WE ARE ADVENTURERS Constantly traveling. Testing and using gear in real-world situations. Gaining experience, which we readily share.
OUR RESUME
7 continents | 161 countries | 496 years combined experience
WE ONLY KNOW THINGS WHEN WE LIVE THEM
PUBLISHER AND CHAIRMAN Scott Brady
PRESIDENT AND DIRECTOR OF DESIGN Stephanie Brady
CHIEF TECHNOLOGY OFFICER Christian Pelletier
CHIEF BUSINESS DEVELOPMENT OFFICER Brian McVickers
CHIEF FINANCIAL OFFICER Andre Racine
DIRECTOR OF EUROPEAN OPERATIONS Michael Brailey
EDITOR, OVERLAND JOURNAL Tena Overacker
CONSERVATION EDITOR Åsa Björklund
MEDICAL EDITOR Dr. Jon Solberg, MD, FAWM
ARCHAEOLOGY SENIOR EDITOR Bryon Bass, PhD
CONTRIBUTING EDITORS Tyler Bech, Chris Cordes, S.K. Davis, Rocky Donati, M. John Fayhee, Roger Gaisford, Laysea Hughes, Arden Kysely, Karin Marijke-Vis, Chris Scott, Morgan Sjogren, Lyn Woodward
SENIOR PHOTOGRAPHER Bruce Dorn
CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS July Behl, Travis Burke, Christin Couvreux, Igor Djokovic, Steph Jeavons, Jay Kolsch, Pavel Kunc, Mike Marsh, Cyril Mischler, James Morrison, Pedro Mota, Josh Myers-Dean, Marisa Notier, Jubilee Paige, Benyamin Senkal, Dave Smith, Coen Wubbels
COPY EDITOR Jacques Laliberté
TECHNICAL EDITOR Chris Ramm
CARTOGRAPHER David Medeiros
CUSTOMER SERVICE COORDINATOR Miriam Glade
CONTACT
Overland Journal, 3035 N Tarra Ave, #1, Prescott, AZ 86301 service@overlandjournal.com, editor@overlandjournal.com, advertising@overlandjournal.com, 928-777-8567
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ROTEL MOTEL
I would love to see you do a feature on Rotel Tours, that crazy German tour bus company that has those custom busses with onboard accommodations. They really do meet the overlanding definition and take those busses to some exotic locations. It might be a way for folks to get their overland vibe on, without making the investment in their own vehicle. I saw one here in the US about 10 years ago and was captivated. If I only spoke German, I might be more inclined to go.
Keep up the great work.
Pat Hambly
2014 Land Cruiser
1995 Suzuki Samurai
BUILD IT, AND THEY WILL OVERLAND
We recently returned to our home in Belmont (Ontario, Canada) from a two-month trip with our two children to Baja. This trip
was nicknamed CARLos, (Christa, Adam, Randy, Luke, on route south). We drove about 13,000 kilometers. During our travels, we always see lots of other overland vehicles, and on the return trip, we stopped at Global Expedition Vehicles [in Missouri]. As you can see by the photo [above], our boys may have been influenced by some of the vehicles they saw.
Our most recent Overland Journal was also waiting for us in the mail. Being called for supper, both [kids] left their new Lego creations on the living room table. It looks like overlanding will continue into the next generation. Thank you for your inspirational magazine.
Randy Dykstra
1991 VW Syncro
P.S. Sunset, New Year’s Eve, along the Baja Pacific Coast [photo above].
ROW 1
@forest2seaoverlandadventures
Nature is at the core of the bond that @CrtrGrl and I have together. When I decided to propose to her many years ago, the most romantic thing I could think of was to surprise her in one of the most remote and inhospitable places—Death Valley (@deathvalleynps). It was absolutely perfect.
@gr4nola
Well, 2020 riding plans are officially in shambles. The bike was set to be on the other side of the world in just a few weeks. Waiting, rerouting, and hoping everyone stays safe out there.
@nomadoverland
How magical will the first sunrise on camp be once you get back out?
ROW 2
@more.van.ever
Can you see the line? I couldn’t, but @mv_expeditions and @everymanoverland could. That’s good enough for me.
@somewherewilder
Our trip got off to a bit of a wobbly start after hitting the only pothole on these otherwise buttery smooth European roads (it’s literally called the “death wobble”). But we’re back on the road and hoping that all of our bad juju is out of the way. We are finally heading north and so excited about all the autumn colours—found this little road on our hunt for a lunch spot.
@starrynightsandinsectbites
Finally, good news. Natalie has passed the Australian customs inspection. We’d been told that there was no point trying to get our old (slightly) rusty car into Australia because it wouldn’t pass inspection, and we would have to pay extortionate cleaning costs. Before shipping, we spent 14 days under the sweltering heat of the sun in Thailand cleaning every speck of dirt we could find, quite a few of which had originated from this boggy patch in Morocco. Today, that hard work has paid off. See you soon, Natalie. ROW 3
@landychap
Throwback to one of my favourite drone shots taken last autumn.
Syncro and Lego image captions: see "Build It, and They Will Overland" letter below by Randy Dykstra.
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WHERE HAS YOUR OVERLAND JOURNAL BEEN?
Send us a photo, along with your name, the location, make/year of your vehicle, and a brief description. editor@overlandjournal.com
Lyn Woodward is an award-winning Los Angeles-based writer whose automotive and adventure work has appeared in such publications as Automobile Magazine, The Drive, Truck Trend, and Autoweek, among others. Currently, Woodward writes and hosts automotive video reviews for Kelley Blue Book. A car enthusiast, she owns two classic vehicles: a 1966 Datsun 1600 Roadster, and a 1987 Mitsubishi Montero that she’s currently restoring. Woodward spends her spare time traveling and wheeling off the grid, but of all her off- and on-road accomplishments, competing in the Rebelle Rally—a 10-day, off-road, map and compass navigation competition—remains one of her most proud. In addition to her automotive work, Woodward answered Hollywood’s call and has had several television projects produced.
Morgan Sjogren is a writer, adventurer, and former elite track athlete turned avid trail runner. Morgan has raced sprints on the track and ultramarathons in the mountains, yet she prefers using running as a vehicle to explore wild places, which she shares on her popular Instagram account. An avid activist, she roams the Southwest in her yellow Jeep Wrangler named Sunny. In her new outdoor guide Outlandish: Fuel Your Epic, Morgan shows others how to embrace an off-pavement adventure lifestyle, with tips to explore more outside, and recipes to fuel you along the way. Outlandish is now available in bookstores, running and outdoor shops, and online.
Originally from a small town on the coast of Florida, Laysea Hughes has spent the last five years living as a full-time gypsea [sic], traveling both internationally and domestically circumnavigating the continent in her 1983 Volkswagen Westfalia with her four-legged child, Koda. Throughout her travels, she has worked an array of different jobs, from professional sea kayak guide to yoga teacher, and cafe barista to field crop farmer—fully experiencing the vagabond lifestyle. Laysea is currently pursuing her passions through photography and journalistic storytelling, prioritizing any opportunity to serve the greater good of humanity, weighted in environmental and social activism.
Chris Scott is an award-winning, UK-based adventure travel writer who specializes in the Sahara; he’s visited over 40 times since 1982, from the Atlantic Ocean to the Red Sea using motorcycles, 4WDs, a jacked-up Mercedes sedan, local bush taxis, and camel caravans. Chris’ desert films have been featured on the National Geographic channel, and for many years he updated the Outback regions of Australia for Rough Guides. His books include Sahara Overland, the Adventure Motorcycling Handbook (8th, full-color edition now out), and Overlanders’ Handbook. He recently published a short guide on Sahara camel trekking as well as The Street Riding Years, an urban memoir describing his life as a motorcycle messenger in 1980’s London. An Amazon bestseller, it was Ride magazine’s “Book of the Year.”
Bruce Dorn, DGA, is a photographer, cinematographer, director, raconteur, sometimes safari guide, and a full-time fun hog. He is currently based out of Prescott, Arizona, and travels around North America in his vintage Ford F-250. Bruce’s work in advertising and editorial media creation has earned him multiple Clio, Mobius, ADDY, and Art Directors Club awards, and a Bronze Lion from the Cannes Lions International Festival of Creativity. He is a Canon Explorer of Light, an ARRI Ambassador, a SanDisk Extreme Pro, a Western Digital Creative Master, a Tiffen Imagemaker, a Light and Motion Ambassador, and a Corel Painter Master. Bruce was inducted into the Directors Guild of America (DGA) in 1984. Some also say he’s a pretty fungi.
Travis Burke is a full-time adventure photographer and athlete based in San Diego, California. The new decade marks Travis’s eighth year of life on the road. His original adventure-mobile was a 1994 Dodge Ram Van named Betty, the Gray Wolf that Travis inherited from his grandmother and converted by hand. He credits much of his initial success in his photography career to Betty’s stardom. Today, Travis travels around the Southwest and far beyond in his Toyota Tacoma kitted with a custom Four Wheel Camper build-out in search of the next great photo. When Travis isn’t behind the wheel, you can find him walking across highlines, free diving beneath the ocean’s surface, or photographing the night sky.
Rocky has a quirky sense of humor, the mouth of a sarcastic sailor, and talks supersonic fast. Her insatiable drive and knack for creative problem-solving meant a decade of spearheading high-level business strategies for the outdoor industry. Now she manages her own consulting firm, Donati Agency, but more often than not, elects to play hooky with her partner in crime and two Aussie pups. From wheeling to jet-setting out of a remote Park City chalet at 8,000 feet, she and her husband are constantly in search of the perfect pocket water for fly fishing. This decade, she’s embracing the hermit lifestyle, writing gibberish for hire, and renting out the adventurous getaway of your childhood dreams, The Treehouse Utah, on Airbnb.
Steven is a Utah native who, aside from riding motorbikes, runs a small business and raises a family just north of Salt Lake City. After living in the Middle East, Europe, Canada, and Colorado, he returned to Utah to put down roots. Both his fiction and non-fiction have been published in magazines and online, and he just released his adventure/crime novel, Big Hat, No Cattle, available in print or e-formats. When asked about his odd and magnetic sense of humor, he only replied, “I want to be the eccentric billionaire without the money.” Currently, Steven rides his R 1200 GS anywhere he can—and a lot of places where he shouldn’t.
Arden has been riding loaded dual-sports and adventure bikes into the backcountry since high school, following a single goal of camping in the middle of nowhere. With stints as a whitewater river guide and National Park Service seasonal in Utah behind him, Arden favors the Red Rock Country but also enjoys the Mojave Desert and wide-open spaces of Nevada. Based in Santa Barbara, California, he has shared stories of his adventures, as well as tests of motorcycles and accessories, in print and on the web for the past 25 years. In that time, he’s worn out two Kawasaki KLR 650s and is currently stirring up the dust on his BMW F 800 GS and Suzuki DR-Z400S.
Freelance writer Karin-Marijke Vis, along with her partner, photographer Coen Wubbels, combine their love for adventure with work they enjoy. Sometimes described as being the “slowest overlanders in the world,” they believe in making connections and staying in a place long enough to do so. In 2003, the couple purchased an antique BJ45 Land Cruiser and began a three-year trip from their home in the Netherlands to Asia. Terminally infected by the overland bug, they traveled in South America for nine years, and in Japan and South Korea for two years. They are currently making their way through Russia and Central Asia. They’ve been published in magazines around the world, and in 2013, Expedition Portal awarded the pair the coveted Overlander of the Year award.
Chris was born and raised outside of Dallas, Texas, and didn’t receive a real taste of the outdoors until moving to Arizona in 2009. It was there that he fell in love with four-wheeldrive vehicles and the great outdoors, quite literally altering the path of his life. Instead of pursuing his planned career in aviation, Chris accepted a position with Overland Journal and Expedition Portal, where he would hone his skills in writing, photography, and off-pavement driving. Over the years, he has lived full time on the road, mapped trails from the Arctic Circle to Mexico, driven across Australia, and backpacked the Himalayas. He is currently an Airstream Ambassador and works for onX Offroad, managing their Trail Guide community.
The Senkals are a family of four from Stuttgart, Germany, and have been traveling as overlanders with their G500 named Heinrich in Europe, Asia, and North Africa for four years. Benyamin Senkal is a freelance filmmaker, and his wife, Kristin, is an engineer at Porsche. Their two children, 6 and 4 years old, love the spirit of adventure and the overlanding way of traveling. All four of them sleep in the roof tent, enjoy nature campfires, and love challenges of all kinds when driving off pavement, even when they have to spend hours digging out Heinrich, which luckily has not happened very often.
I am a somewhat aged South African who grew up and went to school in Pretoria. After military service in the South African Navy, I completed a BA degree at the University of the Witwatersrand in Johannesburg, majoring in history, archaeology, and African languages. I worked as a mineral prospector in South Africa and Botswana before marrying Anne Louise. We settled in Eshowe, Zululand, where I took up a teaching post. I have a son, John, and daughter, Lizzie, and a passion for boats and old Willys Jeeps. I am now retired and spend most of my time rebuilding jeeps, enjoying wild travels in Southern Africa, and writing.
For 13 years, M. John Fayhee was the editor of the Mountain Gazette. A long-time contributor to Backpacker magazine, he has written for Canoe & Kayak, the High Country News, Family Camping, Walking Magazine, USA Today, Islands, Adventure Travel, and Men’s Fitness, among many others. Fayhee is the author of 10 books, including A Colorado Winter, Bottoms Up, and Smoke Signals, the latter of which was a Colorado Book Awards finalist. He has hiked the Appalachians, Colorado, Arizona, and Inca trails, as well as the Colorado section of the Continental Divide Trail. Fayhee, who lives in New Mexico’s Gila Country, hopes to never again park his posterior in a Chevy Spark.
A compact water filter to support remote adventures.
When we travel remotely or in the developing world, it is critical to prepare for accidents, spoiled supplies, and survival scenarios. I started carrying a water filter in every vehicle after a leak in my primary supply tank emptied all of my stores. is required cutting my trip short and nursing the few bottles and drinks in the fridge until I could resupply. e same applies to adventure motorcycles, where weight is the enemy, and only so much water can be carried.
Recently, my expectations and needs for a water filter have changed, and now include the ability to store water to support day hikes and other activities. Having owned a few brands, I wanted to try the new Geopress, which is one of the easiest filters on the market to use. With one press (about eight seconds), it produces 24 ounces of purified water. e multi-stage filter includes electroabsorption media to capture pathogens and contaminants. Next is the ion exchange filter, which binds pathogens like viruses, protozoa, and bacteria. Lastly, the water passes through a carbon element, which improves taste and absorbs heavy metal. e filter is replaceable and will filter up to 65 gallons. e only concern with all-in-one units is that care must be taken to avoid cross-contamination, like drying the outside of the bottle before drinking. (SB)
$90 | GRAYL.COM
Comfortable, durable hand protection on or off the pavement.
Reliable gloves are a critical part of every adventure rider’s equipment, providing grip and protecting hands from weather, impacts, and blisters. Aerostich Competition Elkskin Ropers stand out in the crowd of adventure touring gloves (some resembling Star Wars costumes) by being tough, washable, all-leather hand protection sewn with minimal seams to ensure comfort and durability. ough somewhat bulky, they conform to a rider’s hand easily (hastened by wetting new gloves, then riding till they are dry), and elk leather’s natural breathability gives them a wide comfort zone (50°F to 90°F degrees for me). eir strength is the antidote to abrasion.
Aerostich promoted a classic ranch-proven work glove design to adventure level by adding a few motorcycle-specific features:
knuckles are protected by a layer of the company’s TF3 impact foam beneath an extra thickness of leather, the left thumb incorporates an effective visor wiper, and a Velcro-fastened wrist strap keeps them secure. Sold by glove size, the Ropers fit my hands well, except the pinky fingers are longer than mine.
Protective and comfortable, Elkskins are my go-to gloves for almost every ride, leaving a dozen other styles sitting at home. My original Ropers, fingers curved to a handgrip shape from 10 years of near-daily use, finally wore out and were replaced by the new pair shown here. Made in the USA, the Roper range also includes basic, lined, touch screen, and gauntlet models. (AK)
$70 | AEROSTICH.COM
Our reviewer is snake charmed by its benefits.
This gear represents Mosko’s first foray into the apparel market—a departure from their luggage products, but just as tough.
The outer shell of both items is made of eVent Expedition 3-layer nylon. The third layer referenced is called Super Fabric—an abrasion-resistant material made of ceramic platelets—found along high-impact areas like the chest, back, elbows, and knees. The suit pairs its protection with a waterproof, breathable membrane that registers 30,000 millimeters on the water column.
While field-testing in Utah’s Uinta Mountains, I encountered serious rainfall at 9,000 feet, and this suit managed all of it. The only moisture inside the jacket was from me sweating while negotiating muddy roads, washboard ruts, and felled trees. Even so, that internal moisture was easily mitigated through the eVent technology and six zipper vents (four in the jacket, two in the pants). Considering the suit’s weight and durability, it offers an impressive amount of airflow, making it true four-season kit.
The jacket is particularly striking—a strong mix of fashion and function. It fits nicely in the shoulders, has sleeves which compensate for riding position, and velcro cuffs at the wrists. The zippers are substantial, too: water-repellant, resistant to grime, and easy to operate one-handed.
I have zero hesitation using this combination for dirt-biking, adventure riding, or even closedcourse track racing.
Neither jacket or pants come with armor—nor do they offer inner pockets to add any. This is due to Mosko’s intention of layering the suit with compression armor provided by Forcefield (also sold on Mosko’s site). Despite the two separate, disconnected components of the upper-body package, there is one very significant benefit: protection. I have zero hesitation using this combination for dirt-biking, adventure riding, or even closed-course track racing. (SKD)
$599/PANTS, $499/JACKET, FORCEFIELD ARMOR/VARIES | MOSKOMOTO.COM
The classic wide brim for a lifetime of adventure.
At some point in your life, you need a hat. It’s unavoidable, yet it’s one of the hardest things to find and like. ey look suave on Indiana Jones, but when you try on the exact style, you’re harnessing Papa Smurf or Uncle Sam, which is why we owe kudos to the geniuses that developed universally flattering noggin attire. Enter the Brixton Tiller III, a wide-brim pinched round-top hat, i.e., the only hat I’ve bothered to wear day in and day out on the rivers while fly fishing. I’m most thankful for the full face (and some shoulder) coverage and the raw leather hat band that doubles as a comfortable chin strap; it also works to catch wind’s attempts to steal it or when you need a secure place to store it from getting crushed. Made of wool felt, it has a great soft hand, holds its shape well, and doesn’t boast a liner, so I’m good to go year-round, although I favor it primarily in the spring and summer months. While it doesn’t travel well compared to a traditional ball cap, my Shirley Temple curls will happily find extra room to tote it around in exchange for zero hat hair. Plus it comes in a great range of Mother Nature approved seasonal colors, because unlike that trucker hat, this is stylishly sexy, and having just one is kind of impossible.
$69 | BRIXTON.COM
Workwear made to be worn (and actually loved) by women.
Even though we’re 20 years into the new millennium, most performance apparel companies still recycle a cursory formula for their women’s lines: relabel menswear by tailoring the waist and pinch-hitting a few softer colors, also known as the ol’ “shrink it and pink it” scheme. Fortunately, Patagonia builds tough gear specifically for women who like getting their hands dirty. Whether I’m popping in and out of my truck on a trail or simply walking my dogs, the Iron Forge is my go-to fave. It’s made from an abrasion-resistant, yet super-supple, 13-ounce canvas insulated with a 100gram synthetic fill. As expected with the environmentally conscious giant, the materials are recycled and sustainably sourced, and the garment is sewn in accordance with Fair Trade Certifications. Unlike most cotton, which can feel like cardboard in low temps, this hemp-blend fabric doesn’t require a break-in period. I’m also thankful for the generously sized hand-warming front pockets that are big enough for storing gloves on or off my hands, and the snap closure cuffs that keep a nice anti-snow seal. e overall fit is intentionally roomy throughout, and I’d recommend ordering true to size. My only critique is while I love the feminine cut designed with enough room for layering, this piece really needs a two-way zipper so that in seated positions, it won’t ride up. Otherwise, no complaints; this gem is perfect for literally anything outdoors (sans rain).
$199 | PATAGONIA.COM room posi Oth out doors
Chef-crafted meals that taste just right, and can be heated on your engine.
While many of us travel with dehydrated meals, a shelf-stable meal can be a good alternative. What they give up in shelf life, they make up for in ease of heating and convenience. Notably, they also require no additional water, as the fluids used to heat the bags can be poured back into your storage. In the case of Camp Fare, the meals come in a retort pouch constructed from layers of metal foils and plastic, and can easily survive flameless contact to high heat, such as to an engine intake. ese meals were designed and crafted by Andrew Sarda, a world traveler, and executive chef.
In our experience testing camping meals, tikka masala has proven to be a perfect baseline, and the Camp Fare version did not disappoint. I heated the meal in boiling water for three minutes at 3,547 feet, which is the high end of the recommended time. e food was certainly warm but would have benefited from an additional minute. It plated easily and looked a lot like a stew but lacked the orange tinge, likely because of a lower amount of turmeric spice. ough the chicken was a bit spongy, I found the flavor to be pleasant, but quite tomato-forward, and less spicy than other brands. It also scored less salty by reviewers, but this is easily remedied by the camp pantry, as is the spice factor. Made from natural ingredients and minimally processed, it has a five-year shelf life.
270 CALORIES | 25G PROTEIN | $12, ONE SERVING | CAMPFARE.COM
Fish is a great source of protein, and fillets like salmon are packed with omega-3 fatty acids. I typically add salmon, cod, or herring to my meals. e Camp Fare alder-smoked, wild-caught salmon is a solid choice with minimal processing and only four ingredients beyond the fillet: salt, a dash of brown sugar, garlic, and black pepper. In our heating test, this meal also needed an additional minute beyond the two to three listed on the packaging. After heating, I drained the excess fluid from the package before plating, and the testing team found the fish to look appetizing and have a good initial mouthfeel. e salmon did have a slightly overcooked finish, where the flavors and flesh had muddled with time in the package. It is shelf stable for seven years.
160 CALORIES | 24G PROTEIN | $13, ONE SERVING | CAMPFARE.COM
Real fur and merino wool prove their merit.
There are times when nature trumps current technology, which is never more evident than with insulating materials. Down remains unrivaled, as does merino wool, and even possum fur.
Pearly’s manufactures their much-loved socks, as well as the packaging, on the North Island of New Zealand. They use 45 percent merino wool for its wet-weather warmth and anti-itch properties, and incorporate 40 percent possum fur for its light weight and incredible softness. Possum is the third warmest fur in the world after the polar bear and Arctic fox and is unique in its anti-bacterial properties, which increases the time between washings.
I wore the socks on a recent trip to Namibia and found them to be exceptionally comfortable and genuinely warm— too warm for the deserts. In addition, I tested the socks for days during the Prescott, Arizona, winter, and they proved to be extremely effective and comfy for walking around indoors. They are a compression fit, but not as efficient as some other brands at fighting swelling during long drives or flights. They do work to keep feet warm when wet, but the socks are best served as a cold weather (but dry) travel and motorcycle solution. While they are twice the cost of comparable socks, they promise durability and long service life. And the investment might be worth it, especially for motorcyclists and minimalist adventurers.
$58 | PEARLYSPOSSUMSOCKS.COM
Technology combines with vetted materials.
Motorcycle travel requires compromises, but innovation continues to close the gap. This is particularly evident with the new SealSkinz waterproof socks. For getting around when off of a motorcycle, I have started to wear White’s boots, which serve adequately on the bike (admittedly with less leg protection), but also serve as comfortable walking and city shoes. However, leather boots have limited weatherproofing, so when the rain starts to fall, I pull out my Sealskinz. Their three-layer bonded technology combines a hydrophilic interior membrane with merino wool and a nylon-blend exterior. During my recent trip to Swaziland, the socks proved to be 100 percent true to purpose, keeping my feet dry during the torrential rains, and warm on the high mountain passes.
There are a few considerations worth noting. For a longer trip, I would bring two different pairs, as these knee-high units were perfect for cold and rain, but too warm at lower elevations, where the wicking effect was also slower than the humid conditions would allow. The quality of construction on these socks cannot be overstated, along with the benefits of zonespecific elastication and flat toe seams. SealSkinz makes warmweather waterproof socks and also quick-drying variations. The problem of needing two pairs of boots for adventure travel appears to be solved.
$55 | SEALSKINZUSA.COM
Equipt Expedition Outfitters imports the K9 roof rack system made by the South African firm Eezi-Awn. Typical accessories for this rack include spare tire holders, water tank brackets, and jerry can mounts. One of the more unique items is a bolt-on mounting tray to secure the increasingly popular, Danish-made Alu-Box.
I use these lightweight, weather-resistant Alu-Box cases for various purposes. e usual challenge is how to secure the boxes properly to survive the rigors of overland travel—and theft. Although not advertised as such, the powder-coated steel Eezi Awn K9 Alu-Box mount doesn’t necessarily need to be affixed to a K9 roof rack. I fastened a pair to an Aluminess roof rack on a Ford E350 4WD. ey are rattle-free,
unobtrusive, and other gear such as duffel bags can rest on top of it if the Alu-Boxes have been removed. e flush-fitting bases will attach to any flat horizontal or vertical surface, or span multiple level surfaces (e.g., they extend across three slats of an Aluminess rack). e T-shaped slots in the K9 base are generously spaced to provide ample X/Y axis range for each mounting bolt.
After many thousands of highway miles and rutted dirt roads, the stainless locking levers (which also accept padlocks or cables) have yet to budge. e K9 mount fits the popular 42-liter Alu-Box and other variants with a similar footprint. It’s definitely a well-executed method for securing these lightweight aluminum storage boxes.
$160 | EQUIPT1.COM
Overland Journal is the original publication for environmentally responsible, worldwide vehicle-supported expedition and
When heeding the call of wide-open spaces becomes a necessity.
By Laysea Hughes
Sweaty palms. Blood flowing quickly through our veins. Butterflies blooming in our bellies. We were Yosemite bound. The thought of being suspended thousands of feet over the valley floor, balancing on webbing no thicker than a thumb, began to consume our minds with each passing mile. Since departing sea level, we’d been eastbound for the high desert, redwood forests, and everything in between. We’d set out to put the new rig, our Toyota Tacoma Xtra Cab Limited Edition Four Wheel Camper, to the test on a classic California overlanding expedition.
DAYS LATER, WE DEPARTED SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA IN SEARCH OF ROUTES
ACCESSIBLE ONLY BY 4WD, AND SUMMIT VIEWS ONLY SEEN BY THOSE WILLING TO PUT IN THE EFFORT TO GET THERE.
After each of us spent four years living full-time on the road (Travis in his 1994 Dodge Ram van and me in my 1983 VW Westfalia), we paused our travel-centric lifestyles to explore new avenues of opportunity—city life. They say you never know what you like or dislike until you try it. I felt overwhelmingly confident as I recommitted to the vagabond lifestyle, knowing without a doubt that this was my desired path. At this point, we had each attempted the modern-day routine for roughly one year, and it was around this time we met. Travis had come to the same conclusion that I had, and there was no other comprehensible solution other than to hit the road together. The truck was packed with surfboards, highlines, skateboards, hiking boots, and any other adventure accessories that would fit, including my furry four-legged companion, Koda. Days later, we departed Southern California in search of routes accessible only by 4WD, and summit views only seen by those willing to put in the effort to get there.
The first hours of our excursion brought us on dusty desert roads which quickly became snow-covered mountain passes approaching the summit of the White Mountains. This desolate lunar landscape is home to some of the oldest trees in the world, the ancient bristlecone pines. After watching the featured educational film—an obligatory first stop upon arriving at any visitor center—we made the drive up to the grove, arriving with just enough time to explore during sunset. In years past, I remember scoffing at the tricked-out campers with all the bells and whistles, whose inhabitants couldn’t leave city life truly behind. But as we woke up at our mountainside campsite at 9,000 feet to violent winds and snow flurries, appreciation for being
nestled within the resilience of our climate-controlled camper set in. Omitting the lengthy stretch of pavement, we quickly descended a steep 4WD trail en route to our next adventure. Trading favorite tunes, laughing at stand-up comedy, and diving deep into discussions circulating what drives our passion for life filled the air; it felt incredibly natural to be back on the road. California’s Route 395 is one of my favorite stretches of asphalt in the US; the scenery dramatically changes as the highway ascends paralleling the Sierra Nevada. Pastels painted the sky above Mount Whitney as we explored the trails through the iconic Alabama Hills. Sunrise called for a brisk morning run beyond our spacious BLM campsite at the Buttermilk Boulders. Before departing town, we seized the opportunity to reconnect to the outside world, capitalizing on fast WiFi and fresh coffee in Bishop’s local town hub. Countless weeks could be spent here, re-exploring some of our favorite coordinates or discovering new spaces entirely.
The sensation of driving up the steep grade of Tioga Pass— being greeted by the golden alpine meadows and cool streams, then slowly descending into the heart of Yosemite National
Park surrounded by towering pine trees and impressive granite walls—produced the feeling of a shift upon arrival. Contrary to what our internet research and trifold brochures stated, the colors of fall vibrantly decorated the valley floor. Our skateboards made a perfect means of transportation for playfully cruising the paths after establishing camp. The first day hiking was spent beyond the top of Vernal Falls to the apex of Nevada Falls, where the John Muir Trail meets the Mist Trail; whether it was intentional, or entirely subconscious, we were postponing our walk in the sky.
Friends had gathered together before dawn at Taft Point to rig highlines over the vacant space in the granite. Each line varied in distance ranging from 50 feet to upward of 300. If you’ve ever hiked out to visit the exposed cliffs at the point, you know there isn’t anything but air between you and the valley floor. The sensation is adrenaline filling even for an experienced hiker. For those unfamiliar, highlining is an extreme sport in which athletes traverse dynamic webbing only an inch wide suspended high above the ground. Participants wear a climbing harness tethered to a leash that is secured to the line in the case of a fall.
While it is an activity made for thrill-seekers, each component of the equipment (harness, leash, and anchors of the line) is redundantly backed up for ultimate safety.
Nothing in the world can prepare you for highlining—no amount of gymnastics, yoga, surfing, skating, or any other orientation of balancing sports can ready your body. Beyond the physical skill, it requires extreme concentration, focus, and determination, blended with an array of breath work and mental strength to delicately center your being.
Before I had the opportunity to scoot out on the highline, I thought I had a reasonable understanding of the necessary procedures in order to successfully walk a line. I was wrong. Highlining is quite certainly the most humbling thing I have ever tried. I dismounted, aching from the whiplash my body sustained after standing, fighting, yet falling time after time. It was the kind of soreness that left me with a sort of painful inspiration to push myself further, to get out there again. This would not be my last attempt; I exhaled a deep, exhausted breath as I told myself I would one day conquer my fears. I stood in awe as I watched Travis approach the line with confidence. Stopping to double-check the anchors, he secured his harness to the leash and received an obligatory buddy check on his knot before proceeding. Though his mouth said he was terrified, his body expressed nothing other than calmness. He mounted the line, stood up effortlessly, and walked its length, pausing in the middle to open his body 90 degrees toward the expansive valley opposing Yosemite Falls, standing in “exposure” with his hands behind his back—an advanced posture. Tourists who’d stumbled upon the event, friends, and myself included, all watched in amazement. He rejoined me on the
rock, and we began our trek back as the glow of the sun faded, casting shadows where the warm light once was.
A soothing night beneath the expansive sky is what we were both craving. Glacier Point, located atop the valley with a generous view of Yosemite’s most popular feature, Half Dome, created the perfect environment for us to nerd out. Travis is an avid astronomer; using the smooth slope of a large boulder as a couch, we reclined back, and he began to depict the story behind his favorite constellation—Orion. This night, the Orionid meteor shower was taking place—a stargazing event that has been a personal favorite for years. Fireballs traced across the twinkling night canvas leaving trails that lasted for what felt like minutes. The deep coolness began to creep into our bones, and our eyes grew tired. We rejoined the rig and made our way back down to camp, stopping to admire the climbers camped precariously on the face of El Capitan. Headlamps decorated the wall as if to blend in with the starry night sky.
FIREBALLS TRACED ACROSS THE TWINKLING NIGHT CANVAS LEAVING TRAILS THAT LASTED FOR WHAT FELT LIKE MINUTES.
Though departing from an adventurer’s paradise is never easy, we turned the truck westward and began our descent toward the coast. Santa Cruz remains a community we relish coming back to. It wasn’t long before the familiar smell of the salty ocean spray and curl of glassy waves peeling off the point greeted us. Surfing has been a part of my life for as long as I can remember; Travis and I zealously enjoyed the mornings in the ocean together. We prioritized time to be productive in the local library, clean the camper, and resupply before continuing on.
With our home base of San Diego being a half-day’s drive, the choice was made to take our time and savor one last evening on the road. In lieu of the ever-popular Highway 1, we banked inland after admiring the morning light cascading over Bixby Bridge. The option for a single-lane dirt track will always suit us better. The trail toured through dense groves of redwood giants, giving us glimpses of the ocean’s turquoise tones. Travis expertly sourced a campsite atop a hillside with eloquent views where the water met the mountainside. While I would normally be sad to be completing an adventure, we had already marked our calendars for the next excursion, departing again in only a few days for the annual highlining festival in Moab, Utah. I quickly cooked our favorite blend of veggies mixed with vegan sausage, and we ran off to the top of the vista to soak in the sight of the setting sun. Colors danced, illuminating wispy clouds that hung low within the tips of the trees. The evening sky was exceptionally magical, easily the most remarkable sunset of the trip. As the curtain of the night drew across the horizon, it was clear this was the perfect close to our maiden voyage. Trekking back toward the camper, smiles carved into our cheeks, Travis pointed up at the constellation that brightly shone above the camper—Orion had just risen over the horizon.
While for some people, the consistency of conventional life feels comfortably reliable, this structured way of living is precisely what drew us away from it in the first place. For us, the inconsistency and the wildness of life on the road, discovering places across the globe while simultaneously recognizing a more profound connection within ourselves—this is what truly nourishes our souls. Seeking narrow backroads, off-the-grid campsites, and vistas without another human in sight are the fuel for our fire. And having the freedom to spontaneously choose routes with no distinguished timeframe, purposefully selecting tracks requiring 4WD, hunting for dirt void of tracks ignites the flame. We rolled back into San Diego with an eagerness to shower, launder our clothes, and hastily repack to continue the pursuit of our life’s passions. Returning to our roots has flowed effortlessly, creating a source of realignment with what calls to our beings on a deeper level. This choice has infused us with confidence and excitement to chase our dreams, as well as to explore uncharted passages in our new adventure mobile, Orion the Rig.
SEEKING NARROW BACKROADS, OFF-THEGRID CAMPSITES, AND VISTAS WITHOUT ANOTHER HUMAN IN SIGHT ARE THE FUEL FOR OUR FIRE.
With an abundance of choices, we separate the wheat from the chaff.
By Scott Brady and Chris Cordes
It wasn’t all that long ago that rooftop tents were rather new in North America. There was only a handful on the market, and nearly all of them were soft-shell canvas models made in Australia or South Africa. So few people had even heard of a roof tent that deploying one in public would inevitably lead to 15 conversations, several handshakes, and at least two wedding invitations. I’m exaggerating, of course—it was only one wedding invitation. The point is that we all thought these bits of canvas and wood were the pinnacle of outdoor luxury when, in reality, they left a lot to be desired. They were heavy, about as aerodynamic as a brick house, and the precarious ballet of fabric tucking and bumper balancing needed to fold them away would have been laughable if it wasn’t so tragically frustrating.
Fortunately, hard-shell roof tents gave us an alternate option, and while their prices may have led to some initial hesitation, it’s safe to say that buyers have finally seen the light. Since our last test four years ago, the popularity and variety of hardshell tents on the market has exploded. Instead of three brands, this year’s evaluation has seven, and that list had to be narrowed down from an even larger selection. Each of those brands offers a variety of models as well, many of them sporting features previously unheard of. The argument for buying a hard shell is more compelling than ever, so let’s kick things off with a look at the good and the bad of these tents.
SETUP AND BREAKDOWN TIME When you roll into camp at the end of a long day or are trying to get on the road early in the morning, the last thing you want to do is spend 10 minutes fumbling with a tent, especially if the weather is bad. Hard shells alleviate this issue with much faster setup and breakdown times. Instead of having to remove a dirty cover and fold the tent over, a hard shell simply pops up on gas struts after releasing the latches, reducing setup from several minutes to as little as five seconds. Breakdown is just as easy, and eliminates the worst part of soft-shell tent ownership: tucking fabric and installing the cover.
AERODYNAMICS Another major bonus to hard-shell tents is that they are more aerodynamic than soft shells, resulting in less wind noise on the highway, and better fuel economy on long drives.
DURABILITY While soft-shell tent covers are replaceable, years in the sun will cause them to rot and fade. Hard shells, on the other hand, are much more durable and can survive for decades when cared for properly.
FEATURES Often overlooked are the number of features hardshell tents provide—things like built-in solar-powered fans to prevent condensation, built-in lights, and exterior racks for accessories like fly rods, snowboards, or solar panels.
COMFORT AND STORAGE Because these tents don’t fold over, it’s possible to have a much thicker and more comfortable mattress inside. When closed, many of them still have room to store pillows, blankets, and even clothes.
COST The biggest mark against hard-shell tents is generally their higher entry price. While they range in MSRP, you can count on spending $3,000-$5,000. That’s a significant investment and double what many soft shells fetch.
FOOTPRINT The fact that most hard-shell tents don’t fold over gives them a lot of advantages, but it also means their footprint is quite large compared to a traditional soft-shell tent. This might be a problem for people with the space constraints of a smaller vehicle or anyone who needs to run additional boxes or gear on their roof rack.
INTERIOR SPACE While soft shells can fold over to offer an extensive amount of length for occupants, hard shells need to be close to the dimensions of a vehicle’s roof, which usually means less interior space. This can be a particular challenge if you’re tall.
WEIGHT While not all hard-shell tents are heavy, many are heavier than their soft-shell counterparts, and we’ve tested tents weighing as much as 195 pounds.
SHAPE Roof tents come in two main varieties: straight-pop or wedge/clamshell. Clamshell tents are usually the lightest with the least hardware inside because they utilize a front hinge instead of lifting mechanisms. The downside is that there is little to no room for your feet at the hinge end of the tent. Straight-
pop tents have internal lifting struts, but also give you the full roof height throughout the product. Tents that open with a slight wedge angle but also pop up vertically do exist but are less common. The Stealth from Eezi-Awn is a good example of this design.
SHELL MATERIAL Hard-shell tents are generally made from either a UV-stabilized composite or an aluminum alloy. The composites are better insulators and usually cheaper to buy, but the metal tents won’t crack or fade in the sun and are less susceptible to impacts from branches and the like.
TENT MATERIALS The fabric used in a tent can make a big difference, and options range from aluminum-infused fabrics that prevent mold growth and reflect heat to traditional ripstop canvas.
INTERIOR SPACE VERSUS EXTERIOR HEIGHT The thinner a roof tent is, the less impact it has on your fuel economy, the cleaner it looks on your vehicle, and the better chance you have of fitting into a garage. The tradeoff for a thin tent is less room to store bedding inside, and some tents in this test have no room for bedding at all.
INTERIOR APPOINTMENTS The interiors of the roof tents in the test couldn’t be more different. Some have solar-powered fans, lights, and insulated fabric roofs, while others simply have a few pockets and bare composite ceilings. Mattress choices are equally diverse, from thin foams to luxurious quilted beds.
WEIGHT Not all roof tents that look alike are alike. Similar-sized tents can have as much as a 70-pound gap in weight, so be sure to compare the figures and check your vehicle’s roof-load rating before making a selection.
EXTERIOR FEATURES In the past two years, the external appointments on hard-shell tents have gone from mild to wild. New tents can be equipped with light bars, shovel or awning mounts, solar panels, bike racks, and much more. While we don’t recommend adding even more roof load to your vehicle, these features can be handy for those with limited space and available payload.
Our testing procedures for this evaluation were simple: put the tents through the challenges they would experience during long-term use. We slept in them during high winds and rainstorms, evaluated condensation on cold nights, and covered them in dust while rolling down backroads. Any tents that weren’t rained on were blasted with water to check for possible leaks, and shakedowns on corrugations were performed to check for rattles and quality issues. While we used highway transits to check wind noise and impact on fuel economy, the use of multiple vehicles in different conditions eliminated this as a scoring factor. Finally, we timed the setup and breakdown of each tent to see which could get you into and out of camp with the least effort. (CC)
from top: There is no substitute for a night in the field, which allows for the tester (and their travel companions) to live with the tent and discover its strengths and weaknesses. The mounting methods are now more varied than in the past, with some systems working better than others. It is critical to evaluate all areas of water ingress, including zippers. The iKamper’s are highly water resistant. A lot can be learned from mounting the tent, including the unit’s weight and balance, along with ease of use. As testers, we need to consider multiple variables, including our height. Both testers are over six feet tall, which aids in setup.
Clockwise from top: The Alu-Cab is tall and comfortable, with a decent-sized awning and convenient interior storage. When closed, the Expedition is boxy and utilitarian in appearance—true to purpose. The mounting method is quite robust, but there were a few hardware tolerance issues.
Alu-Cab is relatively new to hard-shell roof tents, but they have been producing high-quality aluminum canopies for nearly 20 years in South Africa. Several years ago, Alu-Cab partnered with OK4WD to import their products to North America, offering full factory-level support and in-country inventory. At nearly 200 pounds (plus the mounting method), the Gen 3 is designed for larger vehicles with sufficient roof load and payload, such as a Land Cruiser 200, Land Rover Discovery 3/4/5, G-Class, and most fullsize SUVs and trucks.
Extremely configurable
Roomy interior, taller ceiling peak
Solar panel/side awning/ table mounting options
CONS
The base is a continuous aluminum tub that is press bent and welded, creating a rigid platform, with two metal strengthening tubes running the length of the base. For mounting, two c-shaped extrusions permit running captive bolts down the length. This mounting solution is unique to this test, using coated steel L brackets to attach to the extrusion, then additional bolts for the rack or crossbars. The supplied stainless bolts did not slide down the extrusion (likely due to the thickness of the powder coating), but a few minutes on a grinder got them to the required dimensions. I intentionally used lightweight aluminum crossbars, as the tent weight was approaching the load rating of the G-Class. The lid attaches to the base using four heavy-duty hinges. Power is supplied to the tent using an Anderson connection, which provides USB outlets, a 12-volt socket, and interior lighting.
Weight exceeds many roof load capacities
Minor fitment issues
Mounting configuration may not work with all crossbars
Inside, the generous overall space and ceiling height is evident with a total length of 83 inches. This provides stretch-out length for all but the tallest travelers, and the 60-inch height at the peak allows for easy movement. The ceiling is both insulated and quilted, which eliminated any condensation during testing. Six large pockets store headlamps, nightcaps, tablets, and other essentials. The 3-inch-thick mattress is supportive, and the removable cover a plus. The windows roll downward, allowing for adjustable privacy at the cost of taking up bed space when rolled. When closed, there is room for sleeping gear. There is a full awning at the rear door, and Alu-Cab offers optional side awnings, too. The Expedition’s side and top rails permit fitting awnings, shower tents, and crossbars.
In use, the Alu-Cab’s weight was noticeable on the G-Class, significantly increasing body roll, sway, and head toss on the trail. Even though the G-Class has a 400+ pound roof rating, I would install a heavier anti-sway bar if mounted permanently. Setup only required disconnecting a few latches and then fitting the awning poles. The ladder is a clever design, and can mount quickly to the rear or either side, but is too short for the height of the G-Class (an extension is available). This is a robust tent designed for decades of use—if the vehicle is rated to carry it. (SB)
$4,099 | ALU-CAB.COM OR OK4WD.COM
Clockwise from top: The Air Top is one of the most evolved options, with excellent finish, detail, and refinement. Our only genuine concern is the roof height. There are few tents that look good on both classic and modern vehicles, but the Autohome has minimalist style in spades. The lifting mechanism is brilliant in both design and use, setting up with little effort and time.
Autohome is often attributed as the original rooftop tent (RTT) manufacturer, in continuous production in Rivarolo Mantovano, Italy, since 1958. Our experience with the brand goes back nearly 15 years, as it was one of the first imported to North America. We have explored large swaths of central Africa with the Autohomes, the tents somehow surviving the endless corrugations of Kenya and Uganda. Their line is extensive, but they are famous for their fiberglass and carbon fiber hard-shell units.
The Air Top is one of their newest designs and looks handsome on most vehicles with its aerodynamic profile and understated appearance. The model is available in a small and medium size, with multiple colors and finishes. Key selling features include its light weight (the smallest Air Top weighs only 119 pounds) and strut-assisted setup. The Air Top is also one of the more affordable hard-shell tents.
5-year manufacturer warranty
Minimalist design
Lightweight
Strut-assisted setup
CONS
Low ceiling height
Lack of standard awning
The tent’s base is molded from a fiberglass composite with two metal mounting channels integrated flush with the base, which has two advantages: the tent mounts lower and generates less wind noise and whistle. The 3.2-inch-thick mattress is closed-cell foam, providing supportive sleep for most travelers, and at 80 inches long with straight tent sides, it accommodates sleepers well over 6 feet tall. A combination lift strut and lift arm supports the top and allows for a quick setup. If the vehicle has a rear ladder (as on our G-Class test vehicle), the tent consistently deploys in less than 15 seconds. The speedy setup requires some context, though, as there are no awnings. The walls of the tent are made from Dralon, which is both water and light resistant. It has the feel of soft canvas but also holds up well to UV light. There are three large windows/doors, and one smaller half window on the forward wall. The door openings are oversized, which gives a sense of spaciousness and expansive views in three directions. I like that the doors and screens roll up as they can be secured out of the way completely. The tent has room for bedding and such when closed.
The Air Top has several advantages, particularly with its lighter weight of 130 pounds. It is significantly lighter than some of the tents in this test (64 pounds), and it was noticeable on the test vehicle. The lower mounting height also improves the leverage point. My concerns with the tent are limited to the lack of any awnings for wet weather, as this would make ventilation particularly challenging in hot and wet climates. However, there is an optional awning that attaches to the lid and uses two pillar poles and stakes to the ground. I also noted the lower overall ceiling height, which is too low for changing clothes or moving about the tent on your knees. (SB)
$3,399 | AUTOHOMEUS.COM
The South Africans have been pioneers in the rooftop tent market for decades, and Eezi-Awn has been at it for nearly 40 years. Their first hard shell was the Stealth, a lifting lid model that uses an HD scissor mechanism to gain headroom and footroom. Eezi-Awn also produces the fiberglass Dart. But it was the Blade we were most interested in testing due to its lighter weight (compared to the Stealth), lower cost, and robust aluminum construction. We spent a week evaluating it on the remote tracks of South Africa mounted to a new Hilux.
Lid rails for lightweight items
Thick, multi-density mattress
Large rear-door awning
Generous headroom
CONS
Weight exceeds many roof load capacities
Length may be too short for taller travelers
Ladder attachment prone to disconnecting
The Blade’s all-aluminum construction is different from traditional options and has the advantage of denting instead of cracking (denting has its own implications). The base is a folded sheet of aluminum, welded at the corners, finished smooth, and then powder coated. This makes for a sturdy tub that exhibits no notable flexing during mounting or in use. The forward edge includes a Hella plug socket to permit powering the National Luna light (and USB outlets in the future), along with mounting the heavy-duty stainless hinges and the lower strut brackets. At the rear, large stainless latches secure the lid in place, and include safety catches to limit accidental opening. The latches are accompanied by heavyduty lifting handles and integrated awning riser pole brackets. The rear of the lid is higher than the front, which aids aerodynamics and allows room for bedding and pillows. The tent mounts in the typical extrusion and rack/crossbar bracket fashion. Curiously, the bottom has four extrusions running the full length of the base, which no doubt adds rigidity and weight; the Blade weighs in at 175 pounds.
The quality of the tent and materials are evident throughout, from thick canvas walls to the 3-inch-plus-thick mattress and quilted ceiling. Setup is fast, with two latches and a strut-assisted push upward on the rear handles. Once deployed, two spring steel poles can support the rear door awning. The awning is unique among most hard-shell tents and allows an open window or view during inclement weather. It has a generous depth and additional coverage at the sides. With the tent’s top angled into the wind, it is quiet and stable in windy conditions. The Xklusiv ladder is made from aluminum and is one of the best constructed and finished in the test. However, the ladder attaches to the tent using a thin plate of steel, which slides into a slot on the top of the tent base panel. In use, the ladder can slide out of the slot, slip off the lip, or otherwise detach from the tent. It just needs a locating pin, and the problem would be solved. (SB)
$3,700 | EQUIPT1.COM OR EEZI-AWN.COM
| RTT 4.25
If you read our Wedge Camper Comparison test from Winter 2019, you’ll already be familiar with Go Fast Campers (GFC). Their design ethos centers around producing durable, lightweight, and attractive products right here in the USA, and their RTT embodies those principles.
At just 6 inches thick, the GFC is the thinnest tent in the test. However, because this tent is strong enough to act as its own roof rack, there is even greater potential to reduce height as well as weight. With the right hardware, the tent can be mounted several inches lower because there’s no rack below it. That’s key for center of gravity, fuel economy, and fitting in garages. You also save the weight of a rack on your vehicle, which can be 80-100 pounds, and if you haven’t purchased one already, you can save up to $1,000 by not having to buy the rack in the first place. Finally, because the GFC actually has built-in rails, you don’t lose the storage space for awnings, shovels, lights, solar panels, or gear like fly rods or snowboards. The roof of the tent can lift up to 75 pounds, while the lower rails can hold heavier loads like awnings. The weight of the tent is 150 pounds.
PROS
Ultra thin
Fastest setup
Translucent roof panel
Exterior mounting rails
CONS
Thin, firm mattress
There are also other features to like about the GFC, including the translucent roof. Unlike other tents that feel like dark caves in the morning, soft filtered light through the roof makes the already spacious interior feel even more open. More importantly, it helps you wake up easily in the morning instead of allowing you to sleep until the tent becomes a sweltering sweatbox. The big wins include the materials used in the tent’s construction and the fit and finish of the product, which were all excellent. The zippers are oversized for easy operation in all conditions, the latches are bombproof, and nothing rattles, shakes, or feels loose. The 90-inch long bed is a plus for anyone tall, and while the 2-inch multi-density foam mattress isn’t stellar, it’s also not terrible.
No room for bedding
Lack of roof insulation results in condensation
Drawbacks include that the translucent roof is susceptible to condensation because there’s no insulation on it and no integrated fan. The tight tolerances between the bed and the ceiling can also make the tent difficult to close unless the fabric is tucked just right. But the biggest issue is that bedding cannot be stored inside the tent when closed. That means lugging the sleeping bags and pillows up top every night and back down to the vehicle in the morning. The reduced height and rackless design make it an attractive option, though. (CC)
$4,198 (PLUS MOUNTING) | GOFASTCAMPERS.COM
Clockwise from top: The innovation and unique proposition of the iKamper are evident immediately upon opening it. The lighter weight and compact dimensions are significant advantages for the SkyCamp Mini. Given the long overall length, the interior is more spacious than expected, but the mattress is notably thin.
Innovation often appears slowly, incrementally as consumer demand and trends influence product evolution and creativity. For iKamper, that cycle has been blisteringly fast, with the SkyCamp coming first, followed by our Editor’s Choice X-Cover, and now the SkyCamp Mini. It is the tent for small spaces, or travelers looking to reduce the roof load and employ minimalism as much as possible.
Compact and lightweight
Premium materials throughout Excellent weatherproofing
CONS
Difficult to close
Cable closure should be a latch
Thin mattress
The foundation of this tent is notable as a result of the proprietary mounting brackets, constructed from steel and incorporating a large bolt-driven tensioner. This design works with most crossbars but will require adaptation or replacement on platform racks. The tent base is made from aluminum honeycomb that improves rigidity and insulation, while also reducing weight. From the base, a 2-inchthick memory foam mattress is provided, constructed in two pieces to accommodate the way the tent folds. The mattress is thin for a side sleeper, coming in below the 3-inch gold standard. The interior is nicely appointed, and the walls are made from a breathable 300gsm poly-cotton canvas (reducing condensation) with an integrated rainfly and water-resistant zippers to further weatherproofing. The lid and deployment design is unique as the tent lid opens up, then folds out similar to a clamshell unit. There is limited storage for bedding when the tent is closed. Setup happens in just under a minute, starting with unlocking the two hasps and releasing the cable loops from the base panel. The lid goes up on struts, and then the platform unfolds with leverage from the ladder. The process is easy but requires a bit more time than the standard hard shell. The upside to this is the reduced footprint and overall weight, which allows the Mini to be installed on the roof of a double-cab pickup (or even a single-cab), over a short bed, or on top of a smaller SUV. I liked it on the G-Wagen, as it allowed full use of the sunroof and made no perceptible wind noise because of how far back the tent can be mounted. The weight is also on the lower end at 125 pounds, which comes in below the roof load rating for most vehicles.
The Mini is much smaller than other units, and the attention to detail and material selection is excellent. The double-walled lid and quilted liner increase insulation, and water testing resulted in no leaks. My criticism is primarily focused on the tent stowage. The lid requires significant downward pressure while simultaneously attempting to loop the cable around the under-mounted claw. Alone, I struggled to get the tent closed, even under the motivation of my 220-pound frame. The position of the claw is also a problem for mounting the tent to a platform rack, as the clearance would be too tight to easily loop the cable. But the Mini’s overall quality should ensure years of overland use. (SB)
$3,499 | IKAMPER.COM
Clockwise from top: The Evasion should be a serious consideration for those in wet climates or if looking for overall living space and privacy.
The James Baroud is handsome on nearly any vehicle, being both modern and classic. There are thoughtful details throughout, including side vents, security latches, and an integrated fan.
Ineach Overland Journal test, there is always a model that pushes the limits of features and utility—the Evasion brings several new ideas to the party. While James Baroud has been in North America for less than a decade, the brand has been producing quality glass-reinforced polyester roof tents for far longer. Testing the James Baroud was done via several units, with final evaluation and notes on an Evasion XXL. Due to COVID-19 complications (shipping restrictions in Portugal), we were not able to secure a test unit at our headquarters, so we drove to Seattle, Washington, to gain access to the entire package of tent, awning, and tunnel.
EDITOR’S NOTE: Special thanks to @adventurecentric for making their tent and Land Cruiser available.
Five-year manufacturer warranty
Integrated fan
Excellent weatherproofing, high wind capability
The base of the tent is a continuously molded tub with fulllength, integrated, metal mounting channels. Much like the Autohome, this allows for flush mounting of the tent to a platform rack or crossbars. Distinct from other models, the tub is curved in both the front and rear, improving airflow and rigidity. Mounted to the tub are the lower claws for the clamps and a set of aluminum ladder brackets on the two sides and the rear. The tent walls attach to the base using a welt that ensures excellent waterproofing. The canvas fabric sides include six aluminized layers to improve UV protection, reduce light ingress, and reflect solar heat. The side doors are smaller in size than most, but they make up for it with wraparound windows that allow for expansive views and ventilation. There is room for bedding storage when the tent is closed. The lid is also one piece, shaped for good aerodynamics; the tent has a smooth automotive finish and modern profile. The latches include pinch bars that help prevent accidental opening and are secured to the lid, as are two vent inlets and the tunnel welt. Unique to the Evasion is a solar-powered fan that will run all night on the built-in battery, eliminating condensation. The tent weight comes in at 160 pounds.
Awning/access tube/ insulation panels/awning wall options
Tunnel access is narrow
Lid trim prone to damage or detaching
James Baroud also developed a clever solution for poor weather or the desire to have an awning room: since an awning is useful even without the tent, it can be deployed separately from the RTT or tunnel. Prior to deploying the tent, the tunnel assembly is attached to the lid welt. Then, the 2.2-meter awning is rolled out and staked. The awning has a panel the size of the tunnel which can be opened and rolled back to provide access to the tent. For those looking for the two-story townhouse, awning walls can also be installed, providing a changing or shower room and even additional space for family members to sleep. This entire package makes for a notable option for travelers looking to extend camping comfort into inclement weather or add sleeping capacity. (SB)
$4,599 | JAMESBAROUD.COM
3.0
Roofnest is a Colorado-based company that emphasizes affordable pricing and excellent customer service. It keeps prices down by selling directly to customers and purchasing tents designed and manufactured in China. While this business model tends to raise eyebrows, their reputation and significantly lower pricing usually settle them back down. Still, the recent release of their Falcon and Condor tents concerned us, as they appeared to be close imitations of the GFC RTT and iKamper SkyCamp. To make sure we weren’t making assumptions, I tested a Falcon XL back-to-back with the GFC.
Affordable
Exterior mounting rails
Rear awning
CONS
Bare roof susceptible to condensation
Fit, finish, and component quality issues
The Falcon concept certainly feels familiar, a thin, lightweight tent with T-slot rails down the side for mounting accessories and a hinged wedge design. At 6.5 inches tall, it is a half inch thicker than the GFC, but that gets you a 3-inch mattress instead of a 2-inch one. But I would have rather seen a 2-inch mattress with an inch to accommodate sleeping bags, as the Falcon doesn’t have room to store bedding when closed. The standard Falcon weighs in at 140 pounds, 10 pounds less than the GFC. However, the lower weight is a mixed win because it comes at the cost of strength. Unlike the GFC, the Falcon isn’t stout enough to serve as its own rack, which increases the height several inches over the GFC’s rackless design. Fortunately, that’s not a factor if you plan to run a roof rack anyway.
Short bed length
No room for bedding
The Falcon boasts a rear awning, a welcome addition during rainy weather when you want to leave a window open or enter the tent without getting soaked. The Falcon is available in two sizes: a standard 48- x 88-inch model, and an XL at 58 x 88 inches. That additional 10 inches feels like 10 feet and provides room for a dog or even a child along with two adults. As tested, the tent length was 85 inches, too short for people over 6 feet since the wedge angle is aggressive. It appears the tent has been recently updated, and we imagine the new 88-inch length is likely sufficient.
Inside the tent are plenty of side storage pockets for your personal belongings as well as an overhead net—a nice touch, but in need of refinement, as things tend to fall out the bottom. This sort of fit and finish error seemed to echo throughout the Falcon, where elements were so close to being good, but not quite there. The Tchannel rails had glue stuck in the ends which made them difficult to access, hardware was missing from the box, the logo wasn’t quite centered, and the seam in a front corner of the tent leaked. (CC)
$3,395 (STANDARD) | ROOFNEST.COM
There is no question that roof tents have exploded in popularity in recent years, improving camping comfort and easing camp setup for tens of thousands of outdoor enthusiasts. As the market has expanded, so have the available offerings, product innovations, and performance characteristics. e most important consideration for the consumer should be if a roof tent best meets their needs. And secondarily, is the weight of the tent they are considering buying appropriate for their vehicle? After that, features and benefits will be the deciding factors.
For our Value Award, the consideration came between the iKamper, Eezi-Awn, and Autohome. e iKamper is an amazing little tent, and will likely be the perfect solution for solo travelers and space-constrained roofs. It is truly innovative and made from quality materials throughout, but the additional setup and breakdown time and challenges slipped it below the top spot. e Eezi-Awn was also a serious contender, with quality construction and the included awning, but its heavy weight will limit the number of vehicles suitable for taking the roof load. As a result, the Autohome Air Top won our Value Award and was one of my (Scott’s) favorite tents for the test. e tent earns high marks for the understated and timeless design, lighter weight, and ease of setup. I also appreciated the consistent ceiling height, but would have preferred more headroom—there is barely enough room to sit upright. Having used Autohome tents extensively through the years, I’ve found they deliver on the balance between price, weight, and quality—a true value.
For the Editor’s Choice Award, we filtered the contenders down to the Alu-Cab, James Baroud, and the Go Fast Camper. Choosing
a winner was far more difficult than anticipated, as all three of these tents are impressive in their own right. e Alu-Cab is extremely robust and feature-rich, but it is simply too heavy for too many vehicles. (It is the perfect roof tent for the new Defender with its 360-pound roof load rating.) is left us with the James Baroud and the Go Fast Camper, but they could not be more different in features and use. e James Baroud is extremely comfortable and roomy, with massive windows and a consistent 39-inch ceiling height. e option of fitting the access tunnel and awning makes it all-weather wonderful. rough the years, the James Baroud has won several of our tests and has become one of the most popular hard-shell units on the market. However, Go Fast Campers has shaken things up with a genuinely innovative, performance-oriented roof tent. It is a study in contrasts, with a lightning-fast setup, but with insufficient space for bedding in the closed position. e tent can be fitted without a rack (or crossbars), but the fitment kit can cost $500 or more.
In reality, the GFC is what a modern hard shell should be for most consumers: not too heavy, easy to deploy, and highly configurable. To take full advantage of the innovation, we would ditch the thin mattress and use a wide air pad, which would also allow leaving the bedding in place. Making a final decision on the Editor’s Choice was really a compromise between comfort and features versus minimalist performance and innovation. At the end of the day, both of us (Chris and Scott) decided to favor less—less weight, less height, and less set-up time. Congratulations to Go Fast Campers for thinking outside of the box; the award is yours. (SB)
Portfolio by Benyamin Senkal 32°N
Navigating through the Rebelle, one heartbeat at a time.
By Lyn Woodward
Onday two of the Rebelle Rally, my teammate and I found ourselves unexpectedly running in eighth place, ratcheting up both pressure and expectation. With five more days of navigating our way through the desert, could we hold on? Was I bad enough at this to eventually shatter my teammate’s faith? Would there be screaming?
N37˚ 21.227, W117˚ 21.929
The Rebelle Rally isn’t a race. Rather, it’s a seven-day endurance event where teams of two attempt to chisel their way over 1,500 miles of off-road terrain using nothing but a paper map and compass. And unlike most of these kinds of endeavors, the fouryear-old Rebelle is strictly for women. On day one, my navigator and four-time Rebelle, Sedona Blinson, and I got turned around a few times just north of Death Valley, outside the near-ghost town of Gold Point, Nevada. Yes, it’s as splintered and hooch soaked as it sounds. We knew that wouldn’t be the only time we’d lose our way. Over the next seven days, there would be tears, panic, electric moments of triumph, and a reckoning between who we thought we were and who we actually are.
That’s because the Rebelle is hard—really hard. It isn’t just about safely getting from Lake Tahoe down to the Mexican border through some of the emptiest tracts in North America. There are a dizzying variety of tests to complete and checkpoints (CPs) to nail, each earning points for the 38 teams that pay the $6,500 per person entry fee. Any GPS-capable device, including a cell phone, is strictly forbidden for the entire week. If your truck has a navigation system built in—the competition is split into two classes
for traditional 4WDs and crossovers—the organizers cover it over with cardboard and tape. There’s an entire day of practice exercises at the start just to get teams up to speed, as the unusual set of skills needed to complete this event tend to rust over during the intervening months where contestants Google Map their way around with the rest of the universe.
By day two, Team Wild Grace (that’s us) found our groove, the laser-focused, locked-in kind. For Sedona, our navigatress, the wavy lines of topography on our maps easily project onto the terrain out our windows like Princess Leia coming out of R2D2. “See that finger jutting out over there? Take me there,” Sedona would command, and as the driver, I would dutifully punch the throttle. The V-8 under the hood of our heavily modified 2018 Nissan Armada was tuned out to 400 horsepower, making it a highly capable home for the week.
Over the next seven days, there would be tears, panic, electric moments of triumph, and a reckoning between who we thought we were and who we actually are.
In fact, our groove was so good that by the end of day two, we were in eighth place. Which presented a serious problem because up till that moment, we had merely hoped to compete hard but have fun and maybe by the end break into the top ten, such is the level of competitiveness in this still-young event. Sedona and I met two years ago when I did my first Rebelle. With her usual teammate out with a new baby, she asked me to join her this year. Sedona’s vivacious demeanor rivals a glass of Dom Pérignon. If there were a Rebelle staff favorite award, she would unanimously win it. Of course, I said yes. Though, I am a neophyte, with just one rally under my belt that devolved into screaming at various points as my navigator and I vented our frustrations on each other with verbal
and quite a
Early morning
can border freezing even in the tent as teams plot for the day ahead. California’s dry lakebeds make for exceptional rally driving. Gumdrop tents house competitors each night along the route. The Nissan Armada, doing its best Mars rover impression in Trona. Opposite: Competitors draw numbers the night before to establish their order off the starting line at sunrise. Opening spread: The Trona Pinnacles, comprised of over 500 tufa spires, made up only one of the Rebelle’s remarkable backdrops.
sledgehammers on our way to a nearly last-place finish. Please, let there be no screaming.
N35° 26.744, W118° 16.866
Every day during the Rebelle, you go out and hunt for CPs, which are assigned point values and designated like ski runs. Greens are mandatory, and the easiest to find, marked on the terrain by fluttering flags put out by the organizers. Optional blue and black CPs are tougher; the blacks aren’t even marked, they are just a spot out in the middle of nowhere that could be a patch of creosote or a basking lizard or just another pile of endless sand. We carry rally-issued satellite trackers and ping them at all CPs. The signal hurtles into space, then bounces back to the Rebelle’s sophisticated scoring software.
On day three, the adrenaline wears off, and the doors of whatever truck you’re driving start to close in like the walls of Death Star garbage masher No. 3263827. Last year, Sedona and her teammate had a Chernobyl-style meltdown on day three. When I asked her why, she said she couldn’t even remember. I myself got hopelessly stranded overnight in the dunes with my teammate two years ago on day three. Unmentionable words were exchanged. Sedona and I decided that this year, we would simply have no day three.
And we managed to outrun the curse for a while. Leading up to the final CP, we had enjoyed a near-perfect day. We’d bumped and bounced over 90 miles of dusty roads to Ridgecrest, California, nestled between the southernmost points of Death Valley and Sequoia National Forest, then navigated past the otherworldly Trona Pinnacles, eerie spires of sandstone you might expect Spock to poke his head around. We had hit 92 percent of our CPs. At the Rebelle, that is the definition of killing it.
Making for our remote campsite, we came across Emily Miller, an off-road racer, sports marketing maven, and general badass who hatched the idea for the Rebelle years ago on her kitchen table. Full of bravado, we stopped looking at the map or the landscape around us, and mindlessly followed Emily. I hardly noticed the distance we’d traveled while Sedona munched on deli meats. We were elated that we’d avoided the day three jinx.
When Emily stopped suddenly—who knew why?—we kept going, until we encountered a small gathering of other confused competitors accumulating at a T-junction. Everyone was lost. “I couldn’t just lead you to camp, could I?” Emily said later. We didn’t know it, but we’d gone too far on a road that squiggled around like a 1980’s perm on our 1:200,000-scale map.
Hubris gushed through my veins. I saw the word “Meadow” half cropped off the edge of our map, allegedly where our camp was. I spotted a road sign that pointed east to French Meadow. “We’re supposed to be camping in a meadow. That’s it,” I said. And without a second look at our distance, we took off.
As the sun quickly dropped, we drove deep into Jawbone Canyon, a tree-canopied dirt road gutted by recent rainfall. French Meadow. Grouse Meadow. Weldon Meadow. Suddenly there were signs for a dozen meadows, and we had no clue which one we were
supposed to look for. We kept driving, though every instinct said it didn’t look right. The event didn’t usually send teams over such sketchy terrain. Suddenly, the 33-inch Nitto Ridge Grappler tires and 3-inch lift on our rig felt extremely necessary. Sedona and I wandered deeper into the woods, like Hansel and Gretel in carbon helmets.
“Turn around,” Sedona finally said almost 25 minutes later. At least no birds had eaten our mental breadcrumbs. By the time we got back to the spot where everyone else had congregated, they were gone, no doubt having calmly and humbly pooled their brainpower and figured the way out. Panic rose in Sedona’s voice as she hinged her body at a perfect right angle over the map. “I have no idea where we are.” This was the first (and, thankfully only) time all week my steadfast teammate would utter these dreadful words.
As the sun disappeared, my stomach churned with memories of my previous rally experience. Instead of thinking clearly, we started driving even farther away from where we were supposed to be. Devastated over our amateur-hour screwup, we pinged our tracker, giving us our location but also a 10-point penalty. We’d driven so far away that we were off our map—humiliation set in. I could only imagine what my dad was saying to his computer as he watched us drive around in circles on the live tracker. Your insecurities don’t care how far away you try to run. At least we were still in eighth place.
By day five, we’d settled into the bizarre Rebelle routine: Plot, drive, ping. Plot, drive, ping. Eat, sleep, repeat. Other Rebelle challenges include occasional time, speed, and distance trials, in which teams navigate using road books and must pass randomly positioned time controls for points. If you think driving fast around a racetrack causes duress, attempt driving under 15 mph for an hour and a half trying to pass unknown-until-you-see-them positions along the route within four seconds of your allocated time.
And as you start losing your mind in your new reality, no, you can’t call your therapist. Your phone is a prohibited item, stashed by the organizers under your passenger seat cocooned in evidence tape that tellingly disintegrates if you tamper with it. If for no other reason than this, picking your teammate on the Rebelle is paramount. Because even if you and your codriver’s goals are in sync, chaos ensues.
“Twenty minutes. I need 20 minutes to get us back to base camp,” I barked at Sedona as she lingered over the map trying to noodle out a black CP. She wasn’t positive we were in the correct spot and was anxious about the potential 10-point penalty you get for pinging your tracker in the wrong place. Losing another 10 points for showing up late to base camp wasn’t happening on my watch, either, I reminded her.
Now we were running in seventh place, and mounting pressure oozed through the panel gaps in the Armada. Sedona outstretched her hands over the map, splaying her fingers in front of her with a sharp, downward gesture—her sign language for “Back off, Lyn.” The clock ticked off seconds faster than seemed natural, as if 100 could fit into a minute. We had to get going to Cougar Buttes, our next base camp. We could see it clearly from our current vantage point; the massive white event tent nestled in a rocky outcropping that popped up in the middle of California’s Johnson Valley state off-highway vehicle park.
“Do you trust me?” Sedona asked, ready to ping the tracker that would pinpoint our exact location on the planet within inches. At that moment, about that exact CP, if I’m being honest, the answer wasn’t yes.
We’d driven so far away that we were off our map—humiliation set in.
But while I may not have had total confidence in that exact spot where she was about to ping, I trusted her implicitly. By day five, we’d earned that from each other. Where many competitors slashed tires crawling over jagged rocks, I drove smart and kept ours intact. She’d worked as diligently, triangulating to this checkpoint as every other, and always knew when she needed to cut bait instead of fishing for points because her pride wanted feeding. We had confidence in each other and articulated it often. “Go for it,” I said without hesitation. She leaped out, pinged, and barely got the seatbelt on before I took off toward base camp.
Feverishly, I tacked the Armada to starboard, then port, avoiding old rusted cans, dirt divots, and brittle desert holly. “Big hole,” I warned. Our keisters cleared the Armada’s seats while Sedona somehow plotted the digital coordinates that now glowed from our sat tracker. “This says we were on the other side of the mountain.” A series of expletives followed. But there was no time to fix mistakes now.
As calmly as I could, with enough adrenaline coursing through my body to power the Armada myself, I suggested she plot again. While I serpentined to the cluster of Mesozoic granite rocks we’d call home that evening, Sedona simmered beside me.
We arrived in base camp with four minutes to spare, and dinner cooked by a Michelin-starred chef awaiting (you do get some luxury for your money on the Rebelle). Eventually, Sedona looked up from the multiple new graphite highways she’d penciled onto our map, perplexed. “I don’t know what happened, but we’ll get some points. I guess we didn’t screw up.”
The Rebelle excels in exposing you, even if your problems are phantoms. But either way, she’d always get the yes from me. We succeeded together and made mistakes together. And when the scores posted, we were somehow still hanging on to seventh place, together.
N32° 54.342, W115° 04.309
DAY 7 CP17X - BLUE
IMPERIAL SAND DUNES, MEXICO/CALIFORNIA BORDER
When Sedona competed in the inaugural Rebelle Rally in 2016, she had almost zero experience before signing up. She loved the outdoors, had done some camping, and a little trail driving
with her husband mostly behind the wheel and their two sons in back, but it wasn’t much fun until she got in the driver’s seat. That first year, she reached out to Nissan to sponsor a truck, and they did. Other manufacturers such as Jeep, Ford, Mitsubishi, Lexus, Honda, and even Rolls-Royce have entered vehicles, making the Rebelle something of an auto industry testbed.
Four years and seven days later, again supported by Nissan with our Armada, Sedona and I found ourselves on what looked like the set of Lawrence of Arabia. Latte-colored dunes stretched before us, blown by the wind into a fearsome ocean of sandy dread. Glamis, as these dunes are known locally, is where the Rebelle Rally is won or lost. Sedona wielded no confidence navigating the ever-shifting mountains, and I harbored only abject terror of being sucked down by them. For Wild Grace, this would be where we chased our validation and redemption.
During our morning briefing, Emily pointed out the CPs on our daily list that were marked with an asterisk, meaning they were hard. “Technical dune driving required, do not drive above your skill level,” she warned, calling out the CPs numbered 17, 18, and 19 in particular. “We don’t need to go for those if we don’t want to,” Sedona said. “Right, we don’t have anything to prove,” I replied, conjuring a mental picture of our Armada capsized on its roof. I wanted to believe the words I had just said, but the truth bubbled just below my nonchalance. I wanted to go for it, but I wasn’t sure I had the skill to beat the sand—or the balls.
As the sun climbed higher, we snagged CP after CP. The Armada, with its tires aired down to a scant 15 psi, felt like a hovercraft over the sand. Sedona’s Spidey Sense for the terrain grew exponentially in this overgrown litter box.
“It’s over there, I know it,” she would say. And it was. Our momentum built with every correct tracker click. After our week together, the Armada and I were one now. My foot whispered to it through the throttle, and it responded back, authoritative and confident. Our moves felt as choreographed as Argentine tango.
Parked on the edge of a sand cliff, staring into miles of jutting beige peaks, we pinged at CP 16. The moment had come to either go all-in or cut. “If you don’t feel comfortable, I know I can get us out,” Sedona said emphatically. That was all I needed. Like everything else this week, we’d jump together. I pointed the Armada’s wheels downward, and we flowed over the steep dune like a waterfall straight into our fear.
Encouraged to pair up with other teams for safety reasons, we did. With Team #154 (Roads Less Traveled) and Team #123 (Rogue Wave), we took Glamis dune by dune, scouting first on foot, and then riding each slope like seasoned skiers. Save for a bitchin’, four-wheels-off, Robby Gordon moment for Roads Less Traveled, there were few theatrics. No need for recovery gear. I’d pick my lines, take a patient breath, then control the Armada to my will.
of a duner who’d lost his battle with cancer. “I’ve always wanted to see this,” she added. This was a spot mostly frequented by seasoned sand vets piloting their irksome and unstoppable side-by-sides. Yet here were a preschool teacher and a writer—hard workers, but both of whom had only started navigating and off-roading on occasion four years earlier—in an over-6,000-pound mom mobile playing in the sandbox with the big girls. And holding their own.
Crossing the finish line later felt like the lid releasing on a pressure cooker. Is it possible to be both numb and exhilarated at the same time? Yes, it is. Thanks to our dumbfounding fourth-place finish for the day in Glamis, Sedona and I would rise up the ranks to take a slap-us-and-wake-us-up sixth place overall in the 4WD class. As in any good story, when it’s over, my character came out the other end utterly changed, redeemed. No screaming required.
Over seven days, 38 teams comprised of 76 women tackled 145 checkpoints over 1,500 miles using zero GPS. The day after the rally ended, we drove to San Diego for the final celebration. Sedona and I walked out of our hotel blessedly showered, shaved, and not smelling like the previous Tuesday’s leftover ham sandwich. A blonde with a Texas-style mane of hair stopped me when she saw my Rebelle competitor’s vest. “Oh, my gosh,” she said, “I’ve been following you ladies. I want to do the Rebelle so badly, but my husband won’t let me take the Jeep because I don’t know how to fix it.”
We assured her she didn’t need to know how to fix a vehicle. The Rebelle has mechanics and even fellow competitors who will help you on the course. She just had to be willing to learn some basic new skills and have a life-changing experience. She sheepishly shook her head no. “I’ll keep following you, though. It’s so awesome you did that.”
I thought of something Emily Miller repeats to competitors often. “If it were easy, everyone would do it.” We all have our roadblocks.
Sedona and I looked at each other and smiled. Words felt unnecessary. The funny thing about spending a week in an empty wilderness with nothing to rely on but a compass and a paper map and the person sitting next to you is that you come to feel less lost than you ever were in your life.
EDITOR’S NOTE: At press time, the Rebelle Rally is scheduled for October 8-17, 2020. Visit rebellerally.com for details.
“I’ve never been out this far,” Sedona said. We were giddy, sitting beside each other on Glamis’s legendary swing set, a memorial with actual swings built deep in the shifty mountain range in honor
The massive Imperial Sand Dunes stretch 40 miles by 5 miles. Plot your course carefully. I pointed the Armada’s wheels downward, and we flowed over the steep dune like a waterfall straight into our fear.
By Chris Cordes
Each year, hundreds of thousands of RVs are sold throughout the United States. The materials they’re built from are often cheap, and their entry prices are as low as their ground clearance; for the average buyer looking to hit the road for a few weeks a year, they’re just good enough. However, a growing number of consumers want something more, something better. They want higher-quality materials, improved space efficiency, room for their outdoor gear, and a little off-road capability to take them farther than other RVs can go. That typically meant pursuing solutions from a variety of small custom shops. But more recently, some big manufacturers have stepped up to the plate—such as Storyteller Overland with the Mode 4x4.
Walking up to the Mode at Overland Expo West last year, I was immediately struck by the notion that it wasn’t your everyday RV. It has a Sprinter 2500 chassis, the factory tires are all terrains from BFGoodrich, the roof rack is from Front Runner, and it is only available in four-wheel drive. There are no side skirts or lower fascias bolted on, no pipes or tanks hanging off the belly, and no ridiculous graphics or badging thrown on its sides to make it “look adventurous.” It doesn’t need to look adventurous, because it is adven-
turous. It is clean and capable, an authentic adventure van. Yet, it was the interior that solidified my appreciation for the Storyteller. Unlike the cheap RVs I have come to know, the materials in the Mode are solid, the colors timeless, and the layout open and airy. There is seating for four, an innovative shower/ bathroom combo, and a rugged garage for hauling gear that is tall enough for mountain bikes. I had to double-check that I had walked into the right vehicle because it was so much better than I had expected for an “RV” sold through dealerships nationwide. I wasn’t sure how it would hold up to daily use on and off the pavement, but I intended to find out.
I have found that the best way to understand the strengths and weaknesses of a platform is to utilize them in the field, so to test the Storyteller Mode, we did exactly that. We moved into the van for nearly two weeks and drove it from California to Arizona and back again across every type of terrain that the landscape had to offer. We used each system and pushed its limits whenever possible.
It seems like everyone wants to know about the off-pavement capability of the Sprinter, so let’s get that out of the way now.
While companies are managing to stuff 35-inch tires under these vans, it’s important to know that they are not meant to be trail rigs. They are travel vehicles, designed with that purpose in mind, not rock crawling. Still, on most of what we would need to drive on as overlanders, a Mode will tackle with ease. That’s because Storyteller understands what’s important on an off-pavement van. They kept the undercarriage clean, the approach and departure angles weren’t ruined with cheesy bolt-on fascias, and they installed proper all-terrain tires instead of thin-walled, all-season ones. Thanks to these wise decisions, soft sand, deep snow, mud, and yes, even some technical terrain are all within the capabilities of the Mode.
To be honest, once you accept that your goal isn’t to be the most capable vehicle on the trail, wheeling the Mode becomes an absolute blast. Unlike driving a Wrangler, ZR2, Land Cruiser, or Discovery—where you have to seek out a select few trails to challenge the vehicle—the Mode can make lighter and more easily accessible trails a fun challenge. It’s like rewinding the clock to the first time you went out in your 4WD and having to learn the ropes all over again. As someone who has gotten used to the pointand-shoot method of off-roading on 37inch tires, I couldn’t help but smile.
Storyteller lists the Mode as having a 12-kilowatt-hour (kWh) battery managed by a Volta power system, but it’s actually 13.6 kilowatt-hours or about 230 amp hours at 58 volts. The 12 kilowatt hours are usable energy, giving the van just over 200 amp hours for whatever you want before the safety measures kick in. With a 3,600-watt inverter, we were able to run the microwave, induction cooktop, charge laptops, and run the lights all at the same time without an issue. Even with this sort of aggressive power
A clean undercarriage and Mercedes 4x4 system allow the Mode to tackle terrain that would challenge any home on wheels. Opening page: Sunrise on the parched shores of the Salton Sea, far beyond the reach of most RVs.
consumption, we only drained the battery to around 50 percent, which recharged quickly, thanks to the high output auxiliary alternator and factory solar. Speaking of solar, the Mode comes prewired for up to 600 watts.
Water is supplied from a 21-gallon freshwater tank stored inside the Mode, which prevents it from freezing and keeps it protected from rocks and obstacles on the trail. The 24-gallon gray tank, on the other hand, is below the van, but shielded with a skid plate and protected from freezing by integrated heating elements. Both the cabin and water system can be heated through the standard Rixen’s Enterprises’ heating system, which uses diesel fuel instead of electricity or propane. That means you only have to worry about filling up the van at the fuel station to make sure you have everything you need for a warm weekend in the woods. Oh, and don’t worry, it has a built-in cut-off to make sure it doesn’t drain your fuel tank entirely.
One of the biggest benefits to the Storyteller is its flexibility in layout. It is designed to be the do-it-all adventure mobile, and thus it accommodates darn near any activity you can think of for you and up to three of your friends. One of the key components to making this happen is the 150-cubic-foot GearHauler. This ruggedized garage features “moon-boot flooring and walls” with aircraft track tie-downs for securing cargo of any kind. You can load up climbing equipment, skis, snowboards, backpacks, or mountain bikes. Toss in camp kit, duffel bags, or storage boxes, or slide surfboards through the passthrough into the kitchen area if needed. The Dreamweaver bed can even be folded up and out of the way for tall cargo like a dirt bike. There’s under-bed lighting for visibility at night, and a rinse station to clean yourself and your gear off at the end of the day.
The execution of this cargo space was refreshing, to say the least, especially since most RVs lack a garage section entirely— and those that do have it often forget key details like leaving enough room beneath the bed for mountain bikes. The only downside to the Storyteller garage is that it’s not as wide as some other brands because the water tanks and electronics are stored along the outer walls. While this does take up room, it’s a compromise I will gladly take for
the tradeoff of not worrying about my tanks freezing in cold weather or having them hanging off the bottom of the van.
Moving forward from the garage, you’ll find one of the Storyteller’s more unique features, their FlexSpace with Halo shower system and bathroom. Unlike other similar vehicles that lose a large section of the interior to a shower stall, Storyteller decided to leave things open with a drop-down shower that stows in an overhead cabinet. The pan closes and can be used as a step or seat; inside it is a Dometic cassette toilet for use when you’re not using the shower. The whole thing can be set up or collapsed in seconds, and I must admit, it’s pretty slick. I love that it leaves the midsection open for a spacious feeling, but I did find it had one significant compromise. Where other vans can use the walled-off shower space as a closet for gear or clothes, the Storyteller loses that storage space entirely. For people living full time on the road, that could be a major drawback.
For full-timers, storage overall can be an issue in the Mode. The van is catered more toward taking trips instead of full-time road life. This isn’t to say you can’t live in one, though you’ll need to make some compromises or changes if that is your plan, and here’s why. Excluding the garage, the bulk of the Mode’s storage is contained within six overhead cabinets. Four of these are located over the rear bed and are ideal for providing the driver and passenger a week to two weeks of clothes depending on how often you change. Another overhead bin is consumed by the Halo shower, which can be removed for additional storage if desired. Finally, a small overhead cabinet is located just forward of that. The remaining storage is found in three kitchen drawers that must fit all of your cutlery, utensils, plates, bowls, pots, pans, and non-refrigerated food. I can tell you that once we loaded the normal supplies from our own van, we found things were very tight. We had to store our pans under the bed, leave the pot at home, and put our bag of tortilla chips in the microwave. Now, if this was our vehicle, I am sure we would have found more creative ways to make use of the space: smaller pots and pans, an additional cabinet under the bed,
ONE OF THE BIGGEST BENEFITS TO THE STORYTELLER IS ITS FLEXIBILITY IN LAYOUT. IT IS DESIGNED TO BE THE DO-IT-ALL ADVENTURE MOBILE, AND THUS IT ACCOMMODATES DARN NEAR ANY ACTIVITY YOU CAN THINK OF FOR YOU AND UP TO THREE OF YOUR FRIENDS.
and perhaps a rear food cabinet on the wall beneath the Halo shower. There are plenty of options, so don’t fret if you think this is a deal-breaker for the Mode, because it’s not. But know that if you are planning to go full time on the road, it will be quite difficult to pack the stuff you need for every season. If you’re wondering where all the storage space in this van went, it’s fairly simple. Some of it is consumed by the FlexSpace we mentioned earlier; the real culprit is the GrooveLounge, though.
If you want to carry passengers, the GrooveLounge is a great solution, and you can throw all of that space efficiency nonsense out the window. After all, who doesn’t want a lounge? I feel like I want to throw on a pair of bell-bottoms and an unbuttoned shirt just saying it, but there’s a lot more to love about this seat than the name. This bench features a Lagun table for working or eating and can be reclined into a lounge
1. Small solar panels come installed for tending the battery while parked, but it comes prewired for up to 600 watts.
2. Even with the bed deployed, there is still plenty of room for gear below.
3. One of the more creative features inside the Mode is the Halo shower, which deploys and stows away quickly to keep your living space open.
4. With the bed stowed, the Mode’s storage space becomes tall enough for all sorts of equipment.
5. The floor is ruggedized with aircraft track tiedowns for securing heavy loads such as dirt bikes.
6. Storyteller’s interior exuded quality. You won’t find cheap materials or cut corners here.
7. Hidden features like an external drop-down table maximize living space.
8. Our test unit was equipped with a slew of products from Aluminess, Owl Vans, Agile Offroad, and more.
THE STORYTELLER STANDS APART THROUGH SAFETY, QUALITY, AND A BEAUTIFUL AESTHETIC THAT WON’T LOOK LIKE A DATED RV IN 10 YEARS’ TIME.
Storyteller Mode 4x4
(2020 Beast Mode prototype, 2021 features and updates can be found on Storyteller’s website)
POWER
M-Power energy storage system, powered by Volta
12kWh automotive-grade lithium NMC energy storage pack
8-kilowatt-hour HD auxiliary alternator
3,600-watt inverter
90-watt solar, wired and expandable to 600 watts
SUSPENSION
Agile RIP kit, Fox suspension
WHEELS AND TIRES
Storyteller custom wheels
BFGoodrich KO2 275/65/18 all-terrain tires
OTHER
Chassis: Mercedes-Benz Sprinter 2500 4x4
Curb weight: 7,650 pounds, with 24.5 gallons diesel
Exterior height: 9’10”
Interior height: 6’3”
Ground clearance: 12.5 feet
Bumpers: Aluminess bumper kit
Air conditioning: 13.5k BTU rooftop air conditioner, roof-mounted exhaust fan
Heating system: diesel fired, heats cabin air, water, and external gray water tank
Water capacity: 21 gallons fresh, 24 gallons gray
Insulation: Havelock Wool
Cleanup: Dometic galley sink, FlexSpace wet bath, Halo shower (inside and outside)
Commode: Dometic, cassette style
Appliances: induction cooktop, 2.9-cubic-foot fridge/freezer, microwave
Tables: exterior fold-down, interior dinette with Lagun swing-arm table
Awning: powered 10-foot patio awning with LED light
Ladder and Front Runner roof rack
Sleeping: Dreamweaver convertible Murphystyle bed/work surface, GrooveLounge
Lighting: Hella and other auxiliary lighting
Owl Van Sherpa gear carrier and rear wheel carrier
Overland Gear Guy accessory storage kits
GearHauler garage space in rear
chair for chilling out after a long day. If you bring guests along on a trip, it can be flipped into a second bed for two kids or one adult. It’s also extremely safe. I know, safety isn’t “groovy,” but unlike many aftermarket benches that quickly bolt in without any safety measures, this lounge has been officially tested to withstand a force of more than 15,000 pounds. You could hang two vans from this seat and it wouldn’t break off, so you can rest easy knowing your children or your friends are safe back there.
The only real downside to the GrooveLounge is that once again, it consumes a lot of storage space. When combined with the FlexSpace, these two sections take up the entire driver’s side of the vehicle from the driver seat to the garage, and that’s a lot of lost real estate. Fortunately, for those who want that space back, it can be unbolted altogether if you need the room.
Across from the lounge, you’ll find the kitchen, which has been carefully laid out with an induction cooktop, microwave, and Dometic sink. There’s also a massive fridge for all of your perishables and drinks, and I love that it’s upright instead of the cooler style that we usually see in four-wheel drives. While there is not a load of counter space with the sink open, dropping the Dometic
sink’s glass top offers additional prep space for cutting, mixing, and cleaning. There’s not an abundance of storage space, but it’s enough to get by. If I purchased the Mode, I would remove the microwave above the counter for non-refrigerated food, which would make a huge difference in food storage and solve the storage space issue in the kitchen entirely.
While the Storyteller isn’t perfect for my needs, it is one of the best out-of-thebox options on the market. It stands apart through safety, quality, and a beautiful aesthetic that won’t look like a dated RV in 10 years’ time. If you’re looking for an adventure rig to take on weekend to month-long trips, the Storyteller is your ideal rig. If you’re looking to go full time on the road, it may need a few changes to add storage, but it’s still one heck of a good place to start.
STORYTELLEROVERLAND.COM
The Mode allows you to bring the cozy comfort of your own home further off the grid.
For Morgan Sjogren, living in the back of a Jeep was not the point; it was how to get to the point.
By Morgan Sjogren
The first time I slept in my Jeep, I was cold, scared, and stuck. I raced the sunset as I finished up a short ski tour among the cacti in the Alabama Hills. In the midst of the snowiest winter in Sierra Nevada history, the snow crept down from the mountains and piled up a few feet, even in the high desert. When I went to open the back hatch of my yellow Wrangler, it would not budge. With my food and cooking gear stashed beneath the wooden storage platform that replaced my back seat, it would be impossible to get my supplies. Then the storm rolled in. As wet lashes of sleet hit my cheeks, I looked down at my two pups, Matty and Roam, shivering beneath their thin layer of brown and white fur. I opened the front of the two-door rig, and the pack swiftly jumped inside.
LIVING THIS WAY WAS NOT THE POINT; IT WAS HOW I WOULD GET TO THE POINT.
The sleet quickly turned to snow, and visibility faded in sheets of white against the black of night. I’d already been pulled over by a cop for a burnedout headlight earlier in the day. Hitting the highway at this point would have been a dangerous proposition. The pups looked at me from their perch behind the front seats as if to say, “Mom, what are we going to do?” My stomach growled, and I scoured the small space for anything we could all eat. The findings were too bizarre for me even to recall why I had them in the front seat, but with the heater blasting, the three of us devoured a carton of chicken broth, beef jerky, and a banana.
Later I found a Toblerone candy bar and realized the situation was not all that bad. How many adventures had I been on where I was wet, cold, and did not have chocolate? I crawled into the back and curled up with Matty and Roam. Although I could not fully stretch out, the space felt cozy and safe.
For over two years, I continued to live out of my Jeep. What started as an escape home on wheels when I was flat broke, transitioned to a work vehicle that allowed me to write stories and run in some of the Southwest’s most remote areas. With only a backpacking stove, a summer sleeping bag, and a leaking cooler, I never sought to make my Jeep a palace—instead, I fell in love with my quirky bivvy on wheels. Over time, I’ve adapted and updated my platform to include a kitchen drawer. An extension
has been added so I can sleep fully stretched out. I splurged on a rack and a new cooler. Both simplicity of life and access to any location imaginable kept me from ever contemplating buying into #VanLife.
Ultimately, my work writing conservation-focused hiking guidebooks to Bears Ears and Grand Staircase-Escalante National Monuments paired well with my Jeepsy lifestyle. I drove down bumpy desert roads and set up base camps between long days hiking and running down remote canyons. Living this way was not the point; it was how I would get to the point. And I found it, specifically in writing and advocating to defend public lands and wild places. What started as an uncertain way to get by when life threw major twists at me became the way.
A minimalist overland setup keeps the focus on what matters most— adventure. Opening page: Morgan Sjogren lets nature lead her life.
REPUBLISHED FROM OUTLANDISH: FUEL YOUR EPIC, BY MORGAN SJOGREN, WITH PERMISSION OF VELOPRESS.
“Sometimes it would be nice to take a bubble bath, then crawl into some satin sheets and watch Netflix,” Mike says matter-of-factly before shoveling another slice of pizza dripping with cheese into his mouth. Herschel, his golden coyote-esque mutt, lies under the table, cleaning up the falling crumbs. It’s been a long day in the San Juan Mountains, scrambling, traversing, and running up and down three peaks (including two fourteeners, Redcloud and Sunshine). Tyler returns to the table with a second round of beers. It’s just another day of what can only be described as a week of mountain mayhem.
Over the past seven days, our trio has linked up 22 summits. We’re soaked, filthy, happy, and exhausted as we savor the warmth inside the brewery before heading home to reality: the back of our respective vehicles. We’ll park, go to bed, and wake up tomorrow with a glimmer of stoke in our crusty eyes as we crawl out of our vehicles, looking up at the peaks beckoning us for another big mountain run.
The next morning, we rise and load up into Tyler’s truck for the next mission. Just getting to the trailhead is an expedition that takes several hours, knuckles gripped tightly on Herschel and Tyler’s black lab, Luna, the seats, and each other as the vehicle slowly crawls up and over steep, muddy mountain passes in a torrential downpour.
Along the way, we spy a drawbridge across a ravine and stop to investigate, spotting two figures walking around a cabin on the other side. We wave our arms and jokingly call out, “Hey! Wanna hang out?” But it works, and just like that, we are trotting across the suspension bridge, drinking whiskey, and eating quesadillas around a blazing campfire tucked deep in the backcountry with a Vanity Fair photographer and an art director on vacation from New York City.
When it’s finally time for bed, we stumble back across the bridge and pass out together in Tyler’s truck bed, where I am warmed between both guys, two wet dogs, and a chorus of flatulence. So this is living the dirtbag dream. I must be the luckiest gal in the world.
When the sun starts to force itself into our eyes, we crawl to the front of the truck before continuing our drive to the trailhead. We arrive an hour later and begin to prep for our “alpine start” (it’s already 10:00 a.m.).
I investigate the breakfast situation—our supplies have dwindled. Tyler is downing the last of the chocolate frosting tub (poor man’s Nutella), and there is a bag of smashed tortilla chips, a jar of salsa, and a few eggs. Within minutes, I whip up a not-sotraditional version of a Mexican breakfast classic— chilaquiles. Sitting in the dirt, we compete for the single fork and as many bites of the spicy and hearty meal as possible.
Today’s mission? The “Tundrathon Triple.” Our plan is to climb three of the area’s major peaks: Wetterhorn (14,016 feet), Matterhorn (13,589 feet), and Uncompahgre (14,321 feet), all connected by an offtrail route across the alpine tundra that the San Juan mountain range of Colorado is known for.
Bagging our first summit, Wetterhorn, by noon, without a single glitch, we study the ridgeline that connects it to Matterhorn, contemplating the adventurous addition to the route. Ultimately, with the two dogs in tow, we decide to play it safe and scurry back down the mountain and across a boulder field to the base of Matterhorn.
I have a haunted past with the Matterhorn— not the one in Switzerland, but rather the Matterhorn in the Eastern Sierra of California. It’s an easy class-3 scramble and only 12,279 feet high. Despite this being something I am very comfortable with and capable of, the summit has eluded me three times.
TODAY IS REDEMPTION, THE BEGINNING OF A NEW STORY.
My obsession with the obscure peak is inspired by my favorite book, The Dharma Bums, by Jack Kerouac. In the book, Matterhorn symbolizes one’s dharma or path. With that in mind, my last few summer pilgrimages to the mountain with failed summit bids felt like my annual reminder that something in my life was not right. Right here, running up the grassy base of the
by Josh
Matterhorn in the San Juans, it no longer felt like folklore. Today is redemption, the beginning of a new story.
When the three of us reach the beginning of the summit scramble, Mike and Tyler look at me, aware of my tumultuous relationship with the Matterhorn. “Go on. This is your mountain. Get up there.”
I take a deep breath. Rarely the leader in the mountains, I not only take the reins here but climb up completely solo (well, Herschel loyally joins along). I feel myself growing stronger over every block I surmount. At the top, I look down at Herschel happily panting, the view of Wetterhorn behind me, and my friends hidden from sight, giving me my moment. I cry joyous tears and hold the golden mutt in my arms. Today, Matterhorn is finally my mountain.
The crew catches up, and we celebrate with a dance party, playing Shania Twain from a phone, before sprinting back down the steep grassy slope. My arms flail freely as I speed down the mountain, that is until my foot lands in a marmot hole, my ankle rolls, and I’m thrown to the ground.
I’ve definitely twisted my ankle, and it hurts. Mike, spindly legs dancing and flying downhill so fast I swear I never saw his feet touch the ground, turns around and runs back to me. “You guys go on ahead,” I say. “Looks like this day is done for me. I’ll start walking toward the car.” I’m disappointed but content with the fact that I made it to the top of Matterhorn.
Mike shakes his head. “You know you don’t have to do that.”
I look at him, puzzled. If my ankle hurts this bad right now...
“Get up and try moving around. It might not be as bad as you think.”
I’m skeptical, but since I’m equidistant to Uncompahgre and the car, it seems worth the effort to test it out. It sure would be a shame not to complete the Tundrathon with the team.
I stand up and take a few cautious steps. Damn, it hurts, but it moves; it goes. I take the next mile to walk and assess the situation. Soon I am running, hesitating with every step, and far behind Mike and Tyler, who occasionally stop to let me catch up while they eat snacks.
Just as I’m starting to feel good about my decision, we reach the base of Uncompahgre. The route
looks steep and mean. My hopes of it being a welldefined trail slip down the scree field, as they should; this is the Tundrathon Triple, after all.
Tyler and I slog up the steep slope, and I feel my energy sinking like my feet with each sandy step up. About halfway up, Mike is waiting for us. We sit on a rock, and I admit my struggle but refuse to back down or bonk. I pull out a caffeinated energy gel, slurp it down, and keep climbing.
Traversing the sketchiest part, we step gingerly on loose boulders so as not to knock them down on one another or create a complete rockslide. We reach the saddle unscathed and have a clear, easy path up to the summit. At this point, I’m too motivated to care about my ankle. If I have to take a month off to rest it, so be it.
CHALLENGING MYSELF ON ADVENTURES LIKE THIS, RISING TO THE OCCASION, AND DISCOVERING A DEEPER LAYER OF GRIT ARE PRECISELY WHY I RUN AND SPECIFICALLY WHY I SEEK OUT MOUNTAINS.
Challenging myself on adventures like this, rising to the occasion, and discovering a deeper layer of grit are precisely why I run and specifically why I seek out mountains.
From Uncompahgre’s summit, Wetterhorn and Matterhorn are in clear sight—an alpine trifecta completed by three motley mountain runners. We literally run off into the sunset, chasing last light back to the truck. For now, my exhaustion and sore ankle are far behind me as I take in the special surge of adrenaline that can only be found high above the tree line at the time of alpenglow.
When I reach the end of the route, there is nothing left for me but to lie on the ground and smile with pure delight. Sure, a warm bed and a shower might be nice, but I’m exactly where I want to be.
Opposite: Jeep life and mountain running require endurance and focus.
Solid support for stills and cinema.
By Bruce Dorn
NOTE: All of my cameras and larger lenses are equipped with either Arca-type quickrelease (QR) plates (for stills heads) or the larger Bogen/Gitzo/Manfrotto/Cartoni “501” style QR plates (for cinema heads). Any head or tripod that does not accept one of these two industry-standard QR base plates should be booted out of your consideration group immediately. Only these plates can be reliably found worldwide should the need arise. Beautifully designed and camera specific, QR brackets are available through reallyrightstuff.com.
Peoplelove razor-sharp pictures. A solidly supported camera reduces camera shake, and that, in turn, produces sharp imagery. is is not to say that the intentional use of subject blur isn’t an important creative photographic tool—it is—but unwanted camera movement can spoil an otherwise wonderful capture. Sure, traditional lens-based image stabilization and the newer sensor-based stabilization technologies allow photographers to do handheld photography at increasingly longer shutter speeds, but when it comes to consistently capturing really long exposures, nothing beats a well-designed camera platform. Tripods are the choice for capturing multiple perfectly aligned exposures for HDR composite, strikingly beautiful star trails, eerily moonlit landscapes, smoky cascades of rushing water, or any style of thoughtful, long-duration exposure. Monopods are not as stable as tripods but are a great choice for supporting long lenses when panning with birds in flight or tracking the explosive speed of a cheetah on the chase. Complementing these two extremes—tripods and monopods—are what I refer to as hybrid camera supports: unique user-brewed combinations of project-specific support bases and specialty heads. While there are multiple brand choices available in most of these categories, these are the specific models that I trust with both my cameras and my professional reputation.
Simple, plastic, and endlessly malleable—just like me—GorillaPods are nearly unbreakable. Use it as a tabletop tripod or wrap its legs around anything appropriate to find the best camera position. Over the years, Joby has expanded this successful product into a full line of specialty versions. e inexpensive GorillaPod 1K kit shown here features a 1/4”-20 ball head that is adequate for point-and-shoot pocket cameras and smaller mirrorless cameras up to 2.2 pounds. If you want the highly desirable Arca-type base plate locking clamp, capable of supporting cameras up to 6.6 pounds, choose the GorillaPod 3K Pro kit instead. ese flexible and super-light camera supports are perfect for backpackers, bicyclists, and moto tourers. And no worries, the collapsed legs create an ideal handgrip for those mandatory proof-of-adventure selfies.
$150/3K PRO, $40/1K | JOBY.COM
Load
Closed dimensions: 2 x 8.3 inches
Weight: 5.1 ounces
Closed dimensions:
ink of a monopod as either a singular support column or a modular, userparticipation-required tripod. To validate this latter concept, one must imagine that two of the three tripod legs are the user’s own, and that the third leg is a monopod constructed from either aluminum or carbon fiber. Monopods are most popular for supporting super-telephotos, but I also like to use them as a way to elevate a wide-angle lens overhead for a low-level bird’s-eye view. I view a lightweight monopod as a silent, battery-free, no-license-required drone. It is a simple way to reduce the potential of unwanted camera movement and reduces fatigue compared to handheld shooting.
Featuring tiny tip-out tootsies, this Manfrotto model addresses one of the monopod’s classic annoyances: the need to lay it down anytime both hands are required for a quick task. It may only have one leg, but with three deployable feet, this monopod can stand on its own. In a pinch. For a moment. Very tenuously. If perfectly balanced. On a windless day. Equally importantly, the FluidTech base unit features a fluid-dampened cartridge which facilitates smooth panning on any ground surface.
My early and proven example shown here has evolved into the current Manfrotto XPro video monopod, P/N MVMXPRO500US. If I were looking for a smaller, lighter-weight, and lower-priced solution—sans tootsies—I’d opt for the headless Manfrotto 290 carbon fiber monopod.
$350/XPRO, $105/290 | MANFROTTO.COM
MANFROTTO MVMXPROC5US XPRO VIDEO MONOPOD
Load capacity: 11 pounds
Maximum height: 74 inches
Closed length: 23.8 inches
Weight: 2.2 pounds
Sections: 5
MANFROTTO 290 CARBON FIBER MONOPOD (NOT SHOWN)
Load capacity: 11 pounds
Maximum height: 59.4 inches
Closed length: 19.3 inches
Weight: 1.1 pounds
Sections: 4
You want to be able to pan with those rocket-propelled raptors and physics-cheating cheetahs but don’t want to haul around the weight of a cinema-style fluid head? is classic solution has you covered. A robust mechanical “swing set,” the Wimberley cradles your super-telephoto and offers all the adjustments necessary to allow the user to find and pan around the cameraand-lens’ exact center of gravity. When properly adjusted, a quick and easily repeatable process, your lens will be neither nose nor tail heavy.
Note that the Wimberly does not have any movement-damping capacity, so it requires a deft touch to avoid “over-swinging” when tracking faster moving targets. Oddly shaped and not break-downable, this device is not easy to pack efficiently. However, often mimicked, the Wimberley is widely considered to be the Original. A proven concept, every serious bird and wildlife shooter I know owns one. ough one of the earliest designs, this gadget is fully evolved and reasonably priced. Specifically designed for use with large and heavy telephoto lenses.
$595 | BHPHOTOVIDEO.COM
Dimensions: 9.7 x 3.5 x 9.2 inches
Weight: 3.1 pounds
FOCUS 8 STABILO
One of the oldest brands with a sterling reputation for innovation in the feature film industry, Cartoni has recently entered the small camera/indie filmmaker space. Combining an industry-standard Bogen/Gitzo/Manfrotto/Cartoni “501” style QR plate and their unique internal camera balancing technology in a compact fluid head, Cartoni Focus 8 is one of my absolute favorites. Once adjusted, the head will hold a super-tele in any position without locking. e Focus 8 allows the camera to be aimed straight down or straight up, a feature seldom found in cine heads.
I prefer carbon fiber multi-section telescopic legs, so I choose Cartoni’s Stabilo legs— which feature excellent QR locks and foam shoulder pads on the topmost section—with a 75mm ball mount. I find this heavier combo to be ideal for fluid-dampened ultra-long-lens work, though you wouldn’t want to hike very far with this combination.
$1,395 | CARTONI.COM
Gitzo is my brand of choice for its certifiably-crazy range of independentlyspreadable carbon fiber tripod legs. From short and stubby to extra long, Gitzo offers sticks (legs) for whatever usage you can imagine. A company with a long history and a great reputation, they stand behind their products. I have used Gitzo forever and have been able to source replacement parts whenever needed, something that cannot be said of other “just as good” knockoffs.
Remember, a tripod is most stable at the apex of its three legs. When you extend the tripod’s center post, you are, to some extent, defeating the advantages of a tripod over a monopod. If you must use a center column to get the camera to exactly the right height, use as little extension as possible to maintain stability. Compared to aluminum, carbon fiber is lighter, stiffer, cooler to the touch, and less prone to transmitting vibrations, although it is higher priced. When pushed to extremes, the material is potentially brittle. But to be fair, the aluminum equivalent would bend under similar forces.
My go-to rig for stills work is the Gitzo Mountaineer GT3542L carbon fiber tripod topped with an Acratech GXP clamp ball head with lever clamp.
$1,100/GITZO
Minimum height: 6.3 inches
Closed length: 23.2 inches
is is essentially what Hollywood crews would call a “hi-hat on a pancake” —a minimalistic ground-level base plate that can accept a variety of head choices. is version of the hi-hat, appropriately named the Skimmer, was designed by a bird photographer, for bird photographers. It’s basically a heavy-duty plastic dish that was intended for the rigors of low-crawling through mud and sand in pursuit of wading birds. It’s lightweight, waterimpervious, stone-ax simple, and pretty much unbreakable—exactly what you need to creep through the muck around an Okavango watering hole. If you need anything other than a worm’s-eye view, though, start stacking rocks or look elsewhere.
I fit mine, according to expected load, with either the tiny Acratech leveling base with quick release clamp or the slightly larger and considerably stronger Acratech GXP clamp ball head with lever clamp.
$264/ACRATECH LEVELING BASE, $100/SKIMMER | ACRATECH.NET, BHPHOTOVIDEO.COM
SKIMMER GROUND POD II
Diameter: 10 inches
Height: 1.5 inches
Weight: 15 ounces
ACRATECH LEVELING BASE WITH QR CLAMP
Load capacity: 25 pounds
Height: 2.2 inches
Weight: 0.6 pounds
Camera support and camera stability are two different things. If you wish to nail the camera down, eliminating all unwanted movement during exposure durations ranging from seconds to minutes, you need a tripod. If you want to create a solid base for a series of stackable HDR exposures, a tripod will also be required. However, if your goal is to feel more confident when using long lenses or you want to assure sharpness when dipping down to shutter speeds that can be “iffy’ when working handheld, what you need is camera stabilization. Here are two easy, no-cost options: A pair of walking staffs, crossed and gripped tightly, works perfectly and costs little to nothing. For shorter lenses, simply loop the camera strap around your neck and push the camera away from your body until the resulting triangulation eliminates unwanted camera movement.
Four friends burrow into Botswana’s hinterland in search of the Lost City of the Kalahari.
Onan evening in July 1985, Fat Paul Wonsok met Bros at Stan’s Bar at the Babanango Hotel in distant Zululand. Wonsok, so named because a goat once ate his other sock, had a proposal. Over brandy, he spoke of the Kgalagadi, the great semidesert of Botswana, which was reputed to harbour a lost city. Fat Paul had read books on the subject, including, Through the Kalahari Desert, by Gilarmi A. Farini, who reported discovering the ruins in 1885.
The Lost City of the Kalahari has since figured in the imaginings of many who have wandered about the wastes of the Kalahari, or Kgalagadi as it is now known, searching for the stone walls, courtyards, and terraces first reported by Farini. Lost cities, tombs, and treasures were usually discovered by chance, or by explorers after years of research, deciphering hieroglyphics, and digging, said Wonsok. He proposed they go in search of the place. Bros was ideally suited
for the job—he had been a mineral prospector and studied archaeology at university.
In February 1885, Gilarmi Farini, proprietor of the Royal Aquarium in Westminster, London, embarked on an expedition to the Kalahari to coerce members of the San people, known as Bushmen at the time, to return with him and complement other exotica featured at his aquarium. On display were such things as Farini’s Earthmen (African Pygmies), a group of Zulus, a mermaid, a preserved whale, a fat lady with a moustache, and a creature labelled Krao, the Missing Link. Some people suggested that the real reason for Farini’s expedition was to find diamonds.
Born in New York as William Leonard Hunt, Farini once crossed the Chaudière Falls in Canada by tightrope, a feat which led him to style himself as Farini the Great. He and his son Lulu arrived in Cape Town and set off by train to Kimberley. From
there, he journeyed to Upington in the Northern Cape, and with local guides and well-loaded ox wagons went up the Nossob River, the southwestern boundary of Botswana, and into the Kgalagadi to lure Bushmen to London. On his return, Farini claimed to have found the ruins of an ancient city in the desert, and in the following year, published his book and lectured both the Royal Geographical Societies in London and Berlin on his discovery.
The first to report having looked for Farini’s Lost City was one Albert Albath, who tramped about the scrub of the bonedry Kgalagadi in 1942. But beyond being frightened by a lion chasing his donkey, he had little to show for his experience. Some years later, the French explorer François Balsan too wandered around the desert on donkeys, and too saw little more than scrub, yellow grass, and herds of zebra and wildebeest, but fortunately, no lions. Subsequently, the SIMCA Motor Company sponsored him with two four-wheel-drive lorries fitted with large tyres to enable the discovery of the elusive city. He again returned in despair. The Haldeman family from Pretoria also spent fruitless years looking for the legendary place, using Jeeps and a Navion aircraft. Haldeman even persuaded the South African Air Force to provide a C-47 Dakota to help in the search.
“Happily,” said Wonsok, “the Lost City is still lost, for what adventure is ever to be had looking for a Found City, unless the allure be dancing girls? No, no self-respecting lost city would ever simply reveal itself. Its discovery would surely be the result of a momentous event.”
And, said Wonsok, now was the time of a momentous event, for it was a hundred years since Farini had made his discovery. And now, after a century, the Lost City should surely rise from the sands. They should mount an expedition. He would invite some girls along.
So it was on a day in early September 1985, almost exactly 100 years after Farini’s discovery, all gathered at Wonsok’s home in Dundee, a nondescript joint of a town in Northern Natal. Jane and Jackson had been invited to liven up proceedings and provide entertainment. Jane was Bros’ sister, an accomplished artist and guitarist, while
Jackson could recite “The Ballad of Eskimo Nell” chapter and verse, told worse jokes, and could change a wheel.
Fat Paul’s preferred packhorse was a Land Rover—a well-worn 4-cylinder Series 2A, a three-door hardtop van of 1963 vintage. It was loaded with food and not a little drink, water, petrol, kit and caboodle, spares including extra spare wheels, and mattresses and a large tarpaulin to sleep on. Wonsok had panelled the interior of the Land Rover with dark stained plywood, “to give it a bit of a classy look,” he declared, “like a classic Jaguar.” Jackson was favoured for some reason, so Bros and Jane rode in the back, lying on mattresses laid on the load. “Like travelling in an old wardrobe,” declared Jane.
Wonsok had a theory on how to find the Lost City west of Khoti Pan. He had come to this after donning his Boy Scout hat, scarf and woggle, consulting oracles, looking into a mirror, and inhaling the smoke from smouldering imphepu leaves while intoning, “Bhebha bonke, bhebha tonki, bhebha bonke, bhebha tonki,” the meaning of which words are only known to some witch doctors. He had made calculations using a map and a ruler as there was no such nonsense as a GPS in those days. “It should be right here,” he said, jabbing at a 1:250,000 topographical map of Southwest Botswana with a finger which had recently taken part in the overhaul of some mechanical component or other. The map was a largish sheet of blank paper with impressive borders, official titles, numbers, and little else—a vague line representing some contour meandered diffidently over the page. Beyond odd spot heights, and a greasy finger smudge, there was nothing else shown.
They set off west on what was to become a grand adventure and crossed into Botswana at Lobatse. After a beer or two at the Cumberland Hotel, the dry country of grassland and scrub drew them south to Pitsane, and on toward Makgobistad, from where they took the southern border road west. It was decided to spend the night in the bush before filling up with fuel and water at Bray. Here, they turned north on a sand track through dry scrub. Some kilometres south of the tiny settlement of Khakhea, little more than a well and a collection of huts and tin shacks, they turned
LAND ROVERS WERE HARDLY SEEN IN THE KGALAGADI BECAUSE THEY WERE NARROW, DID NOT TRACK, BATTLED ALONG, BOILED, AND GOT STUCK AND BROKE.
Top: Our Land Rover, leaving Lekhubu Island.
Left: A herd of springbuck grazed on a dry water pan in the Kgalagadi. A typical homestead in a village in the Kgalagadi. Opposite: Wonsok, with a loaf of bread freshly baked in an iron pot over the fire. Headed south. We stopped to make repairs to the rear suspension.
due west to follow an old prospecting cutline which Wonsok calculated would bring them close to where the Lost City lay. The turnoff was marked by a faded Lucky Strike packet stuck in a bush.
The cutline took them into increasingly sandy country, over low dunes and across salt pans, which necessitated four-wheel drive. They camped in wild country, drank brandy and coke, and told lion stories. They had acquired a bloody lump of wildebeest from some hunters after assisting them with a broken-down Land Cruiser. The ignition wire was loose on the coil, and knowing food, and how to cook it, Wonsok dished up wildebeest au vin, with soupe des onions and croutons, and crêpes Suzette for dessert.
The next day brought soft sand, bigger dunes, and more dry salt pans. While traversing a particularly difficult dune, the four-wheel drive decided to retire. The splines on the left-hand front-wheel driving flange had stripped, and, of course, there was no spare. It was decided a four-wheel drive would be useful, indeed essential for their venture into Parts Unknown by Those of Faint Heart. They would need to get spares. Heading on for some hours, they found the main north–south track from
Tshabong near the South African border to Lokgwabe, a village 70 kilometres of sand track to the north, and a short distance further to Hukuntsi, where Prins’ store stocked everything. The tyres were deflated somewhat to give better flotation and traction in two-wheel drive in the miles of soft, loose sand which lay ahead.
Prins’ store indeed had everything, but no Land Rover spares, so they carried on to Kang, another long way away to the north, where there were no Land Rover spares either. At Kang, they were now on the main east–west road in southern Botswana, which ran from Lobatse to Ghanzi and on to Gobabis on the Namibian border. This was a most tediously awful dirt track used by heavy trucks carrying cattle to the abattoir in Lobatse. Ghanzi lay 300 kilometres of dust and sand and more bad language and brandy northwest to Lone Tree and beyond. Ghanzi had no Land Rover drive flanges either.
The hospitable barman at the Kalahari Arms served the coldest beer and recommended the bar special of steak. He spoke of the Kgalagadi and explained the roads through the deep sand were originally made by wide-track Ford, Chevrolet, and Bedford
trucks. Land Rovers were hardly seen there because they were narrow, did not track, battled along, boiled, and got stuck and broke. So Land Rovers kept out of the Kgalagadi, and spares were never stocked. Spares could be had in Maun, where Land Rovers were commonly used.
The merry band headed on and banged and rattled their way north. After a night spent in the bush near the Aha Hills, they carried on for some hundreds of kilometres further north to the tourist centre of Maun.
Maun is also the administrative centre for Northwest Botswana and lies on the Thamalakane River, which drains the wonderland of the Okavango Delta. It was an absolute paradise of water, greenery, trees, and every kind of wild game after the dust, stones, and grey thorn scrub of the Kgalagadi. There, Land Rovers were as common as goats.
Riley’s Garage in Maun had new drive flanges, and Riley’s Hotel had the coldest beer, enjoyed under magnificent trees on the banks of the Thamalakane. They camped at Croc Camp, and Wonsok put right that which was wrong with his four-wheel drive. During the hours he was busy beneath the front axle, Jane acquired some white acrylic paint from the camp manager, and unseen by the vehicle’s proprietor, painted over the Land Rover’s varnished interior panelling. The gloomy wardrobe-like interior was transformed into bright and cheery quarters. Fat Paul was, of course, horrified at this desecration of his vehicle, but cheered up and served crocodile biryani for supper.
On the rest of the trip, Bros and Jane painted watercolour sketches of people and incidents encountered on the trip, using the white painted panels as a canvas. The Land Rover became a sort of mobile Sistine Chapel.
Around the campfire, they discussed their immediate future. A hunter friend in Maun had told them of another supposed lost city at Lekhubu, a rocky hill in the middle of the Makgadikgadi, the great salt pans, once an inland sea, covering over 10,000 square kilometres in central Botswana. “Let’s go there,” said Wonsok, “it is a detour, but as we know, it is not right to travel the road already travelled, so we take another, see Lekhubu, and then head back through the Kalahari to find Farini’s Lost City.”
Accordingly, the next morning they
took the main road east to Nata, to spend the night at Sua, on the northern edge of the Makgadikgadi. There was water on the pan, and the place was alive with water birds, flamingos, pelicans, herons, stilts, and duck. The following day, they battled south following the edge of the Makgadikgadi, at times having to cross parts of the pan, getting stuck and jacking with a Hi-Lift jack, packing rocks and scrub to get going again. They then found a little-used track that took them to Lekhubu, altogether a day’s journey of but 140 kilometres of difficult going.
Lekhubu was an amazing place of granite outcrops, baobabs, and evidence of man’s occupation in the past when central Botswana was a vast inland lake and Lekhubu an island paradise, named for the proliferation of hippopotamus once found there. The next morning Fat Paul, Bros, and Jackson explored the island. Jane had other plans, and in Wonsok’s absence, she painted FAT PAUL WONSOK LOST CITY GREASY GARBONZA BAR AND RESTAURANT on the Land Rover’s doors. She had to placate him with brandy and their last coke.
The following day, they headed south across the pans, through dust as fine as powder some 60 kilometres to the village of Tlalamabele. From there, it was on to Orapa, the world’s largest diamond mine by area, 40 kilometres west to fill up on petrol, water, and supplies.
From Orapa, they headed to Mopipi, where they turned south, following a faint track to the dried-up Lake Xau, and following cattle tracks for 20 kilometres or so, found Kedia Hill seen above the distant bush. Kedia Hill is a sandy imminence with a survey beacon on top of it, the only hill of any significance anywhere near the Makgadikgadi. Many years before, a survey team had graded a road from the beacon on the summit of Kedia Hill for 160 kilometres to the west. Wonsok’s plan was to follow it to enter the Central Kgalagadi, and then to find the dry bed of the Okwa River and follow it southwest to the Ghanzi–Lobatse road. Then they would head back into the Southern Kgalagadi to find where Farini’s Lost City lay hidden. Kedia Hill and its cutline were known datums from which they could navigate with certainty, as the Kgalagadi was crisscrossed with tracks and paths which went to who knows where, and
were not shown on any map, and, these were the days before Google Earth.
There was no road nor track to the summit of Kedia Hill, and the Land Rover, even with the four-wheel drive now working, battled through thick sand to reach the top of the hill. The beacon was found, and there too was the cutline, overgrown by grass and scrub, but running straight to the west. This they followed.
As they headed down the survey track, other tracks joined. The track, which now became a road, was fenced on the southern side. This fence was the cause of much controversy, for it prevented game in the Kgalagadi from moving to water at Lake Xau and Mopipi during the dry winter months. It was festooned by the dried-out remains of animals, wildebeest, hartebeest, and zebra trapped while trying to get to water. After some 50 kilometres, the boundary of the Central Kalahari Game Reserve was found, marked by a lonely faded signpost. Here, the map was consulted. The plan was to drive about 15 kilometres southeast down the cutline that demarcated the reserve boundary. There they should enter a valley which was the dry bed of the Okwa, a paleo river which had once drained the inland sea of Central Botswana, and follow its long, dry bed southwest to the Ghanzi–Lobatse Road, a 180-kilometre run across the country. A short jaunt of about 20 kilometres would bring them to the track south to Hukuntsi and Mabuasehube to find Farini’s Lost City.
Following the reserve cutline southeast, they found the Okwa Valley and stopped to consider the situation. Accurate navigation by compass and odometer was essential if they were going to come out on the Ghanzi Road. There was certainly no road here, just long grass to clog the radiator, and scrub and bush to promote punctures, all interspersed by clumps of shady acacia trees.
The group was quite alone, with a 22-year-old Land Rover which overheated and had to be hand-cranked to start. Game such as wildebeest, zebra, duiker, and hartebeest was plentiful, with lion tracks frequently seen.
The Okwa riverbed wound and twisted about with side channels and valleys, all serving to confuse the issue. After an hour or so, Wonsok stopped for a consultation. Bros had his nose glued to the map and had
been following every twist and turn the vehicle made as it made its way through the bush of the valley floor. The valley had now opened out, and there were numerous possible routes to follow. The rest of the day was spent picking their way southwestward, taking careful compass bearings on distant trees, and marking their progress across the featureless topographical map by referring to the odometer and a ruler. The Land Rover bulldozed its way forward, crashing through scrub, tall yellow grass, over small trees, and across numerous flat grey pans. A tailwind had the engine overheating badly, with them travelling for many miles with the bonnet open trying to cool the engine.
Camp was made in a clump of bush where they stopped for the night. And then came wind, black clouds, and lightning and thunder—awful in its violence and rain that lashed them with fury as they sat in the Land Rover, water dripping from holes and apertures. The storm went on its way, and the Kgalagadi became wondrously still. Stars came out, and the smell of wet earth and bush was as the strongest perfume. Jane serenaded the night with her guitar, while Wonsok prepared something Italian with meatballs, tomatoes, and spaghetti. Jackals yelped, hyena whooped, and more lion stories were told by the fire. Tracks in the morning told of lions round the camp in the dark.
The Ghanzi–Lobatse road was found at the midpoint of the next day. Theirs had been an epic trek through the trackless bush, dry grass, and sand. After turning and heading southeast down the main Lobatse road for 30 kilometres or so, they reached a spot marked on the map as Takaatshwane. Here was not even a signboard, but a track to follow south through heavy sand for Lehututu and places beyond. A burnedout Land Rover amused them for a while the next morning, and brought home the hazards of driving through grass that could pack around the exhaust to send one trailing flames behind them down the road. The track crossed numerous pans and a huge sand ridge where they repaired a puncture before passing the scattering of huts marking the village of Lehututu. Much later, as evening darkened the land, camp was found on the ridge on the southern side of Mabuasehube Pan—contentment settled in as they were now where they wanted to be.
Wonsok dished up garlic soup, a paella of tinned mussels, oysters and ham, salade de naranja, and a trifle of fruit and boudoir biscuits soaked in sherry and custard for dinner while a lion coughed in a gully behind them. Rather than sleep in the open, as was their wont, they hung their ad hoc tarpaulin tent from the Land Rover. Bros played a spotlight across the pan to see the reflected eyes of springbuck and springhares rising and falling as they hopped. A jackal scurried away, along with hartebeest and wildebeest, and then the lion, no doubt bored with coughing at them, moving off to find other amusement.
Some days were spent exploring to the west near the Namibian border where Farini had once been. Then a fast stuck in very thick sand, as the four-wheel drive had given up again. Wonsok was of the opinion that the front axle was bent, which caused the side shaft to wear away the splines on the drive flange. He was confident of his ability in two-wheel drive, and so let matters be. If necessary, he would replace the worn-away driving flange with one of the spares he had bought in Maun. They drove on into a land of pans, dunes, yellow grass, and dead trees, groaning under communal weaver’s nests, and were most excited to see pygmy falcons.
Somewhere near the Namibian border, they stopped. They must have crossed the route followed by Farini a hundred years before, as there were things to be seen that astonished them.
Back at Mabuasehube some days later, they celebrated their success, and Jane played her guitar, howling songs to the moon while brown hyenas put in an appearance. They were due home in Natal, so decided to drive on through the night. At the time, the hundred or so kilometres of road south from Mabuasehube to Werda on the Cape border crossed an area many kilometres across of very deep sand. Negotiating this lot at one o’clock in the morning in a two-wheel-drive Land Rover was more fun than could be asked for.
They arrived back in Dundee on a Sunday night, pleased with their endeavour. There had been so much to find, see, and learn. Of what they now knew, and what was found they have kept to themselves. And the Lost City of the Kalahari? Well, it is still lost, and long may it remain so, for there is no fun in a Found City.
THE STORM WENT ON ITS WAY, AND THE KGALAGADI BECAME WONDROUSLY STILL. STARS CAME OUT, AND THE SMELL OF WET EARTH AND BUSH WAS AS THE STRONGEST PERFUME.
COEN WUBBELS
You need to look up to notice it, a small white shrine perched on the corner of a wall. Since it is a mere 2 feet high and its tiled roof blends in with the similarly colored wall, it is easily overlooked. The shrine once served as a point for travelers to stop for prayer as well as being a waymarker. Inside stands a little figurine pointing to the right, indicating the way to go.
While travel oratories, as these types of shrines are called, were put on street corners for travelers, bandits would position the statues in such a way that their cronies could deduce the direction of an upcoming gold transport. Once the government became savvy, many were taken down, and only a handful of them remain today.
The remnants of this tradition take you right back into the heart of the Brazilian gold and diamond rush, and the Estrada Real—the Royal Road built 400 years ago. Exploring the region’s fascinating history, we begin our journey at Diamantina, located at the northern end of this legendary cultural route that cuts through the state of Minas Gerais in southeastern Brazil. The name of the town refers to the huge amount of diamonds extracted in the region.
To get there, fly to Belo Horizonte (the capital of Minas Gerais), rent a car, and drive to Diamantina. Start your trip with a unique live-music event that takes place on Saturday nights (April-October), the Vesperata. When the Rua da Quitanda is packed with visitors, the shutters on the first floor of the mansions lining the street suddenly open, and the balconies fill with musicians. Throughout the evening, different orchestras give their finest performances with alternating bandmasters positioned on a platform in the center of the street, amidst the visitors.
This spectacular practice dates back to the 19th century— when it took place during vespers—and was revived in 1998. Enjoy the live music while tasting your first Mineiro food; snack on queijo Minas (soft white cheese) with guava paste or delight in a dessert of locally made doce de leite, Brazil’s ubiquitous milk caramel served as a spread or fudge-like chunks, which Minas Gerais is famous for.
From a hotel designed by the 20th-century architect Oscar Niemeyer to a museum honoring former president Juscelino Kubitscheck to the Estrada Real’s typical colorful and sumptuous colonial architecture, Diamantina has much to offer. To learn all about the intriguing tales and legends of a slave named Chica, who married a wealthy diamond trader and moved up into the circles of the elite, check out the museum in Casa de Chica da Silva.
In the late 17th century, bandeirantes (Portuguese settlers and fortune hunters) hit the jackpot when they discovered large gold deposits in Minas Gerais. Over the next 200 years, half a million slaves toiled in the mines and dug up more than 850 tons of gold. The bonanza gave rise to prosperous towns with opulent churches, ornate merchant houses, and government buildings, which today are there for all to visit and ad-
mire. Tropeiros (muleteers) transported the wealth to the coast from where it was shipped to Portugal. The Portuguese crown levied a 20-percent tax (el quinto do ouro), and to prevent smuggling, the Estrada Real became the only legal road to be used. Opening other routes constituted a crime of lèse-majesté
From Diamantina, the Estrada Real runs southbound for about 1,000 miles. The first leg is known as the Diamond Path and leads to Ouro Prêto, where it branches onto the Old Path to Paraty in the south, and the New Path to Rio de Janeiro in the southeast.
Although gaining in popularity, the Estrada Real is still often overlooked by visitors. To retrace its exact route, most of which consists of dirt roads, you can easily be awestruck for a full three weeks. Since you may not have that much time, the highlights presented here are optimum choices for a three-day, 685-mile trip following the shorter asphalt roads connecting Diamantina with Ouro Prêto, Congonhas, São João del Rei, and Tiradentes to Paraty. If you prefer driving less and spending more time on dirt roads or sightseeing, shorten the itinerary (e.g., from Ouro Prêto to Caxambu, which has the densest concentration of sites) or allow for an extra day or two in your
Live music in full swing during the Vesperata, with musicians playing from balconies in Diamantina. Opening page: Colorful, tiled-roof houses become visible as the fog lifts in the heart of the Estrada Real.
Clockwise from opposite top left: Ouro Prêto (Black Gold) was originally called Vila Rica (Rich Village). Bossa Nova—a fusion of samba and jazz—is often played in the streets. A narrow street path in São João del Rei is reminiscent of a bygone era. The Mantiqueira Mountains are home to many springs of drinking water. São Francisco de Assis in Ouro Prêto was designed by Aleijadinho. Oscar Niemeyer’s Edifício Niemeyer in Belo Horizonte is a modern masterpiece.
VISAS Travelers get a tourist visa on arrival and can stay for up to 90 days (this can be extended by an additional 90 days at a Federal Police office after arrival). Bring a passport that includes at least one blank page and is valid for a minimum of six months at the time of arrival.
WHEN TO GO Central Brazil is pretty much a yearround destination, but the dry season in central Brazil runs from May to August, and November to February is particularly rainy. We loved our visit in May/June with lots of blooming flowers and bougainvillea. Expect high temperatures in Rio de Janeiro and Paraty, but inland, the temperatures are lower; pack accordingly.
ACCOMMODATION Typical in Brazil are pousadas small, often family-run guesthouses; they vary considerably in style, quality, and rates, but are generally charming. I particularly remember Paraty for having super, very stylish options. Staying in pousadas is an excellent way to support local economies. Expect high-season prices during July/August, and around Carnival (reservations in and around Rio de Janeiro recommended).
MONEY ATMs are common in Brazil, but finding one that works for you is not always easy. HSBC and Banco do Brasil ATMs are your best bet—many carry a Plus/Visa and Cirrus/Mastercard logo, and bank cards are more likely to work than credit cards (withdraw enough to last you a while). Credit cards are widely accepted in shops, hotels, and gas stations.
DRIVING The minimum driving age for car rental is 21, and you must have been a licensed driver for at least two years. A passport and credit card are required and must be in the same name as the driving license. You will find car rental offices at airports and in cities. For the Estrada Real, you don’t need a 4WD— rent one only if you plan to venture deep into the backcountry. Visit Instituto Estrada Real’s website for details and maps you can download (institutoestradareal. com.br/en/estradareal).
CULTURAL CONSIDERATIONS Taking photos in churches is generally not allowed. After many treasures were stolen from Brazil’s churches, a law was passed in 1998 prohibiting all photography of national art. Buying postcards is a better option for visual souvenirs.
FOOD For a quick bite, head for the omnipresent “por kilo” restaurants—buffet-style places where you pay for the weight of the food on your plate. Enjoy super-strong cafezinhos, small coffees often served for free in buffet restaurants and gas stations. Finish your day with a Brazilian beer, served in 600-milliliter bottles that you share with your friends in small glasses.
plans. Accommodations and restaurants line the route, making it perfect for independent excursions. For the self-sufficient, the area is safe for wild camping.
South of Diamantina, the road meanders through an undulating karst landscape to Mariana. Take a stroll through the lovely colonial town with its grand churches or visit the Museum of Religious Art behind the cathedral. When time is short, it is best to keep moving, because you will have plenty of opportunities to see similar architecture. Instead, focus on the Passagem Mine, the world’s largest gold mine open to visitors, which lies a few miles west of Mariana. A trolley takes visitors some 400 feet down into Earth’s depths to an impressive subterranean lake where slaves dug out an estimated 35 tons of gold.
A trolley takes visitors some 400 feet down into Earth’s depths to an impressive subterranean lake where slaves dug out an estimated 35 tons of gold.
From here, it’s a mere half-hour drive to Ouro Prêto. Sitting at the convergence of the three Royal Roads, the town lies at the heart of the Estrada Real and is Brazil’s first UNESCO World Heritage Site. If you were to pick a single town to visit on this route, this would have to be the one. Ouro Prêto’s cobbled, undulating streets lined with colorful, tiled-roof houses and mansions (pay attention to the many beautiful, unique keyholes in doors), a wealth of baroque and rococo-style churches, as well as a variety of interesting museums, make it the perfect location for immersing yourself in the Estrada Real’s rich history.
As in all towns on this trip, park your vehicle somewhere along the side of the street and continue on foot to explore the historic center slowly and quietly. Your calves may hurt from toiling up and down the streets, and your neck may get strained from looking up at those fabulous façades and ceiling paintings in churches, but it will be worth it. For a map and information, visit the tourist information center on the Praça Tiradentes. With more than 20 churches and 12 museums, you can’t see it all, but to get a feel for what’s there, focus on the following three sites.
Near the Praça Tiradentes stands one of Aleijadinho’s architectural masterpieces (more about him later): the San Francisco de Assisi Church. Inside you will be blown away by the astounding trompe l’oeil painting on the ceiling. The Casa dos Contos is a museum detailing Ouro Prêto’s history, situated in the former Casa de Intendência, where gold was brought to be weighed. My third choice would be the Museu do Oratório that displays some 150 oratories—niches or cabinets with religious images. Not only were travel oratories set along the road, as previously mentioned, but some were also small enough to be carried in a bag or around the neck. One fascinating little example was made of a bullet.
Since Minas Gerais is a gastronomic center in Brazil, you will have ample opportunities to taste Mineiro food in any of the towns along the way. Expect heavy, honest fare based on inexpensive ingredients such as beans, organs, and meat prepared on wood fires. There is no need for exclusive restaurants. Check out the local establishments and give the famous tutu de feijão a try, a dish of brown beans thickened into a paste with cassava flour, served with rice and fried pork.
From Ouro Prêto, it takes less than an hour and a half to drive to Congonhas. The city’s famous attraction is the soapstone sculptures of 12 prophets that grace the switchback stairs in front of the Sanctuary of Bom Jesus do Matosinhos (also a UNESCO site). They were created around 1800 by Brazil’s most celebrated baroque artist, Antônio Francisco Lisboa. He was better known as O Aleijadinho (Little Cripple), a nickname he gained after losing his fingers and toes and the use of his lower legs to disease. You will come across his architecture and artwork in Mariana and São João del Rei as well.
A good asphalt road south will take you to São João del Rei. The city center is home to beautiful bridges, fountains, and 18thcentury mansions and churches. During major celebrations such as Corpus Christi, the streets are decked with intricate tapetes de rua (street carpets) often made of bright-colored sawdust, over which processions are led while the tower bells are swinging to and fro. As a result, the town is nicknamed the City of Bells.
An ipê-rosa tree in full bloom canopies the road. The subterranean lake at the Passagem Mine is otherworldly in appearance.
Antique train buffs should take the 35-minute steam train that regularly runs between São João del Rei and Tiradentes, or check out the collection of 15 Baldwin locomotives built for the narrow-gauge track. If you happen to be in Tiradentes in August, enjoy the Festival of Culture and Gastronomy and taste choice Brazilian cuisine.
So many impressions of glitter and opulence can potentially exhaust a person, and the 250-mile drive to Paraty will give you a break. The route passes the famous spa town of Caxambu and meanders across the Serra da Mantiqueira, offering views of rugged landscapes, patches of forests, and large stretches of land cleared for agriculture. Gas stations en route often sell cafezinho—Brazil’s typically small, strong, and delicious cup of coffee (which locals drink with heaps of sugar). Buy some pão de queijo, a delightful cheese bread, for a hearty snack en route.
At the southernmost end of the Estrada Real’s Old Path lies Paraty, located just below sea level. Parts of the streets are flooded inches deep by the tide during the full moon, creat-
ing exquisite reflections of the colorful buildings on the water’s surface. Go for a stroll through the historic center, soak up the pleasant ambience, admire artwork in boutique shops, and buy your souvenirs: cachaça (sugarcane liquor) and jars of locally produced geléias and compotas (jellies and compotes) are for sale everywhere. Finish the day with arguably the best drink made of cachaça, a caipirinha—Brazil’s national drink—made from the liquor with sugar, lime juice, and lots of ice. Don’t miss out on the Brazilian sorveteria, a self-service ice-cream buffet with tons of different toppings where you pay por kilo (by weight).
From Paraty, it’s easy to add a day or two to your itinerary and go diving or surfing. Or you may want to go hiking to surrounding beaches or visit the adjacent Parque Nacional da Serra da Bocaina with its gorgeous waterfalls and natural pools. From there, follow the magnificent Costa Verde east to Rio de Janeiro or head west to São Paulo.
Living off the land can add to the sense of freedom you get from overland travel. Sourcing your drinking water along your route is a great way to extend the amount of time you can spend between major resupply points. There are a lot of products out there that help travelers make water safe to drink, and there is a lot of marketing hype that goes along with those products.
Fortunately, the Wilderness Medical Society recently released the “Wilderness Medical Society Clinical Practice Guidelines for Water Disinfection for Wilderness, International Travel, and Austere Situations.” The 21-page article is a textbook-style report that I recommend checking out because it slices through the marketing hype to explain the basics of water filtration and purification. Here are the highlights.
BE MILDLY SUSPICIOUS OF ANY WATER SOURCE Even in developed countries, people get sick drinking water outdoors. Microbiological hazards can, of course, occur in any water, and according to the guidelines, “public health agencies regularly report outbreaks of disease associated with surface water from backcountry and parks as well as from campground water systems.” Because, in most situations, it is very difficult to rule out all activity by wildlife, livestock, and humans in a given watershed, the Center for Disease Control “recommends treating surface water before ingestion as a precaution to protect health.” So it is worth being at least mildly suspicious of any water source, including campground faucets.
MAKE A BIG PICTURE
OF A WATER SOURCE Assessing risk factors is an important skill. Microbiological water hazards increase based on how much human, livestock, wildlife, and agricultural activity is happening in the watershed where you are sourcing water. These are the primary contributors to microbiological hazards that will make you sick and include E. coli, salmonella, giardia, and norovirus. It is crucial to make a big picture assessment of a particular water source, since “appearance, smell, and taste are not reliable indicators to estimate water safety.”
START WITH BETTER SOURCES OF WATER Lower the microbiological risk factors by looking for water sources, including springs, melting snow, and glaciers that have less exposure to the contaminants mentioned above. If you can start with better sources of water, your treatment methods won’t have to work as hard, and you will end up with safer treated drinking water.
A brief synopsis of the Wilderness Medical Society’s guidelines.
PROVIDE TWO STEPS IN A WATER TREATMENT PROCESS Keep in mind the difference between clarification and purification. Clarification is removing turbidity, sediment, and chemical contaminants as opposed to purification, defined as inactivating or removing microbiological hazards. The guidelines suggest that it is best to provide two distinct steps in a water treatment process to address each of these water quality factors.
AN OUTLINE OF CLARIFICATION METHODS Clarification methods include absorption with activated carbon, sedimentation settlement by gravity, and coagulation-flocculation. These processes benefit many methods of purification by minimizing particles that may have microbiological hazards riding along with them. Also, clarification will reduce particles that may react with chlorine, or block UV rays used in purification steps.
METHODS FOR ELIMINATING MICROBIOLOGICAL HAZARDS There are a variety of ways to purify water in the wild. The guidelines highlight ultraviolet sterilization, chemical disinfection, and filtration as preferred methods for eliminating microbiological hazards from drinking water.
Ultraviolet sterilization reliably inactivates all microbiological hazards, including giardia, cryptosporidium, and viruses, without altering the water. As noted above, clarification is critical beforehand to eliminate particles that could block UV rays, and the dosage needs to be controlled and adequate for complete inactivation of organisms.
The guidelines note that chemical disinfection processes, such as chlorine, are dependable, but users need to properly adjust for variables such as inorganic contaminants and temperature with higher disinfectant doses and longer contact times.
Filters offer an easy and reliable reduction of microbiological hazards. What you need to know is that a 0.2-micron filter is required for targeting protozoa and bacteria, and 0.01 micron is necessary to reduce pathogens, including viruses. Users should know how to clean filters in the field when they become clogged. Filter selection should
FILTER SELECTION SHOULD BE BASED ON THE VOLUME OF WATER REQUIRED, FUNCTIONAL CLAIMS RELATIVE TO NEEDS, PREFERENCE FOR HAND PUMP OR GRAVITY FEED, AND COST.
be based on the volume of water required, functional claims relative to needs, preference for hand pump or gravity feed, and cost.
IMPROVISATIONAL TECHNIQUES IN THE FIELD Improvisational techniques mentioned in the report are both compelling and a good test of general water purification science knowledge, and possibly handy in emergency survival situations. These methods include using UV from sunshine rays, alternative chemicals, and knowing how hot you need to get water to kill pathogens (140° for 30 minutes will pasteurize, not a bad alternative in a pinch).
THOROUGH TREATMENT INCLUDES A TWO-STAGE PROCESS So which methods are best? The guidelines cover a lot of effective ways to treat water, and it notes that in most cases for reliable cryptosporidium and virus removal, a two-stage process is vital. Since it is not possible to easily judge the microbiological quality of a water source, thorough treatment is usually warranted, even in campgrounds. The guidelines emphasize that treatment methods should be selected based on:
• number of people to be served
• space and weight requirements
• quality of the source water
• personal taste preferences
• fuel availability
FOR THE OVERLANDER Looking at this advice in the context of overlanding, as opposed to, say backpacking, there are some interesting
considerations as to how to read these recommendations. With vehiclebased travel, space and weight requirements are much less restrictive, and fuel (in the form of batteries) is readily available. The group size can be larger, as well as increased water requirements for the camping quality of life that we have come to enjoy.
Another trend to consider is the integration of water filtration and purification systems onboard overland vehicles with DIY installs and off-theshelf equipment. This adds a consideration of methods that allow for physically moving water from a lake or river into onboard tanks.
There are a lot of reasons to develop good techniques for water purification. It is an excellent tool for maximizing your time on the trail, eliminating single-use plastic bottles, and reducing the anxiety of running out of water.
Tyler Bech was raised on a remote island in the Pacific Northwest. He grew up around boats, and eventually sailed himself to the mainland and the outdoor fun capital of Hood River, Oregon, picking up a degree (and future wife, Tracy) at University of Washington along the way. Working in the marine, aerospace, and outdoor industries, Tyler is a product designer and cofounder of Guzzle H2O. Guzzle H2O provides people who love playing in the outdoors with a convenient way to confidently refill water bottles with great tasting and safe drinking water. guzzleh2o.com
VOLUNTEERING WITH WILDLIFE SANCTUARIES CAN BE ONE OF THE MOST FULFILLING AND IMPORTANT TRAVEL EXPERIENCES POSSIBLE— IF YOU FIND THE RIGHT PLACE.
Wildlife watching is a travel highlight possibly only trumped by engaging directly with animals. Who can forget the touch of an orphaned baboon’s fuzzy arms clinging on while bottle feeding? Or the joy of seeing a traffic-injured tapir scurry off on healed legs? Volunteering at a wildlife sanctuary can be exceedingly rewarding. As humans encroach upon more and more wildlife habitat, the number of animals in need of help has increased exponentially.
Wildlife organizations offering volunteer opportunities have popped up like mushrooms across Africa, Latin America, and Asia, but many don’t benefit wildlife conservation at all. Some even sell animals to the illegal pet trade or capture them from the wild, then present them as orphaned or rescued. Travelers should beware of any outfitter that makes animals act contrary to their natural instincts, such as tigers posing for photos with humans, and other circus-like and unethical activities. No Instagram selfie is worth knowing you contributed, even indirectly, to the decline of a species.
That being said, don’t let the bad guys quench your good intentions. There are tools to navigate the voluntourism jungle and help save the animals in dire need. First, check out information about the sanctuaries, for instance, by reading online about their work: where the animals come from, if it’s a legally registered nonprofit organization, if it has a conservation approach, and if zoologists or wildlife biologists are involved. Don’t be afraid to contact the sanctuary to ask more questions.
For travelers to Africa, the Facebook group Volunteers in Africa Beware features an extensive list of the good, the bad, and the ugly among volunteer organizations.
For Americans, Belize is much closer than Africa, and this Englishspeaking country boasts a gem among wildlife sanctuaries, the Belize Zoo. It was founded by Sharon Matola, an American biologist who has dedicated her life to saving Belize’s wildlife and educating people about conservation.
“All the animals in our care were either rescued, confiscated from the illegal pet trade, orphaned, abandoned, or born at the zoo,” said Jamal Andrewin-Bohn, a consultant at Belize Zoo.
Volunteers can join the Zoo Internship Program where they work alongside the zookeeping staff. “They get a full immersion into ex-situ conservation, and all learning is hands-on as they assist the zookeepers with their day-to-day tasks. Everything from food
preparation and delivery, exhibit maintenance and enhancement, and enrichment for the animals are included in the program,” said Jamal.
Charges for volunteer experiences may sometimes seem excessive, so travelers should ask the organization what the cost covers. Belize Zoo, for instance, charges $300 per week, but this includes all meals and lodging at the Tropical Education Center, the zoo’s rustic lodge with a pool and nature trails. Last but not least, a portion of the internship program cost goes back into the zoo’s conservation work, so volunteers effectively contribute to the continued efforts to save wildlife species that might otherwise have gone extinct.
If you can’t volunteer or visit Belize Zoo, you can support their work by donating on their website, belizezoo.org.
Staff and volunteers fit a tranquilized jaguar with a GPS collar for research purposes in Guatemala. Volunteers take care of the rescued animals at Belize Zoo.
One For the Road
Adventure Motorcycling Handbook author Chris Scott breaks down the how-to essentials of getting started on the dirt.
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Let’s accept that adventure motorcycling means long, unsupported journeys across the world’s developing nations, lately redefined as the Global South. Overlanding is another word for it, as distinct from regular touring vacations or even gnarly domestic adventures that aren’t hard to have in North America. Get over the border, and things can get challenging just finding a new tire, let alone temporarily importing or servicing a modern motorcycle. Some forward planning and resourcefulness are required.
Stepping outside your cultural comfort zone makes you feel vulnerable and stressed, normally what we seek to avoid. For years, adventurers have tackled this tension—anxiety versus wanderlust—with planning and preparation. Getting your ducks in a row helps build confidence towards a positive outcome. Gearing up over the months, both literally and psychologically, is also a big part of the buzz, as your plan takes shape. Once on the road, that plan will almost certainly unravel a little, but by then, you’ll have discovered a big trip’s sheer momentum will keep your show on the road.
Riding the Global South won’t be as predictable as a touring holiday in New Zealand, but the outlines below broadly
summarize what’s possible. Some continents are more accessible than others.
SOUTH AMERICA If you’re based in North America, South America is the best adventure motorcycling destination for a first-timer. The accessibility, near-single language, spectacular highway network, lenient entry and vehicle import regulations, not to mention its rich history and indigenous cultures, all make it a good choice. Add in just about every type of habitat nature can produce, and the fact that it’s wildly different while also manageable, without ever straying far from the Pan-American Highway, to further its recommendation. The flow is interrupted by the need to sail or airfreight around Panama’s Darién Gap. Alternatively, southbound, cut to the chase, and ship directly from Miami to Colombia. When it’s over, Buenos Aires in Argentina is the most convenient place to ship onward, though air freight is now as cheap.
ASIA Now that escorted transits of Myanmar are possible, the classic Asia overland route to Singapore has reopened, except for travelers from the US, UK, and Canada who are restricted in Iran. As there are no regular ferries between Arabia (Oman) and Pakistan, a northern route sees Caspian Sea ferries link Europe and the Caucasus with Central Asia, which has become much easier for foreigners. The arid steppes of Kazakhstan lead to Russia (optionally via Mongolia, an adventure riders’ favorite) for Vladivostok, but now that the ferry to South Korea has stopped, you need to ship onward. Or, with months of preplanning, from Kyrgyzstan or Tajikistan, you can slip through Xinjiang in western China (escorted or trucked) and cross the Karakoram into Pakistan for India and Indochina. Kuala Lumpur in Malaysia is Southeast Asia’s shipping hub.
AFRICA Many round-the-worlders skip Africa, but from South Africa, staying east of the Congo, you can reach Uganda without undue complications. Egypt (carnet required, see below) is the end of the road, though ferrying to Jordan for Israel, then Europe, or even Sudan to Saudi could be an answer. On Africa’s Atlantic side, ferries leave Spain hourly for Morocco from where it’s a long road along the Saharan rim to Mauritania, followed by a transit of West Africa. Here, current tensions force you south across additional borders where onerous visa requirements continue right across equatorial Africa until you’re out of Angola.
Besides being a symbol of your individuality and belief in personal freedom, you’ll want a mule that performs doggedly, day in, day out—a machine that will get you there and keep you moving at a fully outfitted cost you can afford, with a sustainable servicing budget once on the road. How will it manage the rough and tumble of the overlanding life lashed to a ferry deck, hammering over washboard trails or ruined asphalt, topped-up with lowgrade gas, or watery oil, dust, and vibration, far from specialist servicing and consumables?
As the KLR650 has proven, these qualities are not limited to big motorcycles. Particularly on the backroads of Africa and
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Asia, you’ll rarely exceed 60 mph, nor will you be munching the miles as you might do on a mission to Prudhoe Bay. Unless you’re two-up, the benefits of more than 70 horsepower will be rarely appreciated, while weighing nearly 600 pounds, doing less than 45 mpg, and wearing out expensive consumables might hold you back. Out in the world, locals ride overloaded and under-maintained 125s, but they rarely stray far from home. For transcontinental rides, a 250cc motorcycle is a practical minimum. A 250 dual-sport is a machine that’s light enough for anyone to tackle any trail, at the cost of effortless highway cruising comfort.
Unlike a weekend burn-up on your GSX-R or a dirt bike, you’ll be far from dependable healthcare for both you and your machine, so you’re not going to be pushing the ragged limits of performance. Your priority is to survive because the consequences of blowing it are what puts the “AD” into “Adventure.” But because the nature of motorcycling is more engaging than driving, the motorcycle often chooses the ride. For travel, it should be the other way round. Ask not where you can go on your cool motorcycle; ask which motorcycle is suited to those places.
It can help to define the abject opposite of a travel bike: something with a fuel range barely into three figures, a fivefigure price tag, a crippling riding position, and rock-hard suspension. You can add a limited luggage-carrying ability and a frequent maintenance schedule. It has to be a compromise, and a CB500X or F 750 GS fits the bill. However, like your jacket, it also needs to make you feel great to put on each morning. What counts is this:
YOUR MARQUE AND IMAGE PREFERENCES You love your Multistrada. It’s going to be a Multistrada. End of discussion.
YOUR ITINERARY Or specifically, do you prioritize off-highway exploring? Adventures are easily found there.
WEIGHT AND SEAT HEIGHT Related to the above and possibly your height, age, or fitness. Few riders return with heavier bikes and more baggage.
COMFORT AND WEATHER PROTECTION The brain may forever have the mindset of a 22-year-old, but the more aged your bones, the more important protection becomes. Fatigue leads to poor decisions.
FUEL ECONOMY AND RANGE A bike may have a huge range; however, if fuel economy is average, it will weigh a ton when full.
MECHANICAL AND ELECTRONIC SIMPLICITY Boomer-era riders will know how stuff works—only on boomer-era motorcycles. Remember, five-star sealer support will be lean. You’re on your own.
BUILD QUALITY AND REPUTATION FOR RELIABILITY Say what you like, but the Japanese marques still dominate here.
There are a few more factors, but how you order the above ought to help you find a sweet spot between a Superleggera and an RM250 with lights. That might be a GS 12, or it might be a DR650.
Pick a machine with the right engine for you, and the rest ought to follow. Programmable electronic fuel controllers are the modern equivalent of meddling with carbs—some lean-running motorcycles may benefit. EFI is an example where electronic injection complexity has improved on a century of carbureted complexity, delivering smoother running at all revs and elevations, as well as superior fuel efficiency. It means fitting bigger tanks has become less of an issue. Ridden at a steady pace, a modern motorcycle with a 4.5-gallon (17-liter) tank returning mid-50s mpg (23 kpl) will achieve a range of up to 250 miles (400 kilometres). The KLR650, a WR250 with an IMS tank, Enfield’s Himalayan, the CB500X, V-Strom 650, 1-liter Africa Twin, and R 1200 GSA will all manage this. So will a KTM 790 and the new Husky 701 LR. With the global proliferation of motor vehicles, there are few places in the world where you’ll need more than 400 kilometres unless you’re going out of your way for it.
ASK NOT WHERE YOU CAN GO ON YOUR COOL MOTORCYCLE; ASK WHICH MOTORCYCLE IS SUITED TO THOSE PLACES.
Protection includes proper, alloy-framed handguards with plastic shields. Replace skimpy pressed-steel sump guards with thicker-alloy items that reach up to protect water pumps and oil filters; steel crash bars add more engine case protection. Accessory radiator grills aren’t always needed, but if fitted, need some spacing to maintain airflow at low speeds. Whichever way up your forks are, neoprene socks or old-school-style rubber gaiters help preserve fork seals.
Your motorcycle may have a fairing and screen, but the latter is often left wanting as one size cannot fit all. Tool-free adjustment is appearing on the ADV flagships; otherwise, MadStad, Puig, and MRA are some who produce adjustable replacements as well as windshields for naked bikes. Along with a comfortable saddle—again, subjective or a lottery—this will all help reduce fatigue on an endeavor where you need to be on top form.
Modern digital displays or more road-oriented machines provide an array of data, including converting speed and fuel mileage to metric readings you’ll appreciate abroad. One thing worth knowing, especially with air-cooled engines, is the temperature. Where or what you measure doesn’t really matter; a reference figure is what counts, so when that’s inexplicably exceeded, you can slow down or investigate. Center stands have become optional accessories, but for all the obvious maintenance, repair, and redundancy reasons, fit one for your big ride, especially if you’re running tubed tires or a chain without an automatic oiling device.
The suspension is where otherwise great travel bikes like Honda’s CB500X fall short. Add a travel payload and rough
roads, and the stock setup soon loses composure, but springs or shocks are easily replaced. One thing you’ll value is a preload adjustment knob on the shock (often hydraulic and found on bigger bikes).
With tires, longevity, all-weather capability, and all-surface grip is a tall order, but a ratio of 80/20 road/dirt is probably way more than most overlanders manage—in distance if not in time. Tires from East European brands like Heidenau, Mitas, or Motoz vie with the Karoo, Anakee Wild, Trailmax, and various Trail Wings from the better-known marques. Some will last as long as a regular Tourance or Anakee, which, no matter what they claim, are road tires suited to powerful, heavy machines. As long as conditions are dry and you ride appropriately, such tires manage fine on firm sand, rocks, and gravel.
Far more valuable in terms of blowout safety, long life, and two-minute roadside repairs are tubeless tyres. With cast alloy wheels, they’re a given, but tubeless wire wheels (spokes) are only on some adventure-style flagships, sometimes as 21-inch front wheels.
ONE DISCOVERY YOU’LL MAKE IS THAT HAVING EVERYTHING YOU OWN AT ARMS’ REACH IS ACTUALLY EVERYTHING YOU NEED.
Talking of front-wheel sizes, once a bike exceeds 500 pounds, for most, the benefits of 21-inch over 19-inch, or cast versus spokes becomes academic. Tire tread and rider skill count for much more, but the benefits of tubeless tires trounce all when you get a flat in Lima’s rush hour or a Punjabi monsoon. On the same theme, electronic rider aids are ever more sophisticated, but built-in TPMS (live wireless tyre pressure monitoring system) is still a luxury or an option. Luckily, aftermarket TPMS kits are inexpensive and easy to retrofit, providing the long-absent metric on any motorcycle.
Baggage is often oversimplified to hard alloy cases versus fabric bags. Many riders combine both, and hard cases also come in more robust polymers. Others just strap on a kit bag and hit the road. As it is, a motorcycle can carry little more than what you’d check for an international flight. You’ll soon realize the roads of the Global South have the same gas, food, lodgings, and other services, though, just maybe not in the range and quality you’re used to. One discovery you’ll make is that having everything you own at arms’ reach is actually everything you need. The memorable encounters and mind-boggling views along the way all come free.
Saving weight is often the justification given, but unless you can be sure your soft bags won’t shift and then melt or catch alight on a hot silencer, a rack, or some sort of metalwork is essential to eliminate movement on rough trails. Rackless systems like the Giant Loop Coyote are more suited to short excursions rather than months of travel. Certainly off-road, where slowspeed falls are more frequent, soft baggage—rackless or otherwise—does less damage to itself or your lower limbs.
The documentation needed to ride the world adds up to ID (a passport and a driver’s license) and your motorcycle’s title or other ownership papers. Outside of Latin America, driving licenses are rarely asked for. Every border will want to see a pass-
port and vehicle ownership papers, though, plus a good excuse or supporting paperwork if the details don’t match. Police stamp your passport, typically allowing a stay from 30 to 90 days, and customs issues a temporary vehicle importation permit (TIP) that may last as long. The list varies, but you’ll struggle to enter Egypt, Iran, Pakistan, and India without a more complicated and costly internationally recognized import permit called a carnet de passages en douane (CPD) that needs organizing in advance. (In North America, it’s Boomerang Carnets, cpdcarnet. com). Fascinating though they are, you can see a lot of the world outside these four countries (and as mentioned, Iran has other issues).
Some borders still demand yellow fever vaccination certificates, and most riders will see the value in other vaccinations, as well as travel and health insurance to cover them for worldwide motorcycling and not just backpacking. At some point, you’ll need to cross an ocean; sea freight is best done at the end of a big trip from a busy port once you’ve flown back home. Airfreighting may cost double but takes days, not weeks, and is often easier than arranging a container full of bikes or LTL cargo.
Just as it was when the first motorcycle adventurers took off across the steppes, jungles, and cordilleras, the learning curve for any first-timer is steep and slippery. But there’s never been a better time to head off overseas [excepting extenuating circumstances such as a pandemic]. You don’t have to sell up just yet: tours can offer a taste, and rentals (especially in South America) can save weeks and thousands of dollars. Online information has democratized the pursuit, but the rewards remain hard-earned and visceral, if for no other reason than the psychic exposure is more keenly felt. Surviving off your wits and free to make your own decisions, you feel alive and engaged. It’s addictive, and because humans are adaptable and tend to favor optimistic recollections, you’ll look back on your adventure as among the best experiences you’ve ever had, as well as knowing exactly how to do it much better next time.
EDITOR’S NOTE: The 8th edition of Chris Scott’s Adventure Motorcycling Handbook is now available. In print for nearly 30 years, there are 90 extra pages, and the fully revised edition for 2020 is now in full color.
EXCERPT
PHOTO BY JAY KOLSCH
Ridiculously simple, this tasty combination of chips, salsa, and eggs is sure to satisfy.
Ilike to spend long stretches in the backcountry. How long? Generally, until either the water, food, and (hopefully not) gas run out. When facing the decision to leave my beautiful surroundings, usually requiring a long drive, I like to assess my food rations. My preference is to see if I can scrape together something creative before I get desperate enough to face the dreaded fluorescent lights of a supermarket.
This dish came together with a group of friends before running up three peaks in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado. Suddenly, our leftover chips and salsa became a power breakfast to fuel us on an all-day mission in the 14,000-foot range. The three of us hunkered down over a cast-iron pan behind the rig, and in dirtbag ritual, took turns devouring the meal with one shared fork.
This adaptation on the classic Mexican breakfast dish is every peak bagger’s dream. A few eggs, salsa, and the remains of a bag of smashed tortilla chips are all you need to stoke your fire with a zesty morning meal. Of course, you can class it up with cheese and avocado too.
SERVES 2-3
COOK TIME Varies, dependent upon heat/type of pan
ASSEMBLY TIME 5 minutes
EQUIPMENT Propane stove or cooking fire, pan, spatula
2 tablespoons fat
3 large handfuls tortilla chips
2 cups red or green salsa
4 eggs
Shredded cheese, avocado, cilantro (optional)
Heat the fat in the pan over a medium temperature. If the chips aren’t already smashed, break them up into bite-size pieces. Add chips to the pan and toss in the fat until golden.
Pour in the salsa and bring to a simmer. Once the salsa begins to be absorbed into the chips, crack the eggs into the mixture. Using a spatula, scramble the eggs until they are fully cooked.
Remove the pan from the heat. Divide between two or three plates, sprinkle with cheese, sliced avocado, and cilantro if you have them, and devour immediately.
The E45 Highway or Amazon Trunk Road, which we would follow for almost a week, was, according to our 1:750,000-scale National Geographic Adventure Map, a fairly major thoroughfare. The previous night, it deluged for 12 straight hours. Plus, oh yeah, there was an earthquake. Consequently, we faced a never-ending series of mud/rock/ vegetation slides.
it at all. I backed up, placed the tranny in second, gunned the engine (all things being relative), popped the clutch, and hit the river of mud head-on.
Since the slide was still moving across the road, getting stuck— the likely outcome of my impulsive decision— might result in the Spark being mud-slided into tropical oblivion. I was, therefore, highly motivated. Halfway through, things started looking bleak.
It was thus slow going from Baeza to Tena, from where we accessed the lovely village of Misahuallí, located at the confluence of its namesake river and the Río Napo, one of the Amazon’s mightiest tributaries. While we strolled around the town plaza, the wife of a man who worked in the American embassy in Quito told us about a wildlife rehabilitation outfit located deep in the jungle some miles down the Napo. Per her instructions, we drove along a paved secondary road to a cluster of riverside huts, where we hired a motor canoe that took us to the facility, known as Amazoonico. We enjoyed a two-hour tour by a pleasant young volunteer from Germany. Resident animals— most of which had been orphaned or injured—were being groomed for reintroduction to the wild. We saw a tapir, a 4-meter anaconda, toucans, peccaries, caimans, raptors, several kinds of monkeys, and much to the apparent surprise of our guide, an ocelot that, she effused, rarely showed itself to visitors.
The motor canoe returned us to the Spark, which we had parked next to a small, open-air restaurant located adjacent to a single-vehicle ferry crossing. I asked the owner, a German woman who had lived in this isolated locale for 40 years, about the nature of whatever thoroughfare lay on the other side of the Napo. The restaurateur told us it snaked deep into the Amazon Basin. When she saw my eyes light up, she asked what kind of vehicle I was driving. I pointed to the Spark. “Don’t even think about it,” she said emphatically. “You wouldn’t make it very far. We’d have to come rescue you. You need a big car to go down there. You need to be prepared for anything.” Damn.
We left Tena early, with the goal of making it to Gualaquiza for no other reason than it was about halfway to the village of Vilcabamba, from where we would turn north and begin our zigzagging meander through the Andes back to Quito.
Soon thereafter, we came upon the mother of all slides. It covered the entire roadway in bright yellow mud at least a third of a meter deep and 30 yards wide. I had never seen mud that color. It looked like a combination of the heavymetal runoff that oozes from old mines in the Colorado High Country and what you mind find in the diaper of a baby experiencing a severe case of digestive distress. My wife said, “Don’t even think about it.” I obeyed. I did not think about
Since the slide was still moving across the road, getting stuck—the likely outcome of my impulsive decision—might result in the Spark being mud-slided into tropical oblivion. I was, therefore, highly motivated. Halfway through, things started looking bleak. We came within a hair of bogging down. But, miracle of miracles, we made it through. It was then that my opinion of the Spark started to change for the better.
Two days later, the Spark took us to an elevation of 5,200 meters along the flanks of the 6,260-meter Chimborazo Volcano, Ecuador’s loftiest peak.
The Spark’s biggest test came on our last full day in Ecuador. We drove into Cotopaxi National Park, home to the world’s highest active volcano. At the southern entrance station, we got a stern warning from a ranger to not take the Spark past where the asphalt ended about seven miles inside the park. After that, the ranger stressed, a high-clearance, four-wheel-drive vehicle becomes very necessary. Drat. Foiled again.
When the pavement gave way to gravel, we decided to drive “a little bit farther, to see what the road is like.” Then a little farther still. (We all know that feeling.) We stopped several times to hike and take photos of wildflowers in full bloom alongside a track that was not nearly as rough as the entrance station ranger had indicated. The Spark proceeded with slow-going ease. “These Ecuadorians must not be as tough or adventurous as we are back home!” I exclaimed. Ooops.
Almost immediately after I uttered those words, the road went to hell. It would have been challenging had I been navigating my 4Runner, but here I was at the helm of a roller skate. After a bone-jarring hour, during which time we made maybe five miles, the surface went from dirt/mud/rock to asymmetric cobblestones apparently laid by drunk people 500 years ago. It was a nightmarish 30-kilometer descent that lasted three hours.
By the time we reached the Pan-American Highway, unidentifiable clunking sounds were coming from at least three different places. One of the headlights looked ready to pop from its socket. The brakes were nearly shot. I was having trouble shifting into second. A hubcap seemed to have gone missing.
Fortunately, we were scheduled to drop the Spark off well after dark, when, we hoped, the attendant would not be able to fully perceive the car’s condition. As I passed him the keys, I patted the hood and said, “Gracias, amigo.”
Big things often come in little packages—in countries as well as cars. Next time, though, I’m going for a vintage FJ40, because, while you don’t necessarily need a high-clearance four-wheel-drive vehicle to have an adventure, it sure helps.
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Traversing the wilds of Ecuador in a car the size of a roller skate.
My wife took a photo of me standing next to our rental car—a sub-compact Chevy Spark—shortly before we contorted ourselves and our gear into its modest confines and began a journey around Ecuador that ended up totaling 1,500 miles. It wasn’t like I had long fantasized about upping my foreign adventure quotient by skirting the edge of the Amazon Basin and traversing the lofty spine of the Andes in a vehicle the size of a roller skate. But the difference in price between the Spark and the least-expensive high-clearance, four-wheel-drive option was significant. I swallowed my pride and sent my credit card number to Avis in hopes that, serendipitously, I would receive a last-minute, face-saving upgrade to, say, a vintage FJ40, which are fairly common in Ecuador. No such luck.
So, the Spark it was. With no recovery gear, no bumper jack (which was sort of okay, since there did not seem to be any bumpers), a spare tire the size of a bagel, no compressor, and a tool kit consisting solely of my Swiss Army knife, it was an ignominious step down from my usual rig, a 1999 4Runner SR5. I felt naked.
The first test of the Spark’s intestinal fortitude came almost immediately. Quito lies at an elevation of 2,850 meters. We knew that Baeza, our first night’s destination, was located somewhere down in the steamy jungle. Ergo, we assumed that the drive would be dominated by a long drop into the realm of poisonous snakes and yellow fever. We were wrong. National Highway 28 first crossed the 4,000-meter Papallacta Pass before nosediving into the land of snakes.
Ordinarily, I would find such an ascent invigorating. But ordinarily, I would not be driving a car with a 1.4-liter,
98-horsepower engine. The poor little Spark was laboring mightily pretty much from the get-go. I spent most of the steep ascent in second, and much of the climb in first.
“Surely, there must be something wrong with this car,” my wife said, shortly before I asked her to get out and start pushing.
Next morning, after a breakfast thick with local ingredients—fresh fruit, eggs, cheese, and about 14 cups of world-class Ecuadorian coffee—we embarked. The hotel’s proprietor had suggested a day trip to the Río Malo (Bad River), home, we were told, to an amazing waterfall. We paid the $2 entrance fee at the makeshift entrance station, got a basic orientation from an attendant who could not have been more jabberingly enthusiastic had she ingested a fistful of amphetamines, and proceeded to inch the Spark along a rockstrewn track. This was the first of what I assumed (correctly) would be numerous off-pavement indiscretions that would possibly shake the paint right off the Spark, the clearance of which I judged to be about the thickness of a dime. But the Spark made it, and we were duly rewarded.
La Cascada Magica is, as its name indicates, truly magical. A long-time local told me that in days of pre-Spanishconquest yore, indigenous tribes would meet up hereabouts once a year for a massive rendezvous where commerce and social intercourse—the latter often of the literal variety— would transpire. These days, it is considered lucky for couples to risk their orthopedic well-being by standing on a particular snot-slick boulder close to the bottom of the falls, which are so powerful, they shake terra firma a quarter-mile away. My wife rolled her eyes when I half-heartedly suggested we give it a go.
