien Light with due consideration. If most of your riding is on dirt roads at slower speeds, you should be fine. If you do a lot of high-speed tarmac riding, consider the whole-milk Darien. Nice touches abound on the DL, from fat zipper pulls easy to manipulate with gloves on, to bright reflective patches front, side, and back, to the little loop that keeps the neck closure tab from flapping when it’s not closed all the way. Aerostich maintains a comprehensive repair facility for all their garments should you take a spill. In addition, when ordering a new jacket you can specify custom alterations such as different sleeve lengths, special gusseting, and extra pockets. That kind of service is hard to come by in these days of disposable, mass-produced goods. aerostich. com, 800-222-1994

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Firstgear TPG Rainier

$400 (Vietnam)

irstgear has been making motorcycle clothing for years, first as a respected high-quality brand, then as a somewhat dodgy prospect when numerous changes of ownership resulted in oscillating quality control. Now the motorcycle equipment distributor Tucker Rocky owns the company, and seems to have restored the quality and direction with an infusion of cash and new designs. The TPG (Technical Performance Gear) Rainier puts both weather and crash protection right out front. The shell is 600-denier Cordura, a step up from the accepted minimum 500-denier. Kevlar reinforcements line the shoulders and elbows, adding to tear resistance in those high-stress areas. The shell is waterproofed with a breathable polyurethane interior coating referred to by Firstgear as Hypertex. (Fortunately, the company didn’t prevaricate when I asked what Hypertex actually was. It can be like pulling fingernails to get a maker to admit that behind a zooty trade name is a perfectly common material.) Inside that is a free-hanging liner of loosely-woven polyester, which protects the coating from abrasion and helps dissipate perspiration so it can more readily evaporate through the microscopic pores in the coating and outer fabric. Shoulders and elbows in the Rainier are protected with Knox CEapproved armor that is exceptionally well-formed and articulated. I found this jacket second only to the Rukka in terms of the inconspicuous presence of its armor. The back armor is also comfortable, but it’s a much more rudimentary pad of some thin, perforated closedcell foam, apparently a non-CE material. Combined with the aboveaverage-weight Cordura shell and Kevlar reinforcements, the Rainier should provide excellent crash protection. Despite that, it’s the secondlightest armored jacket in this group at 4 pounds, 6 ounces. The DWR (Durable Water-repellent) coating on the outside of the Rainier’s shell beaded up virtually all the water from my hose test, and the polyurethane interior coating successfully repelled the rest. All four of the Rainier’s exterior pockets proved hoseproof. Two shoulder vents leaked a few drops under intense spraying, but the double main zipper flap shrugged off my most forceful squirting. Those vents com-

Overland Journal Spring 2009

bine with dual back vents to provide good flow-through air movement on warm days. Two elastic drawstrings inside the shell can be pulled to lock open the front vents; however, you must undo the main zipper to do this, so it was a tossup whether this or the fiddly external Velcro arrangement of the Fieldsheer was more convenient (the Fieldsheer’s back vent can also be Velcroed open). Firstgear’s website says the front vents are 10 inches long and the rear ones 12; I measured a considerably shorter seven and eight inches—curious. In any case they work very well. One more weatherproofing feature is worthy of note. The Rainier’s collar incorporates a rolled hood that can unfurl and fit over your head under the helmet, to prevent water dripping down your neck from the helmet. It works, too—however, speaking personally I found the thing so confining and claustrophobic that I decided I preferred the drips. You might feel differently. Left rolled, it doesn’t intrude, and adds a bit of insulation. The Rainier’s inner jacket is a polyester soft-shell design as nice as those I’ve seen offered on their own from famous mountaineering equipment suppliers. It sports weatherproof zippers, three outside pockets and two on the inside, and a fleece-like inner surface; it can be worn on its own with absolutely nothing to give away the fact that it’s designed as motorcycling gear. Under the exterior shell it seemed to add a good 15 to 20 degrees to the lower temperature capability of the system. Firstgear’s three-layer TPG system is touted by the company as revolutionary, but honestly I didn’t find anything to justify that adjective. Each of the three layers (the innermost being an optional wicking base layer) is made from high-quality but perfectly ordinary materials, and similar combinations are available from most cycle clothing makers. Advertising hyperbole aside, the Rainier is a well-made two-layer jacket system that can be augmented with its own base layer, or used with your own preference in next-to-skin garments. Either way it’s a good choice, and I’d give it serious consideration as top choice if I rode a lot in rainy conditions. firstgear-usa.com, 866-302-5676

Clockwise from top left: Everything on the Rainier is weatherproof: shell material, pockets, and zippers. Closed, the vents are blocked by weatherproof zippers. An internal toggle holds open the shoulder vents. An inner jacket that stands on its own. The fleece-lined collar Velcroes closed easily with gloves on. Shoulder armor, second only to the Rukka for inconspicuous comfort Overland Journal Spring 2009

Clockwise from top left: Classic styling and effective weather protection are hallmarks of the Barbour International. The inimitable Royal Warrants; somehow, a “Presidential Warrant” on a U.S.-made jacket just wouldn’t be the same. Soft corduroy lines the Barbour’s buckle-closed collar. The International’s hardware: solid brass. Fold-over tunnel pockets help keep contents dry.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Barbour International

$400 (England)

ou can’t approach the Barbour International the same way you do the other jackets in this review. The Barbour is an anachronism, a rakishly good-looking bit of classic kit that’s been in production since before the parents of the designers of most of the other jackets here were born—1936 to be exact. Look through old photographs of the Scottish Border Trials, the International Six-Day Trials, or any of the rough-and-tumble backcountry motorbike competitions popular up through the 1970s, and you’ll spot the Barbour’s trademark angled left chest pocket through the mud splattered on the men on Triumphs, Ariels, and BSAs. There’s Steve McQueen astride a Triumph Trophy in the 1965 ISDT, cigarette dangling from his lips and grimy Barbour buttoned up tight. You just don’t get more stylish than that. So: Good looks and 40-year-old celebrity endorsements are fine, but how does the International fare today against space-age competition? For a short answer, I asked Gordon May, who recently rode a restored 1953 Royal Enfield motorcycle 8,400 miles from England to India. He told me, “The Barbour was one of the best pieces of kit I had on my journey. It was supremely comfortable, even in 40°C heat, and survived a 30-mph crash exceedingly well.” Not a bad endorsement. A longer answer is that in some areas the Barbour is fully the equal of its 21st-century rivals; in other areas you will need to make allowances—or modifications. The International’s tightly woven, eight-ounce-per-square-yard cotton shell is infused with Barbour’s proprietary wax; the seams are stitched with thread treated with the same stuff. Not only does the wax repel water, the cotton itself swells when wet and blocks moisture— the wetter it gets the more it swells and the better it seals. (Doubt this concept? The immersion suits pioneered by Spitfire pilots battling Messerschmitts over the English Channel were made of a tightly woven, unwaxed cotton called ventile, which increased ditched-pilot survival to 80 percent during the Battle of Britain. Ventile immersion suits are still issued by several air forces.)

The Barbour’s zipper is protected by an effective double storm flap, and the high collar, lined with no-chafe corduroy, buckles closed. A belt cinches the waist against updrafts, and the cuffs button snugly. The bottom cargo pockets incorporate tunnel tops that folds over to seal under the button flaps (all the hardware on the International is, of course, solid brass). The result is effectively rainproof—I managed to get a few drops through the underarm ventilation grommets during my hose test, but that was it. I did notice, as I have for years with my Barbour Bedale, that the slightly breathable waxed cotton is not as windproof as a modern laminate; wind chill seems to seep through the shell and the cotton tartan lining at speed. I needed an extra layer or a heavier sweater to stay as warm in the International as in the modern jackets (a snap-in pile or quilted lining is available). I’d be curious to see the difference if Barbour offered the tartan lining in lightweight wool. On the other hand, like Gordon May I found the Barbour, even in black, to be cooler in warm weather than all but the very best-ventilated of the synthetic jackets. What I’d give for one of these in khaki . . . Where the Barbour pales in comparison with modern motorcycle garments—Gordon’s crash notwithstanding—is in safety. Waxed cotton is extremely tough, but it can’t match Cordura nylon for abrasion resistance. Lacking any reflective strips, riding in this black jacket at night is like wearing the One Ring. And with no armor whatsoever, the Barbour comes with a 1930s approach to impact protection as well as style. But I found solutions for the last two issues. Several companies, such as the excellent Forcefield, make lightweight, modular armor panels that can be worn under a standard jacket, vastly increasing crash protection. Then I looked at the Aerostich/Rider Wearhouse catalog and found their LED armbands, and 3M’s brilliant SOLAS-grade reflective tape to affix to my helmet. Now I have a combination that should ensure my International another few decades of both style and function. Note to Barbour: Start planning that Centenary Edition. Barbour.com; britishmotorcyclegear.com, 800-432-9004

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Rukka AllRoad

$1,300 (Finland)

hat makes the Rukka AllRoad worth $900 more than several jackets here? Honestly, I can’t tell you it’s worth $900 more—that’s strictly a personal decision. But I can try to tell you why it costs $900 more, and maybe that will help. First, the Rukka is made in Finland, where it costs more to make stuff than it does in large oriental countries. But that’s a comparatively minor point. Much more importantly, the AllRoad comprises a carefully considered suite of premium-quality fabrics, laminates, armor, and design features that add up to both a technological tour de force and a motorcycling garment that combines versatile weather-resistance, crash protection, and comfort in a way I doubted was possible until I tried it. The AllRoad’s shell combines Cordura 500, Schoeller Dynatec, and stretch Cordura (all nylon derivatives) to achieve a wind- and abrasionresistant outer layer of moderate weight—it’s middle of the pack at 4 pounds, 13 ounces. The Dynatec offers extra abrasion protection in contact areas such as forearms and shoulders, and the stretch Cordura keeps the arms and shoulders comfortable and flap-free at speed (augmented by snap sleeve adjusters). Each section of fabric is double-row stitched to its neighbor for strength. There’s a soft, zip-on, Gore-Texlined collar muff that fills in the drafty area between collar and helmet. The two bottom front pockets are also Gore-Tex-lined; the left chest pocket has a cunning, leashed insert that holds your passport. If a border official hassles you after you flourish your ID from that, the man is dead to the very concept of panache. The AllRoad’s sleek, waterproof liner jacket is protected with GoreTex, rather than a generic substitute or a cheaper polyurethane coating. Inside that is a soft, lightweight insulation called Outlast, which incorporates microcapsules of a substance that changes from a liquid to a solid state (known as “phase change”), depending on body temperature. Essentially the material has the capability to preserve body heat when you need it, and let it escape it when you don’t. The liner is very thin, but comfortable over a wide range of temperatures. (Small—no, mediumish—gripe: I could do without all the Outlast/Gore-Tex/Cor-

Overland Journal Spring 2009

dura logos stitched to the AllRoad’s shell. For $1,300 I shouldn’t feel like a walking product endorsement.) The Rukka passed my hose test; the only moisture to reach the liner entered through the arm vents, which are situated to scoop air and thus do so with water as well, even when closed. The liner itself remained inviolate. After several minutes of blasting the breathable outer shell did start to absorb and hold some moisture—to be expected of the construction. Nice features and excellent performance, to be sure. However, perhaps the single most impressive characteristic of the AllRoad is its armor. Despite EN 1621-1 certification, the RVP Air armor system—in the forearms and elbows, shoulders, and back—is so light, so breathable, and so flexible that I literally could not tell I was wearing an armored jacket. It’s not foam, but an open-grid-pattern, rubbery material called SBS (ready?: Stureme Butadiene Styrene), which feels extremely resilient despite being mostly air space. Compared to rivals that offer a taste of what it felt like to be a competitor in a Medieval jousting tournament, it’s an awesome achievement. The Rukka was far and away the most comfortable armored jacket in this review. And there’s where the question of value arises. The Rukka comes closer than any motorcycle jacket I’ve worn to achieving the impossible: an armored jacket that doesn’t feel armored, an insulated jacket that doesn’t feel bulky. Additionally, the construction is flawless, no matter how closely I looked. I freely admit to being a sucker for flawless construction. Whether that’s all worth the extra cash, only you can decide. Is the AllRoad perfect? No. For example, the main zipper is covered with a single flap unworthy of a jacket a quarter the price. Also, the sleeves and shoulders incorporate ventilation slots, but the jacket is devoid of an exhaust vent on the back, without which incoming air has nowhere to exit. On a near-90°F day I had to partially undo the main zipper to retain circulation through that wonderful airy back armor. Those whines aside, there’s no jacket here I’d be as likely to choose for a long, long trip. rukka.com; adventuremotogear.com, 800-217-3526

Clockwise from top left: Close to the perfect motorcycle jacket—if you can afford it. Neoprene collar is comfortable and moves with you; augmented by a zipon muff. No matter how closely you look, the workmanship is perfect. Gore-Tex and Outlast add up to a versatile, waterproof inner jacket. The Rukka’s remarkable armor is tough, but cool and virtually unnoticeable. The cunning, weatherproof passport pocket is leashed. Overland Journal Spring 2009

Clockwise from top left: No telling from looking this is the least expensive jacket here. Fleece collar also boasts a zip-on muff. Velcro strips hold open both entry and exhaust vents. The inner jacket is warm, but loose-fitting and bulky. Light and comfortable, CE-certified shoulder armor.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Fieldsheer Adventure

$300 (China)

ook in virtually any motorcycling magazine and it’s difficult to miss the multi-page ads from Fieldsheer, featuring models who look more like they stepped off a Paris runway than a motorcycle. Considering all the cash that must eat, it’s even more of a mystery how the company could produce this jacket for this price. The Adventure has a lot of the features—and a lot of the performance—of jackets costing considerably more. In fact, I rarely remember thinking good for the price while I wore it. It’s a good jacket, period. The Adventure starts with Teflon-coated (water-repellent), 1,000-denier Cordura shell material, which is as abrasion-resistant as anything here. That’s backed up with what Fieldsheer calls Rainguard, a free-hanging liner that employs a breathable polyurethane coating as its barrier. Any driven rain that gets through the outer Cordura runs down the Rainguard liner and out through drain grommets. It’s an effectively waterproof combination. Although the shell will eventually retain moisture, it didn’t during my hose test, with its Teflon coating still fresh. As far as I could tell, no water even made it to the inner liner, as there were no drips from the grommets. However, the promised “breathability” through both the polyurethane-coated liner and Teflon-coated 1,000-denier shell is going to be, let’s say, modest at best. Fortunately, the Adventure is equipped with excellent vents in the upper arms and shoulders, and an exhaust vent in the upper back, all of which Velcro open (with considerable gloves-off fiddling) to enhance flow. It is, in fact, a better venting system than the one on the $1,300 Rukka. A polyester mesh interior liner keeps the Rainguard layer away from your clothes to help air circulation and moisture dissipation. The Adventure is armored on forearms and elbows, shoulders, and back with a sandwiched material that combines impact-absorbing foam with a harder, abrasion-resistant outer cap. It’s light, flexible, and CE certified (Fieldsheer even has its own testing machine).

On the shoulders and forearms Fieldsheer added extra sewn-in foam padding—it’s not really armor but might add a bit of impact absorption. As a package, the Adventure is stiff and very noisy at first (it’s also the second-heaviest jacket at 5 pounds, 6 ounces), as one might expect from 1,000-denier Cordura, but it should break in with use. On the bike it was comfortable—no flapping, and no drafts at any speed up to 75 mph when buttoned up, but lots of air flow with the slots open, with the notable exception of the area under the back armor panel, which is un-perforated and created a large sticky spot on warm days. Elsewhere it remained cool, and the light grey color on the shoulders of my sample jacket minimized heat gain there. Panels and piping of a reflective material Fieldsheer calls Phoslite did a good job of reflecting light at night. Exterior detailing is good—I found a few loose threads and run-on stitches, but nothing major. The Adventure’s quilted inner jacket is probably its least impressive feature. It’s reasonably warm, but bulky, especially in the arms, and the thin shell fabric is cheap-looking. The Adventure’s shell has a rear bottom tunnel pocket with a short zipper on each end, supposedly to carry the inner jacket when not needed. After a considerable struggle, I did manage to get it stuffed in there—but then found I could barely close the shell enough in front to engage the zipper. And as for getting it back out, let’s just say there’s a good chance the weather will have warmed up anyway by the time you accomplish that. So, not sure about that feature. Also, there’s an itty bitty electronics pocket on the right chest that’s possibly big enough for an iPod Shuffle, but it wouldn’t hold any cell phone or iPod we own (I understand it’s being enlarged soon). These are small criticisms of a solid jacket. The Adventure never embarrassed itself as the least expensive jacket here, and in a couple of areas it embarrassed considerably more expensive rivals. fieldsheer. com, 888-245-3432

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Motoport Ultra II Air Mesh Kevlar

ow’s this for a guarantee: If you crash wearing a Motoport Ultra II jacket, and the company can’t repair the damage (to the jacket, not you), they’ll replace the entire jacket at no cost. Since the Ultra II is built one at a time to your measurements in California, this is like having a personal motorcycle tailor at your beck and call. Let’s say you do crash. In the Motoport, you’re likely to be better protected than in any of the other jackets here. That’s a bold statement, but let’s look at the jacket itself. First, the entire mesh shell of the Ultra II is made of Kevlar, blended with Dynatec (a nylon) for abrasion resistance (pure Kevlar, despite its tensile strength, is surprisingly sensitive to abrasion), with stretch Kevlar/Dynatec/Lycra panels on the insides of the arms. The result is an abrasion rating comparable to 1,000-denier Cordura, but tear strength 11 times higher—and that’s with an extremely open weave that lets air flow freely through the fabric. The Air Mesh’s shell is designed to survive not only sliding forces, but impacts that could tear open lesser fabrics. Additionally, the Ultra II incorporates more armor than any other jacket in this group: forearms and elbows, shoulders, back, and, uniquely, the upper chest. Each of those panels is big, too—there’s barely a three-inch gap between the shoulder and elbow inserts. The armor in the sample jacket is called Quad Armor, a four-layer sandwich of closed-cell EVA foam, memory foam designed to mold to your physique, and an outer layer of a Dow Corning product called APS. Add it all up and you’ve got the M1 Abrams of motorcycle jackets. Okay: If I knew I were going to crash while riding on a particular day, the Ultra II is hands-down the jacket I’d pick to be wearing. However, if I knew I were going to crash in my Land Cruiser on a particular day, I’d wear Nomex coveralls and a helmet while driving that day, too. Obviously, everyday use sways our priorities from pure safety to other matters, such as comfort.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

$429 plus options (USA)

The Ultra II with Quad-Armor is a bulky jacket. It’s significantly the bulkiest here (and significantly the heaviest at 6 pounds, 12 ounces), and if you expect to look like Steve McQueen while standing around in it, forget it. Entomologists will think you’re pupating. Some armored jackets are comfortable enough to leave on while sitting drinking coffee at a café, but you’ll want this one off—and it’ll need its own chair. With that said, once on the bike the jacket felt fine, and didn’t hinder the movements necessary for spirited riding. The armor is always a tangible presence, but once it has molded a bit isn’t uncomfortable. And despite its bulk, in warm weather this jacket is breezy. On an 85°F day I was almost chilly at highway speed. Even in black, no jacket here is cooler in hot weather. Of course, it follows that the liner, which employs a microporous membrane called Aero-Tex (said to be functionally similar to Gore-Tex), is essential for any warmth or rain protection at all. During my spray test, the outer mesh shell absorbed what felt like pounds of water, although it also drained out quickly. The inner shell successfully kept my test medium dry, but even its outer material, which is not coated (to retain breathability) absorbed some moisture. This is the only jacket here I’d consider augmenting with an ultralight coated rainshell to avoid feeling totally waterlogged in a downpour, and to add some warmth on chilly days. The base Ultra II is astoundingly affordable for a custom-made jacket. However, if you want a complete system the options stack up. The Aero-Tex liner is $129; if you’d like zip-in Thermolite insulation with that, add $60. The Ultra II comes standard with Tri-Armor, adding the even more effective Quad-Armor adds $199. Scotchlite reflective strips down the outside of both sleeves will set you back another 29 bucks. Tick every box and your debit card will be hit for $846. While that’s more than a lot of excellent motorcycle jackets cost, you’ll think it cheap if you ever have to watch pavement sliding by from an elevation of six inches. motoport.com, 800-777-6499

Clockwise from top left: Not exactly sleek, but definitely protective. The fleece collar is comfortable, but you’ll need the inner jacket for warmth. A flashlight shows the open weave of the Air Mesh II’s fabric. The inner jacket is waterproof, and can be configured as a shell, or insulated with its own liner. The Motoport is stitched to your measurements in the U.S. Quad-Armor is thick, sophisticated, and effective.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Story and photography by Mark D. Stephens

Home on the Road Touring the canyons, rivers, and mountains of the American West . . . with our kids

Overland Journal Spring 2009

“And for reasons not entirely clear, though masochistic in nature, we also bring along our children, those former gleams in our bloodshot eyes.” -Vince Welch, Don’t Let Your Children Grow Up To Be Boatmen

What can I tell you about my older brother? If you’re thinking wedgies and swirlies and my forehead compressed in a woodworking vise, banish that idea. I’m the one who attacked him with a hammer as a kid. However, 15 years ago we stood on our parent’s front lawn and had a bizarre conversation that went like this: “When we have kids, we need to have fun family gatherings. Let’s barbeque ribs on Thanksgiving. Go climbing on Fourth of July. Stuff like that.” “And you’ll be cool Uncle Greg. My kids will probably like your house better than mine. You’re not going to have a pool, are you?” It wasn’t misplaced idealism; he and I already enjoyed the outdoors together. Anyway, we grew up, went our ways, drank our fill, and had kids. One apiece so far. Girls, both of them: Samantha, Greg’s daughter, was born premature by two months in 2002; Chloe, my daughter, came right on time to the day in 2007. You might know the rest of the story: Normalcy elbowed into our lives. It seems we eat your typical 18-pound turkey on Thanksgiving and sit in the backyard on The Fourth. We gain weight. Last year, though, Greg and I found ourselves talking about Father’s Day—my first one on the receiving end. Picture a slack-

jawed, wobbly-kneed, 32-year-old man-child. The little girl in his arms speaks to the biology that’s taken place, unfathomable as you’d suspect. Real nonetheless. “We’re dads now,” Greg began as he tossed a road atlas at me. “We call the shots on Father’s Day. What should we do?” In a moment of, uh, glee, a road trip was conceived, glimmered in our eyes for a while, and finally came to life within a few months— much like those blond progenies we were going to bring along. We’d leave our homes in Phoenix, Arizona, to wander through New Mexico, a little bit of Colorado, most of Utah and western Wyoming, then pivot at

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Livingston, Montana, after passing through Yellowstone National Park. Finally, the route would ride the Continental Divide, more or less, back home. Now what can I tell you about my wife, Brooke? Although she wields a hammer pretty well, too, she’d keep this adventure refined. If it weren’t for her, I’d probably head out across the country with Chloe, a whole 11 months old at the time, in the backseat and nothing more than a bottle, a stuffed bear, two diapers and an iPod for supplies. This isn’t nearly enough. Together, the three of us planned the details of our trip. Together, the two of them— my brother and my wife—totally usurped my idea of driving just three to four hours each day. On the first travel day, we bypassed New Mexico altogether and shot straight north. And I lamely fought it until we stopped at Marble Canyon, Arizona. With the cold trickle of Mountain Dew cooling my throat while sitting in the shade next to the mini-mart watching the girls play, I caved. “Okay, fine. I’m on board. Provo tonight.

The kids will be sleeping in a couple hours anyway.” “This will be better. We can take our time after we get to Yellowstone,” they assured me. Still, I felt the vibe of potential disaster. I walked back into the store, and noticed a book on an end cap next to the Cheetos and bean dip. On the cover a rusty truck grill, or Jeep perhaps, and a half dozen scarred carabiners hanging on a cable. It drew me in. The title read There’s This River: Grand Canyon Boatman Stories, so I bought it and forgot to go to the bathroom. Marble Canyon, you see, is just around the corner from Lee’s Ferry, the launching point for most Grand Canyon River trips. Adventure is afoot here—they sell books about it in the gas station. I walked back outside, where Chloe and Samantha played with a string of beads and princess dolls they’d brought along. Chloe giggled at Sam for the way she teased her, dangling the beads over Chloe’s little round, furry head. My inner parent scolded me: “You’re dragging her along on one of your escapades

We explorers—Greg and Sam in their Tacoma, Brooke, me, and Chloe in our Frontier—came with simple intentions: to show our kids that rivers, canyons, and mountains are fun. 86

Overland Journal Spring 2009

while you should be jumping on the bed with her, bathing her, and reading her a book about farm animals. What is this driving-throughthe-night business? And what is this sleeping in a tent—and who knows where? And for three weeks? Is this how you raise well-balanced children?” Truth is, I had my doubts. Picture tiki torches lining a horseshoe pit, and an AstroTurf patio. Not quite what I had in mind for a camp that first night. Looking for one at 2:08 a.m., though, you take what you can get, and this is what we got. We intended to camp at Utah Lake State Park, but the gates closed at 11:00 p.m., so, lucky us, we poached a slot in the RV park down the road. Decked with whirligigs and tiki torches . . . it’s no moonlit desert canyon, but at least it had an ambiance that reminded me nothing of home. On the contrary, it made me long for it. To really dig it in, when we flipped open the roof tent and climbed in, Chloe threw herself into a desperate fit of wailing that lasted over an hour. Poor thing spent a full day strapped in the backseat; she must have believed this was finally her time to crawl around, explore, and play. She let us have it. The best we could do was sit inside the tent taking turns holding her and wondering if we’d bitten off too much. She faded to sleep, whimpering, around 4:00 a.m. When the neighbors came out for their morning walks just a couple of hours later, they stopped by to chat. I prepared for a lecture or two, rehearsed my yes-sirs and no-ma’ams. Instead, the retired couple asked about our travels, even complimented our undertaking. “It’ll get easier,” they assured us. “This will be good for all of you.” The drive between Salt Lake City and the Idaho state line reshaped my outlook later that day. Where the vertical rock walls of Logan Canyon allow it, thick emerald-colored plant life drapes the sides and seemingly holds on for dear life. The Logan River beside the highway makes that palpable river sound, so we rolled the windows down and drove like we had nowhere to be, likely infuriating a line of drivers behind us. Chloe looked out the window and pointed at birds, with the 75-degree wind blowing the few strands of pale hair on her head. Outside the charming boots-and-spurs town of Afton, Wyoming (marked by the world’s largest elk antler arch, no lie) we drove a series of forest service roads into the

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Bridger-Teton National Forest until we found a site that suited our clan, among aspen and ponderosa. This forest reminded me of the Mogollon Rim near home. It felt right. We’d found an isolated camp well before dark; one with a grassy clearing where the girls could wander around and find stuff to inspect, or wind down with a coloring book on a blanket. I opened the Eezi-Awn at a leisurely pace then went prowling for some wood to burn; Brooke promised Sam that we’d finally roast marshmallows. The air, damp and cool from an afternoon rain, was clean and easy to breathe—I like this about mountain camps. A hundred yards away, I could still hear Brooke and Samantha laughing, and I could just picture Chloe working her way around camp on Overland Journal Spring 2009

all fours, a happy explorer gathering mud on her hands and knees. Finally, after a shaky start, this trip was making some sense. The headwaters of the Snake River arise somewhere within Yellowstone National Park, which is where we were headed the following morning. The river loops northwest in a backwards S for over 1,000 miles until it unites with the Columbia, the largest river of the Pacific Northwest, in southeastern Washington. At that confluence, the Snake purges nearly 60,000 cubic feet of water into the Columbia every second. What a force of nature these wild, unstoppable rivers are. Maybe not so wild: dam development along the lower Snake in the mid- to late-1960s brought Chinook salmon population to its knees within

20 years. By the end of 1993, the fish were officially endangered. Let’s go back further. Explorers, in the form of Hudson’s Bay Company trappers, came to the upper Snake in the 1820s, with dismal intentions. In particular, they were charged with the task of exterminating all fur-bearing animals from the area to fortify the company’s monopoly in North American trading, and to deter settlement of this region by the U.S. On those happy notes, a 4WD-only road runs along the upper Snake within Grand Teton National Park south of Yellowstone. Our two-truck caravan turned onto this road, with Grand Teton’s 13,770-foot snow-capped presence as a backdrop, and drove until we found a suitable spot for a long lunch, overlooking the Snake. We explorers—Greg and Sam in their Tacoma, Brooke, me, and Chloe in our Frontier—came with simple intentions: to show our kids that rivers, canyons, and mountains are fun. The girls walked closer to the river’s overlook while Greg and I brought out our meal: yogurt, fresh strawberries, granola, Mountain Dew. “There’s a boat on the river. Here it comes,” Samantha bellowed at us. Although the river featured no rapids within sight, we watched the rafters float by and caught a whiff of adventure. A barely-conscious crew sporting sandals and vests snoozed, oblivious, on top of their ropes, waterproof bags, and each other. Maybe they faked it for the sake of this goofy family waving at them like it was their first time away from the couch. As we ate, I opened There’s This River to finish a tale by Tim Cooper about two boatmen who spent a night in jail for the glory of running the Colorado without a permit. And with the little ones roaming and amped on a Rocky Mountain high, this meant reading and re-reading the same six words over and over until they finally adhered together and formed a sensible thought. I tried and tried, but was interrupted by parental demands and promises going on around me, like, “Samantha, eat your yogurt,” and, “We’ll get the bubbles out after we eat.” Over the top edge of my book I watched Chloe inch around on the blanket we’d set down on the grass for her. She moved to the edge, where I knew she’d unquestionably locate something foreign to eat. Okay, so now’s a bad time to be reading a book. “Um, Chloe, little munch,” I asked her. “Please don’t put noxious weeds in your mouth.”

With all of that going on, our imaginations still ran. Greg sipped Mountain Dew, tore into a piece of jerky, looked up toward Grand Teton, and I knew what he was thinking: I need to climb that mountain. Diversion time (I blame Greg for this one): Evidently, the first ascent of Grand Teton is credited to William Owen and three partners (two ranchers and a preacher; Owen was a state auditor—there’s a bar joke in there somewhere). On August 11, 1898, the foursome set out early in the morning with 450 feet of rope and an arsenal of steel drills, iron pegs, and axes. Sound like fun? This was Owen’s eighth attempt in a decade, and he succeeded. One problem: a 14man expedition had tried for the same summit in 1872, and all but two gave up. James Stevenson and Nathaniel Langford laid claim to the first ascent of Grand Teton 26 years before Owen. Owen’s team, though, asserted that they did not find any evidence on the peak, such as an erected cairn or a container with a record of the climb, both of which are customary for mountaineers to leave on the summit after a successful first ascent. Therefore, the Owen expedition assumed the credit. A public controversy lasted 30 years, until the state of Wyoming put it to rest by placing a bronze plaque on Grand’s summit in 1929 that credited Owen. The story doesn’t end there. In 1977, the park service reported that the plaque had been stolen. It’s still missing today. Thinking about Owen and his team working their way up Grand Teton all those years ago—the shifting ice, the sheer rock, the marginal equipment, the void of information, and the raw desire to stand on top—I remembered another first-and-second ascent story involving Yosemite’s own Half Dome. George Anderson first climbed to the summit in 1875 by hand-drilling anchor spikes into the rock for several weeks, and finally anchoring a rope to the summit for others to follow. An avalanche some years later took out the rope and many of the anchors. So in 1884 Phimster Procter, an intrepid Scotsman who adopted America his homeland, decided to re-set the route, after he heard a Swiss Alpine team was coming to get the job done. He’s been quoted, “No foreigner will do that job ‘til I have a try at it.” Using a lariat, he lassoed Anderson’s remaining anchors, then inched his way up the rope to the next. Proctor tells how he shed his boots and performed the whole task barefoot for two days by wrapping his big toe around

the spikes to stand, and then pitched the lasso at the next one. Today, tourists follow this route with the aid of permanent steel cables— and presumably wearing hiking shoes. Neither Owen nor Stevenson employed such cavalier techniques to reach the top of Grand Teton, but these stories tell the things we’ll do to get on top of mountains and get credit for it. These days the only thing I need to do to climb Grand Teton is, perhaps, get a babysitter. Developing the skills to handle the task notwithstanding, I live in simple times. The 4WD road continued along the Snake for several miles, then took us to the highway that connected with Yellowstone. What is it about landmark signs that we like so much? You’ve seen them and you’ve shot your own picture: Continental Divide, Moki Dugway, The Truth is Out There, or maybe Timbouctou. And, of course, there’s a sign at the gate of every national park. I saw a family of six—grandma and grandpa standing behind a mother and her oldest son, the youngest son hanging on the sign at Yellowstone, and dad getting the shaft by being in charge of taking the picture, therefore out of the frame. “Slow down, slow down,” I asked Brooke. She looked at me like I’d heard a tire blow out or something and hit the brakes. I removed the lens cap from my camera, leaned out the

window, and she admonished me, “You are not . . .” Oh, but I was. Click. Twice. Click. In honor of the traveling family, and camera-clicking dads worldwide, you know who you are. Up until the sky turned dun gray and brought a wall of snow that coated the road, it all seemed so . . . fun. Kiss a nice evening in camp goodbye. Salesmanship helps when dealing with 5-year-old Samantha. “It’s snowy-ing?” she wondered. “Yeah! Isn’t it cool?” I tried to save face, but we were puzzled about what to do. Camping in this cold, damp weather was out of the question. Brooke had an idea to keep ahead of the blues, “Let’s go find some hot chocolate.” At Canyon Village, near the center of the park, we sat inside the cafeteria and waited with a warm drink. Yellowstone surrounds, like John Muir once penned, “a thousand wonders,” most of which are hot springs, rivers, canyons, lakes, considerable wildlife, and geyser basins. True, it’s generally clogged with RVs and sedans; true, your off-pavement explorations are limited; true, it can snow in June. This park, and its 2.2 million acres, became the first of

Muir penned it before me: “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, overcivilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity.”

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its kind in 1872; this established the conservation precedent for which many other National Parks followed. It’s worth the visit. Not that we had the best of conditions to judge. The drizzling snow flurry erased our hopes of camping in Yellowstone. I have to be honest, faithful reader. We spent the night in The Virginian Lodge, an unsightly highway inn marked by a neon sign advertising karaoke on Wednesday nights and a DJ on Saturdays. This, too, was not the moonlit canyon I had in mind for the night. So, for the next two days, we did what normal people do in Yellowstone: drive, park at a scenic overlook/geyser basin/ herd of buffalo, and get out to smile and say, “Let’s hurry to the next one.” Father’s Day approached, and Wyoming remained a windy, sleety mess. It was time to force a change of luck by going south to Overland Journal Spring 2009

the Uinta Mountains outside Salt Lake City, Utah, where reports promised 80-degree days loaded with sunshine, and where we were to meet a group of other cubicle-weary dads driving their Land Cruisers and Tacomas, and bringing their families. We all assembled on a bluff above the Provo River, camped for three nights, and drove a couple of trails. We let the kids go nuts, and let our sensibilities return with time spent outside. Again, Muir penned it before me: “Thousands of tired, nerve-shaken, over-civilized people are beginning to find out that going to the mountains is going home; that wilderness is a necessity.” He was right. There’s a flipside to this bliss. When camped in an isolated wood, your placement on the food chain comes into question. What lives here that can, and will, maul me and nibble my family for dessert? Grizzlies. Maybe a torqued moose. Giant bipedal human-like ape things. We don’t think about this until after the kids are down for the night and we’ve taken our first deep breath of the day. The parents gather at the campfire that we’ve purposefully built 50 yards from the tents. Roger claims that even wild animals are afraid of his son, Zander. I met the boy and I believe him. When we hear the hyperventilating wail of a child who’s probably peed the bed, we assume something far more severe. We’re parents, it’s what we do: Oh God, something is eating my child alive. When we sort out whose tent it’s coming from, the rest of us wait until the responsi-

ble parent dashes off, then we say things like, “That sucks.” Pause. “Um, pass me the Pringles.” The fun of staying up late drinking cheap wine and someone else’s beer proves incongruent with the demands that clobber me in the head when the sun breaks the horizon. Inside the Eezi-Awn, when Chloe wakes up in the morning she habitually rolls around a few times, plants her footy-pajamaed foot on my face, then sits up and makes a few demands by, well, hollering. This is how I wake up camping every single morning. I have only memories of the way my camp mornings used to be. Lucky for her, she’s irresistibly cute. She sits up, squeezing her stumpy little fingers together into a fist back and forth (she’s learning American Sign Language and this one signifies “milk”). Brilliant mother she is, Brooke stashes a full sippy cup in the tent with us so we don’t have to get up to quell the child. Works just like a snooze button. Chloe sits back and goes into a peaceful, slurping Zen state for a few minutes until she’s finished. Once we’re outside, every mewling spawn charges after one thing: playtime. While they set about burning off their sugar rushes with a balance of creative thinking and plastic toys, I find it feels good just to toast a bagel, brew coffee, and enjoy this thought: “We’re just going to sit here, let the kids go bonkers with imagination and open space, read a book (more than six words at a time hopefully), and take an afternoon nap. No packing, no navigating, no wondering where we’re going to sleep when the sun goes down. Very serious expedition work here; don’t bother me with your broken shock mounts and tires needing plugs please.” On the second morning, I took a bike ride down to the Provo River and along it through a track among aspen and ponderosa. When I returned, Brooke went for a run while I stayed in charge. “In charge” means little boys climb on my back and little girls hang from my arms with that look that demands, “Swing me around so I feel like I can fly, old man!” Tender and happy as they are, it felt like the halflings multiplied while I was gone. Should there be a mutiny over apple juice or something, I pondered, I might not make it out alive without some back-up. The hell’d everybody go? Naturally, everybody who’s biologically responsible for the miscreants took off for a hike or they’re hiding behind the trees. I was hosed. Like the dad taking the picture at the Yellowstone sign. But for the moment I also loved it.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

KEYS

with children

to surviving an overland trip

The Long Lunch Stop: I wouldn’t balk

at a two-hour lunch stop just because it eats up driving time. The point of a trip like this is to enjoy the places the vehicle can take you. Little ones deserve it, bigger ones need it, and if you play your cards right, you’ll wear out the kids so that they crash for the whole afternoon. Coupled with The Long Lunch is Locating Camp Early. Benefits should be evident.

Pools, Hot Tubs, and Solid Walls: For

these summertime travels, it pays off to stay a night or two at a lodge with a pool or hot tub. More significantly, I remember well a one-night stay in Ouray, Colorado, at a small inn. Chloe fell asleep, and we snuck out for some time in the hot tub, which was only 50 feet from our room. On the mornings when you wake up at said inn, everyone appreciates a tasty breakfast at a local diner.

Toy Kit for Junior Overlanders: I could

write an ode dedicated to a bottle of bubbles. Cheap, available everywhere, does not require batteries (or make annoying sounds), and beloved by young and old. Another packable item: a rope swing, the kind with just a handle on a piece of rope that you tie to a tree branch. Samantha stayed busy with this throughout the trip while we prepared dinner. And, finally, a Frisbee. Sure, you can throw it, but guess what? You find yourself atop Engineer Pass at 12,000-some feet, with a snow covered hill nearby, flip that disc over, sit on it, and you’ve got a sled.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Happy Father’s Day. “It’s just a dirt road,” claimed one campmate at the Uinta camp—I spare his name and therefore his reputation—about the White Rim Trail in Canyonlands National Park, Utah. A couple of the others took exception to his casual description and explained the views, strive as they might for eloquence, like this: “Oh man, yeah, whew! White Rim. Oh God, yes.” I understand now. The White Rim Trail, it turns out, simply rides the zig-zagging edge of a 530-square-mile sandstone canyon system for over 100 miles. As simple as I can put it. Just a dirt road. What ever we missed in Yellowstone, we made up for it on the White Rim Trail. The ranger told us that we could do the whole trip in two days, with one night along the way. “But,” he told us, “If you really want to do it right, take four days and three nights. Enjoy yourselves out there.” A hundred miles in four days? That’s a pace that outshines even my original snail-like plan. The mere dirt road, you see, starts with the Shafer Switchbacks. Right, these switchbacks are so memorable that they have a name. They plunge impossibly down a 1,440foot sandstone chute and skirt dead-vertical walls that rise so high you’d think they don’t stop until they get to the moon. The trip to the bottom of Shafer took us nearly an hour, and it’s only a little more than five miles. With Chloe asleep in the back, Brooke and I just watched the views and let the silence work. At the first overlook of the Colorado River, she and I took turns making the short hike to the edge. She went first. I opened the map, studied the lines, read the names of features such as Murphy Hogback, White Crack, Labyrinth, Hardscrabble, Taylor Canyon.

Chloe’s slow slumbering breathing caught me. She has no idea, really, where she is or that we’re miles and miles from the nearest DVD player and that this road counts as one of the most entertaining places I’ve ever been. Not that she cares, she’s only 11 months old. One day, though, when she’s a teenaged turd, I’ll remember this. I’ll remember her tiny nostrils taking in and letting out, this perfect desert air; I’ll remember her napping under a pine tree in the pack-n-play in the Uinta Mountains; I’ll remember reading books to her inside the Eezi-Awn before bedtime. I made my hike out to the canyon’s edge with Greg and Samantha, who brought a bottle of bubbles. Brooke gets credit for being savvy enough to pack these kinds of toys. Samantha commanded the quarter-mile march: “You have to step on the rocks. Not the dirt, Mark!” Think of walking down the sidewalk without stepping on cracks. That kind of game. If you could see us, we’d be a pair of dorks out there hopping from rock to rock with a bottle of bubbles. At the overlook, Greg opened the bubbles and Sam dunked the stick, pulled it out all drippy with miraculous bubble-making juice, and blew a shower of soapy spheres that floated off into the wind over the Green River, about 800 feet below us. Sam squealed with joy and did it again. And again. “You do it, daddy.” So Greg gave it a shot. “There’s a sight,” I joked. “A near 40-yearold man blowing bubbles way out here.” He laughed. We laughed, slain by the magic of a bottle of soap and water while driving a desert canyon. Greg then looked up and said with total seriousness, “This, right here, is why I bought my truck. So I could blow bubbles off a cliff with my daughter.”

RESOURCES Yellowstone National Park, nps.gov/yell Canyonlands National Park, nps.gov/cany Christa Sadler. (Ed). (2006). There’s This River . . . Grand Canyon Boatman Stories. Flagstaff, Arizona: This Earth Press. Nan Jeffrey. (1995). Adventuring With Children: An Inspirational Guide to World Travel and the Outdoors. Ashland, MA: Avalon House

Overland Journal Spring 2009

CONSERVATION PROJECT VEHICLE Roseann Hanson

FJ60 conservation vehicle

update

A crucial break-in period passes without incident, as fuel economy continues to climb

“I love this vehicle—the retro80s style, a new, efficient, conservation-friendly engine, and the enormous cargo capacity. Best of all, some subtle leopard spots mean my spouse is less inclined to ‘borrow’ my truck!”

Overland Journal Spring 2009

he first 10,000 or so miles on a new crate engine are critical. It’s then one generally discovers any serious manufacturing defects: out-of-spec or defective parts, or botched assembly procedures, any of which can result in premature catastrophic failure. The 3.0 NGD International engine in our FJ60 conservation project vehicle has successfully passed that milestone, and is settling in nicely. Fuel economy continues to climb (and amaze)— we’re now averaging 26 to 27 mpg on either standard diesel or B20 (20 percent biodiesel). Power is effortless, and a 65-70 mph cruising speed is very comfortable and reasonably quiet (more on this later). The swap back to the Toyota factory stock 3.70 ring and pinion differential gears (from 4.11s), transformed the Land Cruiser into an easy driver on pavement, while detracting little from its low-range performance for the type of driving we do. Not that this brand-new engine design hasn’t caused us a few headaches. Sourcing common maintenance parts has been a major problem so far. The redesign from the predecessor 2.8 resulted in many new specs for bits such as the oil filter. TLC gave us what they thought was the correct part number—the same as the 2.8, a common filter shared with several Volkswagen engines. That quickly proved wrong, and TLC found that their only source for a correct new filter for the 3.0 was through a distributor in England, resulting in a delivered price that could have bought 10 Pep Boys Fram filters. We expect (hope!) this situation will improve rapidly as this engine appears in more and more vehicles around the world. For now, we’re tracking down a few other items to have on hand—air and fuel filters for example. The good news on the oil filter is that it’s a 10-minute job to change—delighting Jonathan, who was invariably reduced to muttered curses when trying to wiggle out the fiendishly inaccessible filter on our old 2000 V6 Tacoma. Not only is the 3.0’s filter right out on top, it’s also an insert that fits in a block-mounted canister, in contrast to the common spin-on metal-cased design. Thus all you dispose of is mostly paper, with rubber end seals. And the few resulting drips from the entire procedure can be contained with a single Kleenex, unlike the mess that dribbled down the side of the engine block on the old Tacoma (to be fair, this has been addressed admirably on the current generation Tacoma).

There are good reasons why Eezi-Awn is one of the most respected manufacturers of overland equipment. Since its inception 25 years ago, the name Eezi-Awn has been synonymous with quality. From rooftop tents to retractable awnings, Eezi-Awn’s dedication to exceptional service is evident in all the equipment we produce, sell locally, or export to many countries around the world. Eezi-Awn is beyond comparison. Remember that long after the sweetness of price is gone, quality prevails.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

l 1. The oil filter is easy to replace, but hard to source 2. The Slee bumper and swingaway are sturdy and beautifully made 3. The bracket on the left holds a Hi-Lift jack; an antenna mounts behind the tire 4. The swingaway pivots on a massive set of bearings 5. Fully dressed now . . .

RESOURCES sleeoffroad.com, 888-494-7533 tirecandy.com, 866-464-4332

Overland Journal Spring 2009

The H55 Toyota five-speed transmission feels strong, and is very quiet. It remains difficult to engage first gear at times—although that’s improving—and the jump in ratios between second and third gear is longer than we feel is ideal (ironically a trait shared with the H41 four-speed in Jonathan’s FJ40), but overall we’re quite happy with the transmission— especially those mileage figures in overdrive fifth. Since this transmission is mated to the very strong Toyota split transfer case, if we ever feel the need for lower low-range gearing, it’s available as a drop-in gearset from Mark’s 4WD Adapters in Australia. While running up all those break-in miles, we enjoyed the fill-it-once-a-month range of the 40-gallon fuel tank the previous owner had installed, but didn’t enjoy the itinerant spare tire, evicted from the factory position by the tank and filling much of the rear cargo area. Finally we addressed the situation in the best way possible, with a new rear bumper and swing-out from Christo Slee. The Slee bumper is stronger by miles than the stock chrome unit, increases clearance at the corners of the vehicle, and incorporates a tire and Hi-Lift carrier that swivels with onefinger pressure on a massive set of tapered roller bearings. The bumper was designed for the later FJ62, which despite appearances has a different rear crossmember than our FJ60. Thus we had to cut into the crossmember to clear the Slee bumper’s receiver hitch. While not absolutely necessary (since the new bumper itself reinforces the crossmember), we welded in a small box section at the top of the crossmember to provide fail-safe structural backup (thanks, Scott Brady, Tim Huber, and Jonathan Hanson for their work on the installation). The result is strong, convenient, and at 121 pounds total doesn’t add a frightening amount of weight on the back end. With major components bedding in, it’s time to look at a few details. Road and engine noise is one issue. It’s not bad, but could be reduced. We’re looking at LMV (limp-mass vinyl) sound deadening to line the floor and footwells under the carpet. We also want to correct the slight sag in the rear suspension under full load, without losing the compliance of the OME springs when empty or lightly loaded. High on the possibles list is a set of Australian air bags. Stay tuned.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

OVERLAND CONSERVATION

Roseann Hanson

Reduce, Recycle, Recamp

Photo by Stephen Matera

Green Oil Green Earth Technologies (GET), a consumer goods manufacturer based in Connecticut, has just received the highly coveted American Petroleum Institute SM certification as suitable for full protection for gas engines for its G-Oil SAE 5W-30, the world’s first completely bio-based motor oil. GET makes products entirely from American-grown base oils using patent-pending nanotechnology (doing more with less) and dehydrogenation. G-oil is biodegradable (ranked by the American Society for Testing and Materials) and environmentally safe, and its bottles are made from recycled plastic (and are recyclable). getg.com, 877-438-4761

Don’t throw away that old tent—send it back to Sierra Designs for their Re-Purpose with a Purpose program. This spring Sierra Designs launched this first-of-its-kind program for the outdoor industry: consumers take their old tent to participating retailers and exchange it for a 10% discount on a new Sierra Designs tent. Donated tents are refurbished by the company and donated to programs that serve underprivileged youth. sierradesigns. com, 800-635-0461

Eco-Overlanding Noteworthy efforts around the globe

Making change-makers: Jay Shapiro and Alice Gugelev are avid global travelers who were moved by the poverty they encountered in their travels. Aware of a growing community of like-minded overlanders, they decided to take their considerable business and global development skills and put them to use. Through their new Muskoka Foundation, their vision is “to create a fleet of modern-day explorers, who are traveling overland in developing countries around the world, leaving a wake of positive change. This network together can lead to a significant impact on the world we visit, reducing poverty, improving health, and inspiring others to do the same.” Through this extended network comprising 25 “change agents” roaming the planet, the Muskoka Foundation hopes to touch over 300 communities in the next five years. To ensure travelers’ positive impact on developing

communities around the world, the foundation will supply the fleet of explorers with the inspiration and know-how for making a positive trip; subsidized vehicles to help them get out into the field; volume-sourced donation materials for them to leave with communities; funds to support their efforts; partnerships with existing organizations that can leverage their on-the-ground efforts; and toolkits supporting key practice areas of development, including entrepreneurship, healthcare, education, infrastructure, and the arts. Are you an “agent of change?” themuskokafoundation.org

Overland Journal Spring 2009

OVERLAND MEDICINE

Dr. Ed Beggy

It’s Alimentary, My Dear Watson… Coping with traveler’s diarrhea

Part Two

ll that Glitters is Not Gold . . . and not all loose stool is traveler’s diarrhea. While it is true that infection causes about 85 percent of acute diarrheal illnesses, many other illnesses can include diarrhea as a symptom. As a world traveler or overlander it is wise to understand just a bit more about these maladies. In the Winter 2009 Overland Journal we talked about traveler’s diarrhea (TD) and its most common causes: E. coli, Salmonella, Shigella, Campylobacter, Giardia, and the noroviruses. In addition to these organisms, diarrhea may be caused by toxins, food allergies, tumors, endocrine and autoimmune disorders, and medication side effects, as well as stress and emotional disorders. Toxins are chemical poisons or venoms produced by an organism. Ciguatera toxin is one such toxin, produced by a dinoflagellate algae living in coral reefs. Commonly called “fish poisoning” it is usually found between 35˚ north and 35˚ south latitude (the tropics), and more commonly in the Pacific and Caribbean. Small fish feed on the algae and larger fish feed on the small fish. These larger, predatory fish accumulate the toxin in their bodies. More than 400 species of reef fish have been found to harbor the toxin. It is harmless to the fish but toxic to humans. Typical sources for human poisoning are reef-caught barracuda, red snapper, sea bass, Spanish mackerel, groupers, parrotfish, and eels. The toxin is odorless, colorless, and heat-stable, so cooking will not detoxify it. Symptoms begin within six to eight hours of ingestion, and may include nausea, vomiting, diarrhea, and abdominal pain. Sound familiar? It should. It’s just like TD. But that’s where the similarity ends. Ciguatera toxin is a neurotoxin (it attacks nerve tissue), and will also cause myalgias (muscle pain), perioral (mouth area) tingling and numbness (which may generalize to the rest of the body), itching, dizziness, and vertigo. The sensations of hot and cold may be reversed: what is hot may be felt as cold and vice versa. In severe cases, the patient may suffer chills, salivation, lacrimation (tearing of the eyes), skin rashes, irregular heartbeat, shortness of breath, seizures, and paralysis. In very rare cases, death may occur from respiratory or heart failure.

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What can be done in the field? Almost nothing. Do not induce vomiting and do not give syrup of ipecac or activated charcoal. Try to maintain hydration and transport to a hospital or medical center immediately. Diphenhydramine (Benadryl) may be given for itching if the patient is awake and alert, and able to swallow without difficulty. Usual dose for an adult is 25 to 50 mg every six hours. Sedation is a side effect, so don’t overdo it. Once recovered, though, it may not be over. Patients have experienced relapses weeks, months, and even years afterward when exposed to certain “trigger” foods such as alcohol, fish, and nuts. Best to avoid this. Another toxin that may be encountered by the adventurous is mushroom poisoning. Mushroom poisoning is caused by ingesting raw or cooked fruiting bodies (mushrooms or toadstools) of a number of species of fungi. There is no general rule for distinguishing the poisonous from the non-poisonous, despite a number of old wives’ tales to the contrary. Even mushroom experts have been poisoned due to misidentification, particularly when in a new geographic location where poisonous species may resemble non-poisonous varieties from their home region. Poisonous species of mushrooms are found worldwide. There are no geographic boundaries as to what types of poisonings may occur in a given area (with the exception of a few LBM’s, Little Brown Mushrooms, found only in the American southwest and southeast). Even within a species and a given area, toxin potency may vary considerably. It is quite unpredictable. Mushroom poisonings are generally categorized by the physiological effects of the toxin, since the chemistry is still a bit of a mystery. Symptoms may be neurologic, gastrointestinal, protoplasmic (generalized cell destruction and organ failure), and disulfiram-like. This latter category of toxin produces no symptoms unless alcohol is consumed within 72 hours of the mushroom ingestion, in which case severe hangover-like symptoms develop, much like those experienced by patients on the alcoholic treatment drug disulfiram. Gastrointestinal symptoms may include fairly rapid onset of nausea, vomiting, abdominal cramps, and diarrhea. Once again, very much like TD. A good history is most important in ascertaining the likelihood of mushroom poisoning, since there is no test for any of the mushroom toxins except the most deadly, the Amanitins (a protoplasmic toxin). But this will do you no good if you are traveling out of the country, since the test is usually only available in large population centers with advanced medical care. If you are poisoned by one of the Amanita species (with quaint names like Death Cap, Destroying Angel, Fool’s Mushroom) or their relatives (like Autumn Skullcap), you better have good life insurance. I’ll spare the details, but death occurs in 50-90 percent of cases from progressive and irreversible liver, kidney, cardiac, and skeletal muscle damage. It’s ugly. Numerous mushrooms can cause primarily or exclusively gastrointestinal symptoms and are far too numerous to list, but in North America include the Green Gill (Chlorophyllum molybdites), Gray Pinkgill (Entoloma lividum), Tigertop (Tricholoma pardinum), Jack O’Lantern (Omphalotus illudens), Naked Brimcap (Paxillus involutus), Sickener (Russula emetica), Early False Morel (Verpa bohemica), Horse mushroom (Agaricus arvensis) and Pepper bolete (Boletus piperatus), among others. The normal course of illness varies with the species and dose ingested, the individuals general health and medical conditions. The old Overland Journal Spring 2009

and infirm, and small children are most likely to suffer serious illness. If the vomiting and diarrhea are severe or prolonged dehydration may occur, along with muscle cramps from electrolyte imbalances. First aid is supportive. Do not induce vomiting (it’s way too late for that). Try to maintain hydration and transport to a medical center. Prevention is really the key. My advice: do not eat wild mushrooms. Period. What about the other causes of diarrhea we mentioned: food allergies, tumors, endocrine and autoimmune disorders, medication side effects, stress and emotional disorders? This is where a thorough medical history is important. For food allergies and stress or emotional causes, the patient usually knows that certain foods or “things” cause problems. Fever and chills are usually absent, and others in the travel group are not ill. The diarrhea will usually pass without complication in a day or two. If a new medication was started just prior to embarking on the expedition, and is deemed to be the likely cause, it may be necessary to reduce or discontinue the medication, or find a substitute. This, of course, would require you to contact your healthcare provider for a recommendation and prescription. Not easy to do from the field. Avoid starting new medications prior to travel if at all possible. Tumors, and endocrine and autoimmune disorders, are rare causes and too complex to discuss here. If suspected, a thorough work-up would be required, usually upon return home. As I mentioned in part one, antidiarrheal drugs, if taken too soon, can actually prolong and worsen symptoms. Generally, diarrhea means your body is attempting to rid itself of poisons, and you need to let it do so. If diarrhea persists more than a few days, and in the absence of other significant symptoms, use of an antimotility medication such as Imodium AD may be considered. Bananas and rice are also helpful as non-drug treatment options.

RESOURCES The U.S. National Poison Control Center hotline: 800-222-1222 emedicinehealth.com/wilderness_ciguatera_toxin/article_em.htm U.S. FDA, Bad Bug Book (ciguatera): vm.cfsan fda.gov/~mow/chap36. html U.S. FDA, Bad Bug Book: (mushroom): vm.cfsan.fda.gov/~mow/chap40. html

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SKILLS

Bruce Elfstrom

Winching Without the Worry Safe and effective use of an important recovery tool

think it’s safe to say I began working with winches at an earlier age than most people, when I got a job at age nine helping to cut trees for pulpwood. Taken under the wing of an old Maine woodsman, the lesson with a chainsaw over, we jumped in a 1935 6x6 truck and headed into the woods. The truck had a PTO (power take-off) winch that was as old as the truck, its wire rope blackened with age, pitch, dirt, and grease. After cutting, the tree butts all needed to point in the same direction so we could slip the rope’s choker cables over the butts, four to ten of them at a time. Once that was done, the winch was engaged—and we ran

like hell as the logs were drawn to the winch and the truck was drawn to the logs. Where you ran and how fast were fairly important things. The rope would vibrate and melt the ice on it and ping and pop and fling dirt and pitch everywhere. Then, and only if the tree butts were lined up right, would we drag the lot, called a “twitch,” towards the cutting “yahd.” Of course, frequently something would part, sending the rusty rope flying at us. The force of the rope was usually not that bad unless it hit you in the face. What would be worse was if you got between the rope and some immovable object when the PTO was engaged. Thankfully these instances were not too common, but once or twice a day it was

close enough to make you appreciate not being there. I distinctly remember three ropes parting one day before lunch, and a choker cable cinch link shooting straight through the driver’s front tire. So, why the journey down memory lane? First, to illustrate that just because it was done that way does not mean it was the best way. Second, to cement the need for forethought and care whenever you even think you might possibly, maybe have to use your winch. Third, to ensure that you know and maintain your equipment. Fourth, it’s fun to talk about the stupid things you did and lived to tell about later. Overland Journal Spring 2009

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n this article I’ll assume that you’ve read the literature that came with your winch, that you know the gross (loaded) weight of your vehicle, and have matched the winch to that weight and installed it properly to a frame-mounted bumper. This information should be at the tips of your fingers. I’ll also assume you know the pulling power and speed of the winch, and the size and strength of the rope required. In my last article for Overland Journal I stated that you need to take responsibility for your own actions whenever you start using recovery gear. In that case I was referring to the Hi-Lift Jack. A winch is just the same: Sign your own mental waiver. What I will describe below are not necessarily any manufacturer’s sanctioned methods. I developed my method by learning from others, working as a logger and commercial fisherman, and getting professional training from a number of sources. Many years later I started OEX. Thirty-plus years experience in this field has given me time for a lot of repetition and “scientific” tweaking to improve how the winch is used. After each winching exercise—and there are hundreds a year—I ask myself could we have improved on that to make it safer and more effective. Do not forget, you must take full responsibility for all your actions. Neither the winch maker nor rigging manufacturer nor I nor Overland Journal can be held responsible in any way for your actions. Sign your own mental waiver or don’t read on.

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The basic operational aspects of a winch

• Slow down, chill out, then make a plan. • Always wear gloves, sturdy boots. • Define why you are stuck before you grab gear—never make assumptions. • Stabilize the vehicle before you do anything else. • Gather all needed gear in advance (best if it’s all in one bag). • Slow down and methodically implement your plan. • Remove all non-essential people from the hazard area. • Envision the places where you could get hurt if the rigging fails, and do not go anywhere near them. • Never put a rope between your legs. • Never let a rope slide through your hands. • Always make every effort to arrange a straight-line pull. • Pull out most of your rope, but leave 10 wraps. • Keep contact tension on the rope, especially metal rope. • Stay at least twice the stopping distance of the winch motor away from the fairlead. • Set a parachute rig between each anchor point, turn or fulcrum. • Use hand signals; no shouting. • Arrange a closed-rope system. Avoid open hooks when possible. • Never tow with a winch. • Never lower a load with a winch

The winch review in Overland Journal’s gear issue described the different types of winch, so I won’t cover the same material. This article focuses on the most common type used in ground vehicle recovery: the electric winch. Overland Journal Spring 2009

Definitions:

Rope – this is synonymous with line or cable. A winch rope can be synthetic or metal (wire). Spool – the inner tube to which the rope is attached and on or off of which it winds during operation. Synonymous with drum. Wrap – One turn of rope around the spool. Layer – One complete series of wraps around the spool or on top of another layer. Free spool – A winch set with the brake free, allowing the rope to be pulled out manually. Engaged – Free spool is off and the motor mechanism is engaged to either winch in or winch out the rope. Main rig – The winch is one end of the main rig and the other is the hook at the end of the rope. The relationship between the winch and the rope end and how it is anchored is the main rig. Sub-rig – Any attachment points put onto the main rig, such as a pulley block, shackle, or strap used to change winching direction for a short distance. Parachute rig – Any item used to slow the progress of a broken line in motion. A parachute rig uses weight and wind resistance to help minimize the distance and energy of a broken rope or bit of hardware. Pulley block – A pulley designed to attach to a rope anywhere along its length. Synonymous with snatch block or swivel pulley D-shackle – These are used to attach any straps or ropes together instead of knots or girth hitches. Hands in – A hand signal communication of your intent to touch the rope on the winch’s surface. This hand signal tells the winch control operator to hold the control in sight of the signaler, without any finger contact with the trigger. Burr – Any broken surface wire on metal rope. These make metal rope behave like barbed wire. Advantage – Any routing of the rope which increases the pulling power of the entire rig. This is not to be confused with reducing the load on a particular section of the rope. Dressed – This describes a rope stowed on the spool when the winch is not being used, i.e. reeled all the way up. To re-dress is to spool in the rope neatly after use, or, during use, to better organize the rope for a pull. Roller fairlead – The four rollers that help guide the winch rope on or off the winch. Hawse fairlead – Like the roller fairlead, but without the rollers. Essentially just an oval hole with smooth edges to lead the rope in and out.

Basic concepts and premises First and foremost, a winch is designed to bring things to it. It is not designed to move itself. We all use it this way, but it is not made to do this. While this may seem a trivial point, it does make a difference in the way you operate the winch and the method used. It’s especially important when determining if and where to put a pulley block to increase the advantage of the pull. It is also important to realize that the winch “wants” the rope to be spooled in at right angles to the spool face. Its design is such that any angle other than this will reduce the winch’s pulling power and increase stress on the rope. So with this in mind, here are a few premises.

Premise One: Always try to rig a straight-line pull to the face of the winch. If you do not—and I am

sure we all have ignored this or worked in ignorance—then pay very close attention, because you have changed the physics of the entire rig, as well as the way the winch was designed to work.

Premise Two: Pull out all your rope except for 10 wraps. Let’s assume you have a 9,000-pound winch mounted

to your vehicle. That does not mean that the winch will always pull 9,000 pounds, but instead that it is capable of pulling that much under certain circumstances. A 9,000-pound winch is rated to pull that much with a single layer of rope on the spool. As you add layers you effectively increase the diameter of the spool and decrease its pulling power. An average 9,000-pound winch holding 100 feet of rope will have at least three or four layers of rope on the spool when dressed. Each layer reduces the pulling power of the winch by approximately 11 to 13 percent. So at the end of an 80-foot pull, your winch’s power is reduced by half. By pulling out all the rope to expose the spool surface you have all the power intended by the winch design. Make very sure you leave 10 wraps on the spool since this is what takes the load of the rope on the spool, not the attachment fastener (bolt, Allen key, screw, etc). Most manufacturers suggest leaving five to seven wraps (eight for synthetic); I use 10 to be safe. In addition to the power issue, when the rope forms a second layer of wraps the rope will try to cleave its way through the ropes below it. The physics of pulleys explains that when force is exerted on a pulley the force is concentrated at the center of the pulley, in a winch’s case the center of the spool. Imagine you take one of those tubes of cookie dough and wrap a wire around it. If you anchor one end and pull on the other the wire will cut straight through your dough; this principle is the same on a winch, but the rope will slide, cut, kink, burr, or melt its way through anything under it. The result is not just one burr, kink, melted spot (synthetic rope), but many more depending on the position of the rope and the number of layers. So again, pull out your rope to the last ten wraps. If you are forced to lay rope on top of itself then you must make sure the wraps are very tight and the layers are solid. Re-dressing your rope after the pull is not as much of an issue. You can get it in anyway you like when it is under minimal or zero load because the next time you use it the rope will be pulled back out to the best starting point.

Premise Three: Pulleys only add advantage if they move with or relative to the load. There is a

general misunderstanding out there about the physics of pulleys. I will address this below, but just remember one thing: The pulley either needs to move with the mass or you need a double line pull in order to gain any mechanical advantage.

Premise Four: Better safe than sorry. All gear should be twice as strong as the estimated load. Yes, this might be overkill, but it’s what I do and make sure all my guys do it as well. You can rig to increase the advantage of your system and increase your safety margin. A couple other notes: With the exception of worm-drive models such as the Superwinch Husky, winches are designed to pull in; they are not designed to lower loads. They are also designed to hold a load, but they will not take the shock loads produced when towing a vehicle. Never tow a vehicle using any winch.

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Re-dressing a wire rope

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Winch kit In order to even contemplate using a winch, you will need several accessories. A fairly well-supplied winching bag includes the following: proper gloves; three D-shackles (9,500-17,000-pound working load or WL); three 3-inch straps (20,000-pound WL), three 5/16-inch pulley blocks (19,250 pounds WL) and one 50-foot 3/8-inch synthetic rope extension (19,700lbs WL). I prefer to use synthetic rope, which is stronger per unit measurement and lighter to carry. Synthetic rope does not burr or rust. It has less mass, and therefore holds less energy when it parts—less energy equals less damage. However, synthetic rope insulates the spool of the winch, compared to metal which conducts heat way from the spool. Winches that have the brake in the spool, or are designed to dissipate heat at the spool, can heat up dramatically with synthetic rope. The heat will compromise the winch and the rope at the same time. Ask your winch manufacturer about this, and also consult the synthetic rope manufacturer.

Winch recovery

Several independent factors combine to determine the difficulty of any winch recovery

General vehicle resistance Tire pressure and construc-

tion, and general friction in the drivetrain can add up to a good amount of added resistance. How much? On a theoretically perfectly flat, hard road with a perfectly frictionless drive train and frictionless tires, etc. the vehicle will need just a minute amount of force to overcome its potential energy. But on 33-inch mud-terrain tires at 15 psi, added to the resistance of bearings, seals, rotating differentials, etc., it starts to add up.

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Resistance of terrain The substrate under the vehicle has a great effect on resistance in any recovery. All things being equal (tire pressure, slope, etc.) flat, firm ground has the least effect; deep mud or snow has the greatest. A 5,000-pound Land Rover D90 on firm, flat ground can be pushed by a human because there is not much resistance; the person need move perhaps only seven percent of the total weight, or about 350 pounds. However, plop the vehicle in a mud hole and we could be looking at 2,500 pounds or more. As a general rule, figure you need to pull seven percent of the weight of the vehicle on firm ground, 50 percent or more in deep mud or snow. Resistance of slope Slopes obviously add resistance to the

load on a winch. The steeper the slope, the more of the mass of the vehicle the winch will need to move. A vehicle of 5,000 pounds on a 35-degree slope creates a resistance of approximately 3,000 pounds due to the slope alone. As another general guide: A zero-degree slope has little effect on the resistance, which is determined instead by the vehicle’s inherent resistance and the substrate. On a 45-degree slope (also called a 100-percent slope, as it rises one unit of measurement for every unit forward) you’ll be pulling about 75 percent of the weight of the vehicle, and by 60 degrees you’ll be pulling the entire weight.

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Winching angle Ideally the winch rope should leave the fairlead at a 90-degree angle to the spool. This is known as a straight-line pull. As that angle changes and the line is no longer coming straight off the spool, you will encounter problems. First, power is lost due to the angle itself. Second the diameter of the spool is effectively increased, so more power is lost. Finally, you risk bunching up your rope to one side of the spool. The result is increased spool diameter (reduced pulling power), and an increased likelihood of cleaving the rope under your incoming wraps. The loss in power from the angle is less of an issue than the bunching effect.

Reducing the effects of terrain resistance A cable rig helps lift the vehicle over terrain irregularities, but the anchor can slide down the tree trunk if not well-secured.

The physics of pulleys through the pulley and back to the bumper of the winching vehicle. If you add another pulley to the winching vehicle, and run the rope through that and back to the stuck vehicle, you have gained a 3:1 advantage. In this situation, counting the number of lines between the stuck vehicle and the winching vehicle will give you the mechanical advantage.

A properly attached pulley block

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Here’s an easy way to remember all this: Just count the number of lines that get shorter with the movement of the vehicle being pulled, and you’ll have your mechanical advantage.

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Endless debate rages in the 4WD world regarding pulleys and the advantage they give to recovery situations. I hope the following helps clear up misconceptions. It’s been noted repeatedly that a pulley does not offer any mechanical advantage unless it moves with the load being shifted. For example, if you try to lift a weight by hand by running a rope from the weight through a pulley on an overhead beam and back down to you, then pulling on the rope, you gain no advantage whatsoever. Likewise, if you run your winch rope from the winch through a pulley attached to a tree, then straight back to a fixed anchor near your vehicle—say another tree—you have gained no advantage. In fact, if your vehicle is putting 5,000 pounds of strain on the winch, running the rope through a pulley and back to a fixed anchor very nearly doubles the strain on the tree and pulley while doing you no good. That’s because the tree and pulley experience 5,000 pounds of pull from the winch as well as, in effect, 5,000 pounds of pull from the fixed anchor. Actually, by doing this you’ll decrease your mechanical advantage by a factor determined by the diameter of the pulley, the inherent friction in the pulley, and the actual angle between the rope on either side of the pulley. Let’s look at this more closely. As the angle between the “two” ropes, meaning the rope on one side of the pulley compared to the other side (yes I know it’s one rope, but it makes it easier to explain this way) goes from zero (i.e. straight through pulley) to 180 degrees (a U-turn around pulley), the strain on the tree (along with the tree saver, D-shackle, and pulley) increases. At 90 degrees redirection angle the force on the tree is almost 40 percent more than the total load, or around 7,000 pounds from the example above, while at 180 degrees it’s 100 percent more. In all the above cases the load on the winch itself will only be as much as the strain on the line, 5,000 pounds. But you have not increased your pulling power at all. However, a redirected pull to a fixed anchor still has its uses: More rope off the spool means more power, and the rope adds up on the spool more slowly (1/2 the rate) than if you were anchored to your own bumper. This “slower add-up” allows for a longer pull (twice as long) with less line on the spool—i.e. more power for longer. Now let’s rig it differently. If you run a rope from your winch to a pulley and back to your vehicle, and the two lines are as close as possible to parallel, now you have increased your mechanical advantage. The reason is that both the winch side anchor and the bumper side anchor are moving and shortening. They are both doing work or applying force. This makes the load on “each” rope half as much. You do not get a precise 2:1 advantage, but you very get close if the ropes are parallel. So your winch now has two times the potential pull power. Yet your pulley/strap/D-shackle on the tree will not be subject to additional force. The pulley on the tree becomes the “moving pulley” and this, in this example; gives a 2:1 mechanical advantage. The speed of pull will be reduced by half. You also gain a 2:1 advantage if you attach a pulley to the bumper of a stuck vehicle, then run a winch rope from a recovery vehicle

TIP

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Winch before you winch Now we’re ready to look at some actual winching scenarios, but first I’d like to go over a methodology I follow whenever I’m presented with an obstacle or situation that might lead to a winching session. I teach it to my students as well, and refer to it as “Winch before you winch.” That might sound odd, but the intent is to get you to think about the consequences before you find yourself stuck and looking for an anchor point. It may not seem like these steps will help you understand how to winch; however, they are steps that will prepare you to winch and, hopefully, allow you to think ahead so you do not have to winch. Driving well in the backcountry is not made up of a bunch of distinct skills; it is made of one mind-set of continuously interdependent skill sets. There are five steps to this method.

Should you be there? In other words, is it the correct area,

Think before you move. Winch before you winch. Drive before you drive. Fail before you fail.

Winching in action

weather, time of day? Do you have the right equipment, communications, and first aid kit? Are your skills or the set of skills of your group adequate for the trail or road you are considering (first-aid training, 4WD driver training, etc.)? This is the most important step, and it should come to mind before you ever leave camp on a trail run.

Walking through some winching scenarios should help cement all this information into a clear base on which to practice. My goal here is to walk you through specific set-ups. The first few set ups will be more detailed. As I present the others they will get simpler or at least shorter since much of the lingo and techniques will be familiar.

Are you sure you actually want to get through the obstacle in front of you? In other words, do you

Single-line pull A single-line pull is always an option if the ter-

know what is coming up? Never enter a marginal area to find you need to back out two miles. Usually this means you either have good local knowledge, or you do a fast huff on foot through the next half-mile until you can assess if you can at least turn around.

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How exactly will you drive the specific obstacle in front of you? Get out and walk it. Make your plan based on

your vehicle, skill level, and equipment. Before you move, imagine the worst-case scenario. This scenario is where you develop a preliminary recovery plan. In other words, mentally set up your recovery in advance for all the spots that could “get you.” If you are not sure where those areas are, walk it again and use your head. If you cannot survive or accept the consequences of the worst-case scenario, then never drive it. This is your plan.

Drive your plan Do not let fear or peer-pressure convince you

to change the plan. Fear will speak lies to you. The only reason to diverge from your plan is if the worst-case scenario threatens to occur or has occurred. No worries, because you have a plan for this as well . . . right?

Fix it if you mess it up You should carry out some environmental stewardship; be responsible and accountable. At the least realize that the abuse you did, no matter how small, will just be enhanced by the drivers behind you. If you popped out the only rock that flattened your suspension, allowing you to get up with out wheel spin, put it back. Overland Journal Spring 2009

rain and slope resistance, etc., do not exceed one half of your gear’s load ratings. So let’s say you drove to a base of a muddy hill and considered your five steps and eyed the trees or rocks or sand (to plant your Pull-Pal or ground anchors) so you know what tree to use at what point, and more importantly determined if there are no suitable trees or rocks or ground in the area you need there to be. So you were prepped, found a suitable tree, and you had a plan—and you tried the hill and found yourself thoroughly stuck halfway up, unable to initiate a failed-hill maneuver and back down.

Scenario First, chill out and take your time. As a trail leader, or even driving by myself, I would already have had my winch kit out and stowed near my potential anchor point. If the hill was very risky and I was willing to take the chance anyway, I might also have set up a preventer. A preventer is a strap, kinetic rope, or some other temporary anchor to attach to your vehicle to “prevent” you from turning sidewise or some other bad thing after your forward motion has ended, and hopefully before any rearward motion begins. The preventer should be hooked up as soon as you have failed and if you are somewhat stable. If you are alone (which you should endeavor to never be in such a situation), it can be nerve-wracking to exit a very unstable vehicle and set up a preventer. Set it up first and at least you’re a bit ahead of the game. So, your spotter has attached the preventer, if needed, and of course he or she has good tough gloves on. Next, your spotter should help stabilize the vehicle more thoroughly, and you as the driver either settle the vehicle onto the preventer, or wheel chocks, or whatever you have. If this does not appear possible, you must stay in the vehicle with the brake on and while your friend hooks you up. (This brings up

an important point: Share your plan if you are using a spotter. Agree on the plan before you drive the obstacle.) For now let’s assume you can get out and set up your own winching rig. If there is a group of people around, you are now in charge of making sure you do not kill someone. Get everyone away from the recovery area and the “Harm Radius.” Make sure you have only one or two people helping you, and no crowd giving advice. You are in charge of the recovery, so keep it that way. Figure out why you are actually stuck. Do not assume anything, but instead get your gloves on and grab your shovel. Take your time determining the true cause of your “stuckness.” Now is the time to choose the safest recovery method by decreasing order of ease and inherent safety: first, a kinetic rope, then the winch, and last a Hi-Lift jack. This is a winching article, so—with your accessory bag in hand and gloves on, pick or reconfirm your recovery anchor point(s) and make sure you have all the equipment you need before you grab the rope and move. (Note: Never go behind your vehicle to retrieve your equipment if you neglected to get it out first. If the vehicle is in a very tenuous position, it’s better to use your friends’ gear than risk getting behind a vehicle, or even into one that’s less than perfectly stabilized.) Stow your shovel (always finish one thing before you start another—stay linear, stay logical, stay focused), then place the winch in free-spool. This will allow you to pull the rope off the spool—usually. There are some exceptions. Some winches are much harder to pull rope off of than others, and they all get very stubborn when temperatures drop below zero. Once some Special Operations personnel I was training were surprised to fail a free-spooling challenge I set for them—four guys to pull out 30 feet of rope. It was 18°F. At low temperatures the lubrication inside the winch becomes viscous, often making free-spooling functionally impossible. There are some things that can help this. You can re-grease with lower-temperature rated oil, or, as they do in Iceland, you can use graphite powders. Of course, these changes will most likely void your warranty, but . . . Contact your winch manufacturer for more ideas. If it is very cold, running the winch while it’s in free-spool mode will help warm up the lubrication and allow free-spooling. Otherwise you will need to power or winch out to get the line out. Winches—with the exception of worm-drive models—notoriously do not like being powered out for long, so take care. (This is especially true in high temperatures. In desert heat you can smell unhappy winches from great distances.) If you need to power-out the winch to pull rope, remember once finished to place the winch control in a safe place were the trigger has no way of getting touched and “bumping” the winch. As soon as you have the rope in your hand, remember it is now live, and can become “hot” or under tension at any time should the vehicle shift, the winch control bump the winch motor, etc. What this means is that any rope at any time should be treated like it can go hot at random. Therefore never let a rope get between your legs, and do not step across any winch line that is hooked up. If you absolutely have to step across it, step on it. If it goes hot and you are stepping on it, you will be pushed into the air more likely than ripped by the rope or pinned against something. Get into the habit of grabbing the winch rope by the outer most part of the hook, thimble, or shackle. Having a grip on the outer end will allow the rope to pull out of your hand should it get hot, lessening the chance your hand will get caught between the hook and an object such as the roller fairlead. Some hooks now come with safety straps to facilitate easy handling.

Synthetic line is very slippery, and you might be tempted to wrap the rope around your hand to gain a better grip. Don’t do it. I had a close call while scalloping as a commercial fisherman. I was almost dragged overboard when my leg tangled in a winch line. A vigilant, fast-acting captain saved my life that day. Pull the rope to your anchor point. If you’re having a difficult time handling the rope, put it over your shoulder and lean forward as you walk. Once at your anchor point, drop the rope, and remember it can go hot any time so treat it accordingly. Open your gear bag and remove one 10- to 20-foot three-inch tree-saver strap. A three-inch strap is usually rated at about 20,000 pounds, but make sure it is from a reputable manufacture and is labeled to handle this load. Position your strap to give the most straight pull as well as the optimum vertical angle. I usually wrap the strap around itself so that under load it grips the tree rather than sliding down. This can be done to help raise the nose of the vehicle up a bit and/or to raise the rope so it does not come in contact with the ground and chafe or even part. This “cable rigging” is a technique adapted from logging. You can go too far with this and pull a The Gods Must Be Crazy scene, so take care. That said, I have shimmied up trees to cable the rig and relieve a good bit of terrain resistance. It works well if you slow down and consider all the forces involved, as well as the worst-case scenarios. Remember, and remind everyone around you of the possibility that the anchor strap and rope could slide down with great force. Evergreens, especially spruce and fir trees, love to let the strap break through the bark. The strap will

Any rope at any time should be treated like it can go hot at random. Therefore never let a rope get between your legs, and do not step across any winch line that is hooked up. If you absolutely have to step across it, step on it. take off the bark like paper off a straw. Not good for you, and deadly for the tree. Do not attach to a tree or anything else out there if you cannot minimize damage or avoid it entirely. If you need to use a rock, make sure you can loop the strap around it so it won’t come off. I use two straps, and wrap the rock like a present with the straps crossing in the back. The two straps seem to help hold one another on the rock. If the rock looks like it will cause chaffing or cutting, you can use a chain instead; however, as a general rule I do not use chain in recovery with anything but the Hi-Lift Jack. Chain gives little to no warning when it parts. It just explodes, and since it has a high mass, it holds more energy, energy that can hurt you. Straps hiss and ping when they get close to parting, metal rope sounds like a bad radio station with pings and pops, and synthetic rope will get hot, vibrate, and hum. Chain is silent. Since it does not flex and it is not malleable it comes off things all at once, while soft things often slide and roll giving some warning. So take care on sharp rock; use chain, but use it wisely and as a last resort. If I could, I would rather reposition an anchor vehicle or let the person behind me winch me up ahead with a redirected pull. (Chain can also scar the rock.)

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Hand signals

Driving hand signals are simple. Always have gloves on (light colored gloves are best). Raise your hands to head height and make sure the driver can see them. • • • • • • • • •

Come forward Back up Turn right/left Right wheel coming up a rock Left wheel coming down a rock Stop Come forward this much Front wheels will drop this much Slow or easy does it

Now these need to be combined with winching signals. I use my right hand for the winch and my left for the driving action. There are times when you need three things or more happening at once. With two hands this can be challenging, so there are times when signals are implied. If you do not understand a signal, stop and wave the spotter to the window to chat it out. Refer to the pictures to see the winching signals. Remember, as a driver, your spotter often cannot see you inside the vehicle due to the windshield reflection, so the signal for all set or okay is a thumbs-up out the window. • • • • • • •

Winch in Winch out Little bump of winch in or out Stop winching Hands in Stop winching Stop Driving

Both arms crossed and hands held in fists is a very important signal: It means stop winching and stop driving. In other words everything halts because something odd is up. Everyone in the world will stop if you do this signal. Of equal importance is the “hands–in” signal: dangle all 10 fingers over the winch and move hands up and down. This means you need to get your hands onto the spool to clear a kink, or redress the winch. The operator needs to then hang the winch control out the window holding it by the wire, so you know the trigger cannot get bumped accidentally. As you can imagine it can get fairly confusing so, in line with your plan and mental approach, go slow and be clear. Do not rush, and do not let others rush you. When training I tend to over-punctuate my hand signals to keep things crystal clear. This works very well with drivers new to spotting and/or hand signals. As he or she picks up the language communication will get more fluid. But if things start to get precarious, revert to the punctuated style.

Overland Journal Spring 2009

1. Back up 2. Drive forward, left wheel coming up 3. Drive forward, left wheel coming down 4. Drive forward, turn right 5. Stop driving 6. Winch in, turn left 7. Stop driving and stop winching

Let’s assume the tree is fine and you have secured the tree saver. Next attach both loop ends to your D-shackle. Most D-shackles used in the 4WD world are the threaded clevis pin type. If this is the case, tighten the clevis pin fully and then loosen it at least a half turn (always secure a D-shackle in this manner as a matter of habit). The forces on the D-shackle are huge, and any slight geometric change in the shackle body will cause the clevis pin to be very difficult to un-thread. Loosening it a bit minimizes this chance. Now rotate the shackle 180 degrees, so the pin is on the tree saver side and the arched side is toward the winch’s hook. The metal edge of the hook or thimble has very little surface contact with the shackle; by moving it to the arch side it will self-center to the apex of the arch, keeping the shackle in a better geometric position. Also, if the hook is on the clevis pin it will slide to the corner under tension, possibly buggering the exposed threads of the pin. Finally, the strap will have a much larger contact patch with the clevis pin. A word on winch rope hooks. I am a firm believer that better safety means better recovery and a high average rate of movement. To this end, a winch rope’s hook or thimble should be closable. If at all possible, your entire rig system should be a closed system. Open hooks break more easily and can come loose if slack gets into the system. I personally use thimbles and D-shackles and avoid open hooks. Here in New England swing-gate hooks tend to rust, so I do not use those either. Open hooks love to break, whether you overload them or position them incorrectly. If slack forms in the rope, an open hook can reposition itself in all kinds of nooks and crannies. Then the load re-establishes itself, and bang. If you have an open hook, replace it with a closable one that is strong and able to take the load in any direction. Open hooks that have spring-loaded clips do not really constitute a closed system. Yes, they will hold the hook in place when slack forms, but they do not strengthen the hook as a whole. If you must use an open hook, always remember that the hook tends to break at its narrowest diameter, the last one-third or so toward the tip. If it does this, the rope will be flung in an arc away from the opening of the hook. What does this mean? Once you have the rig set up, and your parachute rigs are in place, you have to predict the places where the rope and gear will go if something parts, and do not stand in those places. This holds true especially for the open hook. Position the hook so if it does break the rope will swing in a direction away from anyone nearby. If you are hooking vertically, always point the hook end up to the sky; should it fail, the hook and rope will be propelled into the ground and dissipate the energy there, not in your windshield or body. At this point you have your rigging set up. Plug in your winch control, if you have not already done so. I route my control wire up to my bumper-mounted Hi-Lift and secure the wire with some simple knot or hitch. Should you trip on the wire or get it caught, the knot will take the load instead of breaking the plug. Routing the wire up and away from the winch itself is very important. Do not let the wire near the spool where it can get “eaten.” If you are directing your spotter or some other individual holding the controller, or inversely if you are being directed, use hand signals. Clear hand signals communications are much easier to understand than shouted directions, and impossible to misinterpret. At this point you are going to start winching in rope. The rig is now live, and this means you need to get everyone in the safe spots.

Look at the rig, imagine where everything will go should there be a catastrophic failure, and do not let people be there. Safe places are inside a vehicle, behind a large tree or rock, and of course far away from the rig. If you are doing a series of turns and redirections, the shape the rig forms (i.e. a triangle, or a quadrilateral, etc), will always implode on failure. So never be inside the shape. Now winch in, first taking up the slack with small bumps of the winch (the hand signal is the tapping together of your fingers and thumb, like mimicking someone talking. Each tap signals a tap on the controller). Once the rig is taut, check everything for issues such as odd gear twists, bad open hook sets, or ropes on ground/tree/vehicles. This is an important safety step; get others to help you if the rig is wide-spread. If there are rig/gear issues, winch out to take tension off, and fix the problem. Once you are satisfied, set a parachute rig on your rope. This is an object you drape over the rope half way between each set of turns or fulcrums. A parachute rig needs to be large enough to, first, offer wind resistance, and then and only then have some mass to it. Blankets, carpet squares, floor mats, a few tree savers, clothing— these all work. If you are running rope at a steep angle up or down hill, the parachute rig often slides into your fairlead or to some other spot. Take a tree saver and tie in on the rope with a tight half hitch, then drape your parachute rig over it. It will hold it from sliding so you do not have to reset too often. The driver now gets in the vehicle with the winch control, and watches the spotter’s signals. The spotter signals the driver to winch in and steer as needed. The spotter needs to keep an eye on the spool and entire rig as he or she signals the driver. The spotter’s responsibility is to keep the rope from bunching, keep the layers to a minimum, signal to steer the vehicle to spool and dress the winch as rope comes in (i.e. have the driver do slight zigzags so the rope spools nicely), signal driver to avoid any terrain/slope/resistance issue along the way. The driver’s responsibility is to keep the edge off the load with a touch of throttle, without spinning the wheels. This reduces the strain on the winch and rig, but there is a fine line between taking the edge off and causing slack, which creates instant problems. If fine control is not possible, it’s best to let the winch do the work and keep the revs up to charge your electrical system during the session. Remember, spinning wheels do very little to help forward motion if the vehicle has no established inertia. Spinning also decreases control of steering and lateral resistance, making the vehicle “walk” to one side or the other. As a spotter I prefer a winch with a very open spool, so I can see if kinking, over-layering, or bunching occurs. An open top also allows me to get my hands onto the winch to sort out a messy dressing, crosses, wedges or pinches. If the pull is a long one, at some point there will be too much rope on the spool. Avoid this if possible. If you are still stuck, the winching must be stopped, the vehicle must be stabilized (move preventer or chocks, etc), and the tension taken off so the spotter can pull out rope and reset the rig with fewer layers on the spool. The best way to do this is to add a pulley sub-rig to your main rig, and re-anchor to another spot some distance away. The new anchor point is far enough away to “un-layer” the spool. Attach the hook/ thimble as you would any other anchor point. Reassess lines of attack, add another parachute rig, step away, take up slack, check the rig, and continue winching. When you see the rope bunching or layering you will need to redress the winch. Take off the slack (stabilize vehicle, etc.) and signal hands in. Disengage the winch to free spool and pull out the offending

portion of rope. Let the rope fall in a pile on the ground away from your feet. Do not let anyone grab, coil or walk off distance to keep the rope neat, there is no need. Just lay it onto itself; as long as you take it back up in reverse order there will be no tangles or knots. Once the mess is clear, engage the winch to winch in and step back two times the stopping distance. Remember to keep constant tension on the rope—especially with metal, since it likes to spring off the spool due to metal memory. Lean your body back against the rope in your hands. Give the signal to winch in, feed the rope, hand over hand without letting it slide in your gloved hands, into the winch in a neat even wrap layer. You need to zigzag the rope as you hand it in so the spool is neat and uniform. If you are finished winching and are just replacing all the rope, you do not have to be too neat since that line will be coming off the next time you use it. However, it is nice to have a neat redress to keep a minimum of the rope’s surface area exposed, since metal rope will rust, and synthetic rope will degrade in UV.

Look at the rig, imagine where everything will go should there be a catastrophic failure, and do not let people be there. Safe places are inside a vehicle, behind a large tree or rock, and of course far away from the rig. If you hear the winch slowing down or straining, your engine revs are not high enough or you are overloading the winch. Often the overloading is caused by a rock or hole you did not take into account. Remember there are four wheels to watch. If you hear the rope starting to ping and hiss or vibrate, watch out—it might be ready to let go. If possible, stop, slacken the rig, and correct the problem. If the rope is touching something and you cannot redirect it off the spot, stop, slacken, and place something smooth under the line at that spot (log, mat, Pelican case, or something, but do not damage the environment). When the vehicle is unstuck, do not let anyone grab the rope as you drive forward. Instead, the spotter should direct the driver over the rope so it goes under the vehicle without getting sucked into the drive train. If you don’t have a spotter and cannot see the line, stop right there and stabilize the vehicle, then get out and redress/stow the line so you can drive on. Get well away from the difficult area before you remove the rope and rig. It’s not uncommon to watch someone take the rig apart, redress the winch, then begin to drive again, only to get stuck again or slide into a more difficult and dangerous situation. Once you have reached 100-percent safety, gather your gear and redress completely. Stow all gear properly. If, however, you suspect you will need to winch others through the same spot, or you see a spot 20 feet away where you might need the winch again, then wrap your rope loosely, but securely, on your bumper and place the needed gear near your next anchor point. Do not drive far with the winch rope wrapped on the bumper. An exposed winch rope can get pinched by a rock, tangled on a tree or person, etc. Have pride in doing it right or don’t bother. Overland Journal Spring 2009

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Double-line pull Use a double-line pull whenever you can. It allows for a straighter pull, to reduce strain in the winch and rope. It also allows you to get more rope out to achieve better power. The setup is the same as a single-line pull, but you route the rope from the winch to a pulley and back to the vehicle again. Remember, two lines shortening equals a 2:1 advantage. Off-line pulls It would be wonderful if every winch pull were either a perfectly straight line, or easy to set up straight with a redirected pull. Unfortunately that’s not the case, and often you’ll need to use an anchor that’s 10 or 20 annoying degrees off-line. By doing so you will lose power and add stress to the rope, as well as your winch and mounting system on the bumper. Bumpers are not made to take as much force to the sides, so you could easily bend your frame horns or foul your winch bumper mount by bending the mounting plates and hardware. With the rope all bunching on one side, redressing is necessary much more often. As the rope comes into the spool, watch for pinching and heat build-up. I watched a brand new Amsteel rope overheat and part during a climb in Moab. Hawse fairleads, especially, allow heat build up, since the metal contact point does not rotate but holds heat as it conducts it away from the line. Metal rope loves to kink and do the “gift-wrapping ribbon twirl” (like when you run a pair of scissors on a ribbon to get it to curl up). Synthetic line, due to its malleable nature, can get caught in roller fairleads that are too loose in clearance for a squeezing rope under 9,000 pounds or more of load.

Picture two vehicles on a hill; the forward one, vehicle one, is stuck. The rear one, vehicle two, will be the recovery vehicle and, runs its winch rope forward past vehicle one to an anchor and back down to the bumper of vehicle one. Vehicle one chocks its tires or uses a tree saver on its rear bumper to an anchor to stop itself from getting pulled up hill. In this case it’s best to have two drivers, and one spotter. The spotter is stationed to see both drivers, the winch spool, and the entire rig if possible. The spotter uses winching hand signals to communicate to

Mechanical advantage, or not?

Off-line pulls should be avoided, but let’s be realistic, if you have no trees and just one rock for an anchor, and it’s a bit too far to the side, you will use it anyway. Just think it over, and over-build your rig to compensate. The winch manufacture is silently screaming, so remember you are on your own and have signed your mental waiver. 114

Sub–rigs Imagine you have a 95-foot single-line pull up a rocky hill. Along this 95 feet are two places where you need to maneuver around holes and rocks, resulting in a zig-zag route to the top. However, steering while winching, except to make very minor corrections, is difficult and can be dangerous. You don’t want to set up separate winching sections along this path; you want to set up one. This one is the main rig, from the winch to the anchor 95 feet away. The solution is to use sub-rigs: a pulley attached to an anchor partway up the pull to redirect only a portion of the pull, to get you past an object. Once you’ve cleared the object you stop, slacken the rig, remove the sub-rig, and continue, either on the main rig or another sub-rig. Any time you set up a sub-rig, keep in mind the extra stress on the sub-rig’s anchor, per our discussion of the physics of pulleys.

Re-directed pull As we’ve already determined, a re-directed pull does not produce any mechanical advantage, and in fact usually results in additional strain on the anchor for the pulley. Nevertheless, re-directed pulls are useful to get more line off the spool, or to set up a straight pull from the winch when it would otherwise be impossible. Just remember the forces acting on your pulley rig. Overland Journal Spring 2009

Pay close attention to anchor rigging, which during a redirected pull can be subjected to twice the load experienced by the winch itself. Always stay outside the geometric shape created by a redirected pull, since if a component fails the system will implode on the shape.

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www.outlandertrailers.com 501-681-4573 115

Overland Journal Spring 2009

Get out there and practice your skills before you really need your winch. driver two, and steering and movement signals to driver one. All normal other winching steps and considerations do not change—parachutes, tension, sub-rigs, etc. If necessary a sub-rig can be added to keep the winch rope clear of vehicle one. The vital thing to remember here is that, if vehicle one is producing, say, 5,000 pounds of total resistance, the strain on the winch of vehicle two is 5,000 pounds plus some for the resistance in the pulley rig, but, much more importantly, the strain on the re-directing pulley is roughly 10,000 pounds. Be absolutely sure your tree saver, D-shackle, and pulley are rated for double that load.

Rope care

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Here are a few tips on winch rope care

Winch lines, unless you live in desert areas and have a rope cover, are constantly exposed to the elements. Metal and synthetic also keep humidity close to the winch spool. I have found linseed oil works well to keep rust off metal rope and the spool. Periodic power washing will help keep ropes in better shape. Dirt in rope leads to increased friction, which in turn leads to chafe or heat build up. Kinks in metal line can be stretched out, but remember that you will get the “tin can” effect if you do not pay attention. When metal rope develops a kink, that spot is forever more susceptible to kinking. Kinking and straightening over and over will weaken the metal, leading to failure. Burrs are either kinks that have partially broken, or cuts to a rope’s strands. On metal they spell trouble for your body. They will catch your glove and suck the glove into the winch if you are too close, and at the very least they will cut you. At OEX we never use gloves that have snug wrists—the glove needs to come off before your hand is harmed. Remember to never let the rope slide through your hands, but instead feed it in/out hand over hand. This gives you more time to dislodge your glove and/or hand and glove. How many burrs are too many, resulting in a dangerous rope? Well, any burr means a weak section, so ideally you should replace it. However, one or two broken strands in a wire rope is not critical. At least you will want to smooth down the strands so you do not get hurt. Although fresh galvanized rope burrs are more sanitary than old rusty ones, they burn and sting a lot more. Synthetic line does not like UV exposure or high heat. If the color is fading or you see actual melting, get a new line. At OEX we replace all

Overland Journal Spring 2009

our ropes, whether they need it or not, every two years. However, we are using them anywhere from three to seven days a week on 13 vehicles. Don’t confine your preventive maintenance to the rope. At OEX we were training a team connected to the State Department, who were using rapid-response 4WD units. These vehicles were not light. We had a redirected pull set up. Everyone was where he should have been, and the exercise was going well when suddenly the pulley exploded, sending some part of itself shooting through the trees. That part flew for what seemed 15 seconds, but was most likely more like two or three. After our shock we stopped everything and tried to figure out what had happened. Where the pulley had been were all the parts of the pulley in a neat pile, with the strap still attached. Two parts were missing: the center sleeve of the pulley and the C-ring that held it on. Somehow the center had come out under force and flew off, leaving everything behind—a bit like pulling a table cloth from under some glasses. The lesson is, make sure your pulley and its C-rings, or cotter pins, are all there and working.

Go do it In closing, I hope that the description here helps you understand some of the uses and limits of the winch. Get out there and practice before you really need your winch, and stop and think before you do any winching. Clearly I am a firm believer in getting training, and I strongly suggest you contact a reputable trainer to put the lessons here to onthe-ground use.

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Overland Journal Spring 2009

OVERLAND CHEF

Stephanie Brady

Mexican S’mores This finger lickin’ treat will have your friends and family asking for s’more What would a campfire be without s’mores? You know, the gooey treat created by sandwiching rich chocolate and toasted marshmallow between two graham crackers. Long synonymous with camping and summer fun, mention this time-honored confection and instantly faces light up with fond memories of long-ago camping trips and time spent around the fire with family and friends. The history of the s’more’s conception is a bit of a mystery, but a quick Google search will tell you that American food companies were combining chocolate, marshmallow, and graham crackers into sandwich cookies in the early 1900s, and the first published recipe for s’mores can be found in Girl Scout handbooks printed in 1927. I’m all for tradition, but at some point you have to ask yourself if an old favorite can be improved. Say, for example: What would happen if you married the chocolate and marshmallow, added a dash of cinnamon to spice things up, wrapped everything in a crisp golden tortilla shell, and then added a sprinkling of sugar for good measure? I found the answer to my question one New Year’s Eve while on the white sand beaches of Conception Bay, Mexico. Within seconds of serving my now-famous Mexican S’mores, groans of delight broke out around the campfire. When the “oohs” and “aahs” died down and the last bite was consumed, my friends had one dying request. Yep, you guessed it, they asked if they could have s’more. Whip up some Mexican S’mores on your next camping trip and you just might be starting a new time-honored tradition of your own. 118

Mexican S'mores

Serves: 4 Time: 1 minute to assemble, plus 3-5 minutes to fry Equipment: 2-3 quart pot for frying 4 small flour tortillas 1 large chocolate bar miniature marshmallows cinnamon to taste powdered sugar for sprinkling vegetable oil for deep-frying

Fill a pot with oil to a depth of 3-4 inches and put on the burner to heat in preparation for frying. Cut or break the chocolate along the lines of the bar. (Watch the sharp edges as they will tear the flour tortilla. When I initially made this recipe on the beach in Baja, I used a bag of individually wrapped miniaOverland Journal Spring 2009

ture chocolates. They fit next to each other nicely, and their smooth sides were gentle on the tortilla.) Fill the bottom of one flour tortilla with two to three chocolate pieces (in our taste test, the Overland Journal team overwhelming preferred the rich taste of dark chocolate over milk chocolate), a small handful of marshmallows, and cinnamon to taste. Roll “burrito style” (both sides in, then roll end to end) and pin closed with a toothpick. Once oil is heated, fry until golden. Drain on paper towels, remove the toothpick, and sprinkle with powdered sugar. Serve warm. When they ask for s’more, repeat.

Some other ideas sure to get “oohs” and “aahs” around your own campfire: Add rice crispies or graham cracker crumbles to the tortilla along with the chocolate and marshmallow. Experiment with various flavored chocolates: toffee, blueberry, coconut, caramel, and pistachio. For an exotic taste, add a dash of red pepper.

Share your menus, recipes, and overland cooking tips with us at editor@overlandjournal.com.

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CLASSIC KIT

Tom Sheppard

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Michelin XS Desert Tyre Iconic equipment for Saharan exploration

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Belted radials doing their thing. Michelin's "tracklaying" analogy well-illustrated. The sand's crust barely disturbed; just a little lateral shear of the top layer on the slightly downhill (right) side.

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ack then: Farnborough, Hampshire, England. The Royal Aircraft Establishment, home to the Experimental Flying Department and the Empire Test Pilots School. Gleaming aircraft wait on the tarmac. I rise early, don my seasoned flight suit, walk out the door behind the accommodation block—and squeeze under the chassis of a Land Rover I’m working on. Along with two others, all recently-announced Series IIs (plus a Matchless 350cc trials bike), it’s being prepared for a trans-Sahara expedition. Two of the vehicles run on Michelin XY tyres, which look like ordinary light-truck tyres for road use: a simple zig-zag tread pattern with unbroken ridges always in contact with the ground. They have a reputation for durability, and a tread pattern not too savage for use on sand, albeit the outer edges are on the sharp side. The Michelin “X” designation referred to radial ply construction— Michelin held a virtual monopoly on radials for years—with a belted steel-braced tread, bands of steel mesh encircling the carcases beneath the tread rubber. The vehicle I’m working on, though, has tyres of a new design: Michelin’s brand-new desertoptimised tyre, the X-Sahara or XS, here in 7.50x16 size with a nice (for then) wide footprint, inflated with non-porous butyl inner tubes. Don Fielder, Michelin’s U.K. tech chief, had invited us to a presentation at the nearby Fighting Vehicles Research and Development Establishment (FVRDE), at Chobham, a few weeks before, to tell us of radial plies, the track-laying properties of steel-belted, braced-tread tyres, thin, flexible sidewalls that could take low pressures without generating excessive heat, and shouldered tread blocks. Shouldered tread blocks looked like truncated, much-flattened pyramids, wider at the base than at the top, unlike traditional perpendicular-sided tread blocks that sheared and broke up the top crust of the sand and dropped the vehicle through this slightly stronger layer into the softer stuff underneath. The void between the shouldered tread blocks formed multiple pockets like cupped hands or upturned tablespoons, compressing and constraining the sand and actually enhancing its bearing strength as the tyre rolled over it. For a whimsical moment I could see the headlines: “RAF expedition crosses Sahara on upturned tablespoons.” But Don was right. It was an ingenious concept, which in future years of use—20 or more—I would see proven time and again. That tread design—much copied by other manufacturers, often crudely and lacking Michelin’s subtlety—is still used by giant oil exploration trucks operating in the most challenging virgin-dune terrain in the desert. Note that phrase. It comes later, too. Michelin’s recommended normal tyre pressure for the Land Rovers then was 15 psi—just 1 bar. With their conductive dangling earthing straps to disperse static electricity before refuelling, and the bulging sidewalls of the XSs, few passers-by could resist telling us our vehicles had “something hanging down” and that our tyres were flat. The XS sidewall was a thin, two-ply, steel-wire radial construction, Michelin at that time having unique expertise in bonding rubber durably to steel. As manufacturer’s data shows to this day, the ability of these thin sidewalls to flex without generating the heat that could cause delamination is backed by an

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Big fat 9.00x16 Michelin XS tyres running at 15psi were pivotal in getting this procession through the dunes of the Mauritanian Empty Quarter - and on to the Red Sea - with payload, fuel and water for an eightman crew over a 1,000+ mile sector. The availability of these tyres was a crucial enabling factor for an inspired vehicle design, the 101 Forward Control.

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“emergency soft” permitted running pressure (12 mph max) of just 0.6 bar. The diagram shows the increase in footprint size as pressure is lowered. Michelin’s operating parameters in later years broke down into three domains: max speed/GVW on-road; tracks at a max of 40 mph; and, finally, emergency flotation at a max of 12 mph. With typical thoroughness (and as a moment’s common-sense thought would prompt), minimum recommended pressures within these operating bands were further broken down according to axle load (see page 8.12 in Desert Winds’ book Four-by-four Driving). The XS at an axle load of 1,200 kg could gumshoe around at a whisker under nine psi—no fancy rims or beadlocks—and, carefully re-inflated, then bowl on up to 80 mph if the mood so took you. The XS was an extraordinary example of technical man interfacing with nature. Longestablished windblown sand, as on virgin dunes, has a thin but slightly stronger top crust. Take advantage of that and you could be rolling gently over it where others might have broken the crust and, lead-footed on the throttle, be scooping rooster-tails of fine sand into the sky as they sink lower into the soft stuff. Thin, flexible sidewalls at low pressures meant bulges at ground level and vulnerability to sidewall damage from rocks—desert terrain seldom neatly separates rocks from soft sand. So where there was a mix you had to develop sidewall awareness and, if in doubt, have a spotter to direct you through tricky bits—often a pain but, even at the end of a long hot day, essential to avoid damage to your precious tyres. The other thing you had to be aware of with an XS—and forget at your peril—was grip on wet roads. Or rather the lack of it. MiOverland Journal Spring 2009

chelin won’t be drawn out on this, understandably I suppose, but there are tyre compounds and there are tyre compounds, and whatever was used on the XS (together with those shouldered truncated-pyramid tread blocks, especially when they were worn) contributed to high adrenalin flows on wet corners or when braking in the damp. Dramatically so on less-than-high-tech tarmac surfaces in the Algerian trans-Sahara routes. I have vivid recollections of reverting to “manual ABS” (manic small jabs at the brake pedal) on raindrenched tarmac in the Atlas Mountain region to avoid imprinting a truck with the bumper geometry of an early Discovery. For many years I preached the “perfect desert tyre” status of the XS. Note that: “desert tyre,” not just “sand tyre,” for it was amazingly capable on rock provided you watched those sidewalls—putting aside the slight mystery of Paris-Dakar bikes that used viciously knobbly tyres and seemed to thrive on what they had to offer. Namibia on XZLs—pretty aggressive semi-mud tyres—showed me what was going on. Remember the XS on virgin dunes? Well, on broken-crust, churned sand things are a bit different and you have to give it a bit of stick. On virgin sand you are trying to preserve the top crust; on churned sand it’s already gone and you have to start getting tough. Interestingly, the XZL, also confusingly called “4x4 O/R” and still in production, had, and still has, a sidewall protection band running around the tyre to ward off glancing blows from rocks caused by inattentive drivers. It’s not that these ridges resisted the rocks, more that their thickness spread the load on the vulnerable sidewall and prevented lacerations. But the 7.50 x 16 XS and similar sizes for Land Rovers and Toyotas is no more. My deepthroat at Michelin U.K. tells me that the XS is only made in the classic big-truck-in-Africa

size—a mighty 525/65 (!) on a 20.5 inch rim. Anything half-a-metre across the tread would take some sinking, I reckon, however soft the sand. There’s also an XML, big-truck size again, with (ha, they admitted it) a “new compound,” similar in appearance to the XS but with a slightly more rugged edge-tread to help when it’s gone wrong and you’re through the crust. So what now? For U.K. at least there is, new for 2009, a tyre called the Latitude Cross, destined, Michelin say, to be the factory-fitted default tyre for off-the-line Defenders, and labelled “65 percent on-road, 35 percent offroad” in terms of usage. An odd-looking thing with a half-and-half tread pattern that isn’t going to rock the boat one way or the other in the desert but will certainly, with hundreds of sipes (thin cuts within the tread blocks), be a lot safer getting there. In a leaflet seemingly put together by a marketing man who takes us all for impressionable adolescents, we are told nothing more technical than that it has “terrain-proof ” compound. Ah, that should do it. At least it’s in quotes. Since acquiring BFG, Michelin appear to have handed over serious on/off-tarmac and off-tarmac tyres to them. Odd parallels still exist though—BFG’s Mud-terrain and Michelin’s XZL, for example; the XZL having a slightly narrower footprint and thus better for shallow mud over firm ground. Nothing like the enthusiasm of the newlyconverted, but, unable to find the right-sized XS when I ordered my special-wheeled desert-bound G-Wagen ten years ago, I bought 265/75x16 BFG All-Terrains and have been open-mouthed at their versatility, robustness, and durability ever since. The vehicle has totted up over 40,000 miles to, from, and in the Sahara in that time on the same tyres. No scary moments on wet tarmac, a hard-won clearance from Michelin to run them at one bar in the soft, and it’s hard to see much tread wear at all. A worthy and proven successor to the classic Michelin XS.

Effects of deflation

XS footprint at road, track (40mph) and emergency flotation (12mph) pressures.

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I had water, caffeine, and only nine miles to go to Crawford. All very well, but I needed badly to make a pit stop. Pushing hard against the wind, I pedaled down the hill into Crawford. I stopped at the first convenience store I found, and ran back into the Swiss bikers. “Man, you are fast on that thing,” one of them said. The speed was a byproduct of desperation. All that flat, open country meant that despite my extremis, I had had to wait to go. I ducked inside the store and found the blessed restroom, on the closed door of which was an “Out of order” sign. Sorry for the inconvenience. Something in my face made the woman behind the counter reconsider. “Ignore the sign, hon; go on in.” It was good that the bathroom was closed to the public. I was in there a very long time. That day, I rode 20 more miles into the Oglala National Grasslands. I assembled my anti-coyote munitions, piling rocks outside of my tent and a few inside for good measure. I would be ready when they came. They didn’t, though, chastened perhaps by the wind. It blew throughout the night, changing course so that when I mounted up, a strong tailwind pushed me into the Black Hills. The George S. Mickelson Trail runs the 100-mile length of the Black Hills. It’s a non-motorized rail-to-trail with gentle grades, informational kiosks, and water sources along its entire length. I caught it in Pringle, South Dakota, following yet another meal that wouldn’t settle. I tossed my pancakes on the side of the road and wobbled to the beginning of the trail wondering what I’d use for fuel if I couldn’t keep food down. Some 25 miles on, my stomach seemed to indicate a willingness to share company with solid food. I stopped in Hill City, South Dakota, for a buffet dinner. Minutes later, horrible pains shot from my belly into my chest. To make matters worse, a thunderstormy night was falling on a town full of rowdy bikers and I had no idea where I was going to sleep. I lurched through the rain back to the Mickelson Trail. After riding for a ways in the fading light, I spied some good forest behind a wooden gate. Gritting my teeth against the pain, I swung it open and pushed my 100-pound bike through. I leaned the Trek against a tree and tossed out my ground sheet and then my tent. I was snapping poles together when lightning struck a few hundred feet away. Death, as usual, seemed imminent. With the tent and fly pitched, I pawed through my panniers to grab my sleeping bag and some dry clothes. Shucking my rain gear in the vestibule, I jumped in the tent and got safe, warm and dry. The pains subsided and I snuggled in and fell asleep to the heavy patter of the storm. By the next afternoon, I was feeling better. The weather was still iffy, so I stopped, made an early camp and went to check out my surroundOverland Journal Spring 2009

ings. There was a beaver working on his digs 50 yards away, and purple and yellow wildflowers covering the hills. The elevation was only about 5,000 feet, but the biome was mixed conifer interspersed with meadow. The air smelled of water and deep humus and although it was high summer in the tourist-laden Black Hills, I had it all to myself. The next day the rail-grade tilted downward. I coasted for 10 miles and popped out of the woods at Lead, South Dakota. Streams of motorcycles raged in all directions, but as always, no one waved. Minutes later, I arrived in Deadwood, where the Michelson Trail quit unceremoniously behind some storage buildings. So I hit pavement again, and 12 miles later the trees and tall grass of the Black Hills gave way to the parking lots of Sturgis. North America’s leading rally town was a teeming cluster of leatherclad humanity. Bars with names like The Knucklehead and the Broken Spoke Saloon lined Main Street. Humans of every description thronged booths that sold t-shirts, cheap silver jewelry, and even cheaper leather. Women wearing chaps over g-strings posed for pictures with assorted tough guys. The crowds ate it up. The road south of the main drag was blocked off. Cars couldn’t pass, but I figured I could. When I got kicked out by a cop who said bikes weren’t allowed, I had to wonder whether there really was a rule applying to the town’s lone bicyclist. I slept that night on rented grass in someone’s front yard, and woke up to see the Black Hills from a new angle. I’d experienced them from the non-motorized vantage of the Mickelson Trail, and after a few days in Sturgis, I’d taken in the rest from the back of a half-dozen Americanmade motorcycles. They were instructive days. Bikes and motorcycles share the kinesthetic allure of balancing wheels, the open connection to the road, and off-the-Richter-scale dangers of traffic exposure. There is, in short, much more in common between bicycles and motorcycles than there is between motorcycles and cars. One biker who toted me through the Black Hills on the back of his $20,000 Harley also elucidated a specialized form of biker communication: the secret motorcycle hand sign. By casting my left arm out at a 30-degree angle from my body and extending my first two fingers, I could enter at will the club of motorized inline wheels. I tried it out and whenever I signaled a biker, I got the signal back. It was like waving, but way, way cooler. That alone was worth the gut-busting, coyote-chewing price of admission. When I left Sturgis, I headed north on Highway 79 toward the flats of Newell, South Dakota, to blunt the effects of a fierce east wind. I figured I could go east the next day when the wind died down. In Newell, however, Mel, the nocturnal hay farmer and prairie fire expert, disabused me of that notion. “Yesterday, it was windy,” Mel said. “Today’s pretty calm.” “Today?” I said. “Yeah, today is a nice calm day,” he nodded. “We don’t get many of those in South Dakota.” Then Mel told me I would die, and I got back on my bike to prove him wrong.

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no buildings, nowhere to rest, and nothing to look at but grass, sun, sky, trucks, and the upcoming cracks. It was almost a relief when I got a flat tire. Something to do on the side of the road besides squint in misery. I pinned all my hopes on a turn in the road 27 miles hence that promised a tailwind when I reached it. But after pedaling all day, I still hadn’t arrived. Meanwhile, a helpful made eld and fi n r o c es cousin had emailed earlier to let me know a murderous a t o o y t o in c d e I slippe d midnight, th und me. trucker was roaming the lonely Nebraska highways and roun d aro that I would most likely die. So not only did I have to work a t e camp. A ging in the fiel f f sin f tent ta o to avoid over-correcting into speeding trucks; I had to il m n r started e o w rt ly a qua dogs, I n hope to hell none of the drivers stopped to chat me up. d o il h w it s a e W th o end up me and t At long, arduous last, I arrived at the curve. On the g n e in e o g w t s be eally wa r map, it looked like a hard right; in actual fact, it lasted for I if d dere . two miserable miles. I screamed myself hoarse cursing the d o o f ‘yote ruinous asphalt. It was 6:00 p.m. when I got all the way around, so late that the anticipated tailwind was DOA. My anger deflated to petulance and I pedal-pedal-clunked on. A couple miles Dakota, during Bike Week. Motorcyclists intrigued and frustrated me. later, I rode up to a man in a blue pickup. We seemed to have so much in common, but they never, ever respond“Hey,” he said. “I'll give you a ride to town. You’re still about thirty ed to my enthusiastic waves. I can be a little like a lap dog when I get miles out.” excited, but still. Was not. Twenty-six, maybe. I figured I’d drop by the rally and find out what the deal was. But to “I wouldn’t offer, but the coyotes can get kinda bad out here.” get there in time, I was going to have pedal my butt off through some Like I knew how to be careful of coyotes. When I asked, apparently brutally open country. he didn’t either, apart from going to town. He just said he’d heard reThe joy of unscripted journeys should be obvious; the trouble with ports of coyotes attacking people. Still, I declined the ride. them is there’s no way to rate ahead of time the forthcoming roads, He drove off, and I laughed the laughter of the high and holy food, or wildlife. By the time I rolled into Sturgis, I’d had trouble with damned. After the wretched day I’d had, if it was my fate to be brought all three. down by a pack of coyotes, then fine. Whatever. Two weeks before I met Mel, I woke up in a sunflower patch in I slipped into a cornfield and made camp. Around midnight, the southeastern Wyoming. Rally-bound, the first task of the day was to coyotes started singing in the field around me. With only a quarter mil fuel up in Pine Bluffs on a cholesterol-laden truck-stop breakfast. of tent taffeta between me and the wild dogs, I wondered if I really was The second task was to push hard to the north on Route 215. It going to end up as ‘yote food. was hot out, and despite being in the plains, I was stuck on a long, slow I checked my cell phone and found bars. Unbelievable. climb. At my normal pace on flat ground, breakfast would have settled I punched in my friend Chad’s number. in nicely, but today, the hash browns and biscuits ‘n’ gravy edged their “Hi Chad . . . sorry, I know it’s late . . . ” I said in what was no doubt way up my esophagus. my calmest voice. “Yeah, listen, I’m thinking I’m about to be killed and Must keep down, I told myself. Paid good money for stomach contents. eaten by coyotes.” To my relief, they obeyed. Chad laughed at me. Twenty miles later, with civilization behind me, the road peaked and “They’re just playing, Erica,” he said. “You’ve got nothing to worry the sky opened up. about.” My map showed nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, it barely Chad, happily ensconced in a bed about a million miles away from showed the road I was on, much less the expanse of cedar-covered hills my cornfield, had zip to worry about. I, on the other hand, was wide that tumbled down the rise I occupied into the great empty. That day, awake and very worried. I thought about how rarely human actually freedom and solitude yielded pure, surprised exhilaration. face predation. How mostly our worries center on money, career, and But now and then the freedom of solo touring is just code for exother imaginary things. The thought carried no comfort. tended suffering. Three hours later, the coyotes were still at it and I was still terrified. The next day the wind was howling steadily by 5:00 a.m., and I was At long last, rescue came in the form of an irritated corn farmer who riding Highway 71 north of Scottsbluff, Nebraska, through some terfired off a warning shot. To my unutterable delight, the coyotes shut ribly open and empty terrain. The hills were uncompromising, and the the hell up and I got some sleep. west wind that had pushed me across the Wyoming-Nebraska border The next morning I discovered two disturbing facts. First, I was low the day before had shifted to a left quartering headwind. The effect was on water, and second, my tender guts were beginning to descend into that I over-corrected to a nearly fatal degree every time a passing semi chaos. blocked the gale. Jim Herman, a boat builder from Tacoma, solved my water problem This particular highway had buckled under high plains weather when he stopped to get my story. Miles later, I crested a hill and ran into pressures. Untarred chasms bisected the road every 30 yards, creating a motley gaggle of Swiss bikers riding ancient Harleys. One of them a jarring rhythm: clunk-pedal-pedal-pedal-clunk. There were no trees, waved me over and pulled out a cold Pepsi. A gift from Jim. Nice guy. Overland Journal Spring 2009

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www.rasta4x4.com

rasta@rasta4x4.com

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TAIL LAMP

Erica Ryberg

The Road to Sturgis A lone bicycle tourist crashes a 450,000-strong motorcycle rally

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That was the odd thing about long-distance bicycle touring; the nicest people were always telling me I was going to die.

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he wind was heaving fire the day I rolled into Newell, South Dakota. I crawled into a convenience store to find something icy to drink, and within minutes a farmer named Mel was telling me what would likely kill me. In this case, I was in danger of rapid immolation. That was the odd thing about long-distance bicycle touring; the nicest people were always telling me I was going to die. Seven weeks earlier I had departed Prescott, Arizona, on a solo, self-contained tour. I lacked experience but had bought all the trappings—tent, sleeping bag, Therm-a-Rest, Trek 520 touring bicycle, and Arkel panniers—figuring I’d work out the whole camping/touring deal as I went along. There are plenty of ways to design a bike tour. What suited me was to swing the door wide open and strike out by my 29-year-old self with bombproof gear and not much else. I had a general direction—Canada—and the goal to get there before the snow dumped. That was about it. But in summertime South Dakota, snow seemed like the stuff of science fiction. To get to Newell, I’d pedaled past the remains of a deer so dessicated that even though death had folded it like a cheap suit, it was still only four inches thick. As I sipped my Coke, Mel filled me in on my impending doom. “Be careful of prairie fires,” he said. “They can be kind of dangerous.” I didn’t bother to ask how I should be careful. Instead, I pointed out the paucity of fuel on a prairie. “Oh, there’s not much fuel, but it burns hot, like paper,” Mel said. “Fire doesn’t last but two, three minutes in any one place, but it can take the hair right off of a cow.” He paused to reflect. “A hairless cow. That’s about the saddest thing you’ll ever see.” Mel was a pleasant man who spoke of mayhem in a singsong Midwestern accent. Working as a schoolteacher in Sturgis during the winter, he moonlighted—literally—as a hay farmer, cutting his fields in the dark after school let out. “So I’m going to die,” I said. I laid my head on the table, knocking over a cup in the process. Mel caught the cup and righted it. “Probably,” he said, “but you had a good trip up till now, didn’t you?” It had been a good trip—really good ever since I’d escaped the sprawl and congestion of Colorado’s front range. In the process, I cooked up the idea of visiting Sturgis, South Continued on page 126

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adventure Overland Journal Spring 2009