Overland Journal :: Spring 2021

VERLAND O

NEPAL | COMMUNICATION RADIOS | TAJIKISTAN | WESTERN AFRICA

On the cover: The joys of travel often involve

modes of transportation: the 100-year-old Moto Guzzi brand juxtaposed against the adventurer᾽s airplane, the Piper Carbon Cub with a full-tundra conversion. Photo courtesy of Triple Aught Design and Kris Cheng

This photo: Wyoming᾽s beautiful mountains gave us the feeling of being back home in Austria. Photo by Akela World Back cover: After climbing dunes in the Mojave Desert, it was time to ditch the leather boots and jump into the skiing equipment to ride down the sand slope. Photo by Akela World

OVERLAND JOURNAL

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

EXPERIENCE MATTERS

WE ONLY KNOW THINGS WHEN WE LIVE THEM

SPRING 2021

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

CAMP AND TRAILER SENIOR EDITOR Matt Swartz

CONTRIBUTING EDITORS Glenna Barron, Graeme Bell, Andrew Devereaux, Bill Dragoo, John Gaisford, Ashley Giordano, Scott Jensen, Jacques Laliberté, Heather Lea, Shannon O᾽Donnell, David Page, Christian M. Simon, Martin Spriggs, Karin-Marijke Vis SENIOR PHOTOGRAPHER Bruce Dorn

CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS Keelan Bell, Jessica Bell, Luisa Bell, Larry Bentley, Scott Brown, Abby Casey, Chris Collard, Roger Gaisford, Leander Nardin, Coen Wubbels, Maria Zehentner

COPY EDITORS Arden Kysely, Jacques Laliberté

TECHNICAL EDITOR Chris Ramm

CARTOGRAPHER David Medeiros

PODCAST HOST Matthew Scott

PODCAST PRODUCER Paula Burr

VIDEO DIRECTOR Ryan Keegan

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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NO COMPROMISE

We carefully screen all contributors to ensure they are independent and impartial. We never have and never will accept advertorial, and we do not allow advertising to influence our product or destination reviews.

STANDING THE TEST OF TIME

Many thanks for the shirts and back issues. Here is an OJ-branded ExOfficio shirt [see photo above] which Scott [Brady] gave me years ago and is now cut down a bit; it remains one of my all-time favourite travel shirts, especially for paddling. It seems immune to wear.

Chris Scott Honda Africa Twin

PERSPECTIVES

I started reading “The Beginning” (Summer 2020) and wondered, are they biting off more than they can chew? Or are they legitimately good to go? Can they be minimalists and live a simpler life, enjoying the adventure and love of discovery? I think when they get home, things will be completely different. Life will be awesome, no matter what they do. If [the journey] lasts the full year or

longer, then it shall be grand, and they will have stories to tell. I’m no overlander, just a guy that bombs around in his (modified) Jeep, exploring my own backyard. Quoted from the article, “Well done; I wish I could do the same. Safe, happy travels.”

Danni Louvros

1988 Jeep Cherokee

ORIGINAL OVERLANDERS

Paul Driscoll is a skilled writer, perfectly capturing the beauty of the Upper Missouri River Breaks and the surrounding area in Summer 2020’s “Montana by Land Rover.” The piece and place come alive via his accounts of the natural world and history of European-American exploration, settlement, and management of the land. If only the rich indigenous history of the area were given a similar volume or depth of cover-

ROW 1

@0to60inomg

Our first mission to the moon was a successful one.

@mythicalroutes

Destination: Greece, mythicalroutes.com

@rallyvvagon

Driving snow-packed roads long into the night is an otherworldly experience.

ROW 2

@moleisurexventures

#TailLightTuesday Just a little throwback from when our two-month-old @gofsr trailer broke down in the middle of nowhere. Thankfully, we were able to get Boo-boo back on the road with some help from new friends. There’s always a positive in every negative situation.

@danielecalonaci

A superb black lava track in front of the #Vanatjökull#Glacier.

See “Standing the Test of Time” letter below.

ROW 3

@dahlenadventures

What’s your favorite time of year? Definitely have to say mine is winter. The challenge it brings as well as how much it changes the landscape—nothin’ quite like it!

@ashlie.rene

Much gratitude for the freedom to create imagery and conversation with some of my favorite people.

@maptacsray

Having fun with shakedown runs on the rooftop tent and camping setup. Cheryl took this shot in between the wind and rainy weather. It was a perfect weekend. Did I mention this spot was so far removed that we did not see or hear anyone for three days? Not a bad way to escape the madness going on in the world.

age. The Blackfeet, Crow, Gros Ventre, Assiniboine, and many other groups inhabited, hunted in, and traveled through this area for thousands of years prior to Lewis and Clark. Major battles were fought and peace treaties signed along this stretch of river, and multiple present-day reservations are located around its periphery. As we explore and enjoy this remarkable place, let’s not forget who the first inhabitants (and overland travelers) of this area were.

Sam Critchlow

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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

DAVID PAGE

David has always lived his life as an outdoor enthusiast. He grew up in southeast Idaho and spent his youth exploring the state’s vast backcountry before starting a family on a small ranch in the mountains—where the outdoor lifestyle isn’t just magazine gloss but a way of life. His entire career has been based on a passion for the outdoors, beginning as a fly fishing/hunting guide, then a river ranger for the Bureau of Land Management, finally settling on a career behind the camera in the off-pavement world. David is an accomplished traveler, having spent many years exploring remote Africa, as well as many other countries across the pond and south of the border. He is also an accomplished vehicle designer.

We are Leander, Maria, and Lennox, a family from Salzburg, Austria. More than six years ago, we bought an old military truck, converted it into our home, named him Akela, and started our adventure. To drive from the Austrian Alps to the New Zealand Alps within a year was our goal. Yet, we ended up with a circumnavigation around the world. Our journey led us through Central Asia, South Korea, Japan, Borneo, Indonesia, Australia, and as far as the USA. In total, we had been on the road for four years when we were forced to ship ourselves back to Austria due to the pandemic.

MARTIN SPRIGGS

Martin served 15 years as an infantryman and paratrooper in the Canadian Army, participating in United Nations peacekeeping missions in Cyprus, Croatia, and Bosnia. He was also a member of the Allied coalition during Gulf War I. Following his military service, Martin began a 20-year career in health care as an emergency medical technician in Calgary, Alberta. As a registered nurse, he provided frontline emergency and critical care in Calgary, primary health care to the Inuit across the Canadian Arctic, and led humanitarian assistance and disaster relief missions in Africa and the Middle East. In 2019, Martin founded Travelbag Photography, pursuing his passion for travel writing, photography, and adventure videography. You can find him on Instagram and YouTube.

SCOTT JENSEN

Scott has his eye on the horizon and his itinerant soul on the road. A technologist and computational scientist on some days, his others are mostly spent traversing the mountains and deserts of North America or beating to windward in the West Indies. Skiing, cycling, hiking, sailing, or cruising over land are choice; he has 30+ years and counting behind the wheels of his various LandCruisers. Scott’s passions include rediscovering long-lost waypoints from old maps, enjoying sunset artisan camp margaritas with his girlfriend, and helping inspire the next generation to find joy in driving and discover their own paths overland. When in Denver, where he lives, Scott gazes west, setting his heart on yet again getting lost out there.

KAREN-MARIJKE VIS COEN WUBBELS

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 Simon is an aspiring overlander and writer. He lives in Chapel Hill, North Carolina, with his wife, two children, a Boston terrier, and a ghetto cat. Born in Germany, raised in South Africa, and educated in the US, Chris is also an immigrant and a migrant, blessed and cursed by not having a single national and cultural identity. His professional background is in anthropology, in which he has a PhD from UC San Francisco and Berkeley, and in ethics, in which he has postdoctoral training from Case Western Reserve University. Anthropology has fed his intrigue with cultural norms and differences; ethics has taught him to pay attention to the richness of people’s moral struggles and strivings, including his own.

AKELA WORLD

CHRISTIAN M. SIMON

ASHLEY GIORDANO

Ashley Giordano recently completed a 48,800-kilometer overland journey from Vancouver, Canada, to Buenos Aires, Argentina, with her husband, Richard, in their well-loved but antiquated Toyota Pickup. On the zigzag route south, she hiked craggy peaks in the Andes, discovered diverse cultures in 15 different countries, and indulged in spicy ceviche, Baja fish tacos, and Argentinian malbec. You can usually find Ashley buried in a pile of travel books, poring over maps, or researching wild medicinal plants. Ashley grew up in Kelowna, British Columbia, and spent much of her youth as a competitive figure skater. She worked as a paralegal for eight years while completing a diploma in holistic nutrition. She is currently studying herbal medicine with a focus on women’s health.

JACQUES LALIBERTÉ

An artist, illustrator, writer, and designer, Jacques has focused on architectural projects in the Northern Arizona area. He has taught college-level drawing classes and wrote Raw Draw, collecting his class lessons about seeing the artistry in our surroundings. His humorous essays have appeared in Funny Times and local Arizona magazines. Jacques’ introduction—and possible end— to the overland lifestyle was his panic-attackinducing, loose-shale-dropoff-ledge traverse in a rental Isuzu Trooper high above Telluride, Colorado. He’s more grounded now on the dirt roads around his home in the Paulden, Arizona, foothills in his restoration project ’89 long-bed Dakota.

SHANNON O᾽DONNELL

Shannon O’Donnell is a responsible travel advocate who was previously named National Geographic Traveler of the Year for her work helping travelers use tourism as a force for good. Through her writing and photography, she shares stories that encourage others to not only explore the world but to understand how travel impacts communities and cultures. Her two passion projects, A Little Adrift and Grassroots Volunteering, empower travelers to connect to social enterprises and local causes in the places they visit. Shannon’s work has been featured by NPR, the BBC, CNN, and Business Insider, among others, and she regularly speaks at universities and conferences all over the world about the importance of sustainable tourism.

GRAEME

BELL

Graeme Bell is a full-time overlander and author. He was born in Johannesburg, South Africa, but considers Europe home when not traveling the planet with his wife, Luisa, and two children, Keelan and Jessica, in a Land Rover Defender 130 (affectionately known as Mafuta). To date, the Bell family and Mafuta have over a period of seven years toured Southern and East Africa, circumnavigated South America, and driven from Argentina to Alaska before traversing the US from coast to coast. In December 2016, Graeme personally transformed their Defender from a standard double cab into a camper with through access, a pop-top, and sleeping for four in anticipation of their current adventure: driving from Europe to Southern Africa.

ANDREW DEVEREAUX

Andrew can be summed up as an Everything Man. He knows enough about a lot of things to be dangerous but is not an expert in any one discipline. He’s a former NCAA Division 1 athlete in track and field. He’s part hippie and a little redneck. Andrew is one of the original founding members of Texas Overland, which now boasts nearly 6,000 members. He has a deep love of 4WD vehicles, semitrucks, athletics, homemade barbeque, and the American Southwest. When not enjoying time outdoors, Andrew operates an independent sales and marketing agency in Dallas, Texas. Always willing to take on a new project, you can meet him where passion hits the pavement.

BILL DRAGOO

Bill Dragoo is the founder of D.A.R.T. (Dragoo Adventure Rider Training), a certified flight instructor, commercial seaplane and sailplane pilot, skydiver, scuba diver, overlander, and adventure journalist. Always game for a challenge, Bill has won numerous competitions in motocross, cross-country mountain biking, and sailboat racing. In 2010 he represented Team USA in BMW’s GS Trophy competition in South Africa, Swaziland, and Mozambique. Bill and his wife, Susan, love to explore the American West and beyond by motorcycle and in their purposebuilt Gen 5 Toyota 4Runner as they research historic trails and traditions. He is quick to tell anyone that the synergy between overlanding, riding, and writing has opened doors he would never have imagined as a younger man.

GLENNA BARRON

Glenna Barron was managing editor of a small community news source, then moved on to adventure writing and hasn’t looked back. Adventure is in her soul. In her 20s, she biked, backpacked, and whitewater kayaked in her home of British Columbia, Canada. Later, she worked and traveled in Saudi Arabia, a rare opportunity. There she met her first Range Rover; it was love at first sight. Now she drives a 2004 expedition-ready Discovery with her husband as they explore British Columbia and beyond. She is a regular attendee of the Northwest Overland Rally and the BC Overland Rally. She continues to try to get her cat to like overlanding. So far, it’s been a standoff.

HEATHER LEA

In the spring of 2014, Heather Lea thought her boyfriend’s suggestion to ride around the world together on motorcycles was a fantastic idea. Little did she know she was agreeing to nefarious activities such as blowing up her underwear and letting a dead toe touch her lips. Or the blood, sweat, and tears of breaking a bone, riding in sand, and mechanically trashing her G 650 GS so badly, she’d need to use most of her trip money to replace it with another bike more up to the task. Heather’s goal in life has always been to travel through 50 countries by age 50. Mongolia was her 51st country, and she is nowhere near 50 years old, though closer than she’d like to admit.

JOHN GAISFORD

John spoke his first words while squashed between his parents in a 1948 CJ2A Willys Jeep and spent much of his formative years on family trips, camping on beaches in Mozambique, and learning life lessons from breakdowns in the Botswana bush. After completing a geology degree, he spent several years working as a remote exploration geologist in Africa. During these years, John practically lived out of a Land Cruiser 70Series pickup and developed a strong love affair with them. He has spent time hitchhiking in the USA and building aquaponic farms in Vietnam but is always inevitably pulled back to the yard of Willys Jeeps at his family home in Eshowe, South Africa.

OVERLAND JOURNAL

Overland Journal is the original publication for environmentally responsible, worldwide vehicle-supported expedition and adventure travel.

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Adventure is often found in the pursuit of less.

Moto Guzzi V7 Special

Closed course, “professional” rider: During a film project with Triple Aught Designs, I performed a series of The Great Escape-style jumps for the production. In normal riding, I always wear a helmet. The V7 is surprisingly capable on the dirt and is built like a tank. Opposite: A classic motorcycle needs classic luggage, including this side bag from Saddleback Leather and a canvas up-top bag from Filson. The bedroll is a canvas swag from OZtrail, and I keep a lightweight Sea to Summit sleeping bag rolled up inside, along with an inflatable pillow. Opening page: Motorcycles should be about joy first, and the Moto Guzzi V7 delivers that to me in spades. It is a modern classic that is easily modified for occasional dirt use or even continent-crossing aspirations.

There is such joy in simplicity, distilling a pursuit down to its elemental components. I have tested quite a few adventure bikes through the years, and they are nearly all technology wonders, but I never quite had that fundamental connection until I tried out a Moto Guzzi V7. Even testing it was unexpected, as I received a call from their PR team and a suggestion that “you really need to ride the bike.” I took the V7 Special on a long-term loan and started riding it daily. By the time the loan period was over, I had called up their offices and sheepishly asked how much it would cost not to return the bike and send them a check instead. Curiously, this is the only demo vehicle I have ever been inspired to purchase.

My initial impressions of the bike were mostly biased by my love for it, which deserves some explanation. Principally, I believe a motorcycle should inspire some emotion from the rider or at least meaningful admiration. I was taken by the beautiful black and orange tank, the shudder of the air-cooled twin, and the (almost) complete lack of electronics. It does have fuel injection (a bonus) but lacks ABS and any other gadgetry. Being air-cooled, it has been 100 percent reliable, and my only repair has been to the final drive seal, likely caused by my riding it in the dirt. For the 750cc twin, the power is modest at 50 horsepower @ 6,500 rpm, but the lower output number has never bothered me. It feels fully adequate and maintains highway speeds without a struggle. If anything, I would want a higher redline and an additional gear, both of which have been resolved in later models. After years of riding the V7, I still do not have any notable criticisms, as any gripes are easily held within the context of its strengths and low purchase price.

Keeping in the spirit of simplicity, I kept the bike stock for quite some time, using it for daily riding duties, runs to the gym or the coffee shop, and burns along Northern Arizona’s famous Highway 89, which conveniently runs next to the Overland Journal offices. With time, I started riding it farther afield. After a few dirt trails in Sedona, I knew backcountry modifications were in order. The first goal was to install a high-clearance scrambler exhaust, which had just become available from Arrow. This stainless steel unit is a two into one, which reduces weight and significantly improves ground clearance. The downside is the loss of one of the luggage racks, but it proved worthwhile. I was also impressed that it did not impart any noticeable heat against the thigh or calf. With the stylish new exhaust mounted, it was time for some improved traction, which came from slightly oversized Heidenau K60 Scout tires. They are significantly more aggressive than the stock rubber but have proven to be excellent on the paved curves and dirt tracks. The V7 Special benefits from wire wheels and legendary robustness overall, so the process of “scramblerizing” the V7 actually works. This is not a dirt bike, but I do like to explore on a whim, so these tires were perfect.

After a few trails and longer trips, I found more minor changes were needed, like lower and wider Knight Design pegs, complete with a machined texture to improve grip on my boots. I also installed adjustable CNC aluminum levers that are shorter and have better ergonomics (and durability) for the dirt. The one project I considered but never fabricated was a skid plate for the aluminum-finned oil pan. I may still make one in the future.

To address long-distance travel, I have a windscreen, and a large tail rack, both options with the V7 Special model. The tail rack is critical for hauling camping equipment, as I lost the use of the right-side pannier mount to the new exhaust. For the left-side pannier mount, I fabricated an adapter using the factory nylon luggage, installing the quick-release onto a Saddleback Leather Co. briefcase, which works ideally for both work commuting and travel duties. There is no notable weatherproofing for this arrangement, so I bring along a rollable waterproof cover that protects the leather in bad weather. My additional luggage includes up to two Filson canvas bags on the top rack and even a small rollable swag (bedroll) for nights in the mountains.

I BELIEVE A MOTORCYCLE SHOULD INSPIRE SOME EMOTION FROM THE RIDER OR AT LEAST MEANINGFUL ADMIRATION.

I was careful to keep modifications to a minimum and used this project as an exercise in slowing down, bringing less, and just enjoying the straightforwardness of something far more analog. The V7 has been impressive in its reliability, starting every time, and enduring long highway trips and occasional dirt forays. The shaft drive adds to the comfort, as does the well-padded seat, but this is no iron butt award winner. Moto Guzzi did such a thoughtful job with this model, and it has been a pleasure to own for nearly six years. With technology advancing at such a fast pace and everything getting more expensive and complicated, I have taken great satisfaction from the knowledge that less—with a dash of style—can often be more.

RESOURCES

ARROW arrow.it/en/OSE HEIDENAU heidenautires.com

KNIGHT DESIGN knightdesignllc.com

SADDLEBACK LEATHER CO. saddlebackleather.com FILSON filson.com

TheMicro Grid hoodie from outdoor clothing manufacturer Melanzana has developed a cult following over the past decade and a half. Perhaps it’s because this synthetic hooded pullover achieves the perfect balance of comfort and technical performance or because its two-tone color combinations are constantly changing. Or maybe the reason is that it’s sewn in the highest incorporated town in the United States, Leadville, Colorado, and made entirely from US-sourced materials. Whatever the case may be, people come from near and far to purchase one of these cozy and highly coveted tops.

Melanzana, which means eggplant in Italian, got its humble beginnings back in 1994 when friends and outdoor enthusiasts Fritz and Kevco moved to Leadville with the goal of producing high-quality, affordable outdoor gear. Fritz initially squatted in a tepee (handmade by him) while putting all of his time and money into getting the business up and running. By 1997, Melanzana moved into a retail space in town. Happy customers and slow, steady growth have seen “Melly” mature into the 7,500-square-foot, solar-powered retail location that they own today.

Melanzana Micro Grid Hoodie

This one is worth waiting in line for.

If you want one of these hoodies (or any Melanzana products for that matter), you’ll have to buy them inperson at the Leadville store because they do not offer web, email, or phone orders. And when you do make the trip, be prepared to wait for an hour or more to get inside and make your purchase.

Their flagship product, the Micro Grid, is made from Polartec 100-percent polyester fleece that weighs 5 ounces per square yard. This incredibly soft and stretchy material, exclusive to Melanzana, achieves a great balance of warmth and breathability. It’s ideal as an outer layer in mild temperatures or a mid-layer in colder climates. The square-shaped, micro-grid pattern that makes up this fleece, and for which this item is named, helps channel moisture and air between the squares.

Some of my favorite details are the always-changing color combinations and the sweatshirt-style pass-through front pocket that is large enough to store a pair of gloves or warm your hands on a brisk morning. The hood is another excellent feature of this garment that incorporates just a little more material than a standard hoodie, as well as an elasticized drawcord. This results in better coverage around the front of the neck that can be cinched up, covering the mouth and nose for added warmth without feeling too constricting. When not in use, the hood sits loosely around the neck like a scarf.

People come from near and far, often waiting in line for hours to purchase one of these cozy and highly coveted tops.

Melanzana guarantees that their construction will outlast their materials, and they offer free repairs for defective or failed sewing.

$73 | MELANZANA.COM

The Bivy Stick V2

Getting lost with the newest satellite communicator.

Communication

is one of the cornerstones of backcountry travel. The ability to advise family and friends of our progress, call for assistance, or make an SOS during an emergency helps provide us with the confidence to travel farther afield.

While the Bivy is one of the newest devices on the market, I have been testing their units for a few years, including their original V1 model that served as a tethered communicator and device charging brick. The concept was clever and robust, but it suffered from a fatal flaw: it required the phone to operate any function other than powering on/off. That meant if the phone sustained any damage or the traveler was separated from their device, the unit would no longer function. A fall at speed from a motorcycle can easily crack a phone screen, or worse. While I used the Bivy regularly during my travels in Europe, Africa, and the Americas, I always kept that concern in the back of my mind. Fortunately, the Bivy Stick V2 (Blue) addresses all of my misgivings and offers several industry firsts.

There are numerous critical updates to the V2, with the most notable being that the unit is half the size and half the weight (3.5 ounces/100 grams) of the previous model. It is now genuinely diminutive and easily clipped to a bug-out bag or even a key ring (which has been my approach). The new edition also addresses my greatest criticism: the inclusion of essential communication functions being available via buttons on the unit, including SOS and “check-in.” There are also indicator lights that clearly communicate the unit’s status. Thankfully, charging is completed quickly with a USBC cable, the new gold standard of travel cables. For use in the field, it carries an IP67 rating for waterproofing, allowing for up to 39 minutes of submersion at a 1-meter depth.

The Bivy’s extremely minimal size and weight make it ideal for trekking, adventure motorcycling, and bike packing.

The Bivy’s extremely minimal size and weight make it ideal for trekking, adventure motorcycling, and bike packing. The system of using message credits also makes the cost of use reasonable, billing as low as $17 per month, all while providing access to the Iridium network. I also noted how long the battery stayed charged, working months after the initial charge.

$350 | BIVYSTICK.COM

Suunto 9 Baro

A richly featured GPS watch with a wrist-based heart rate monitor and a long battery life.

Finnish company Suunto has been in the game for over 80 years, making compasses, watches, and dive computers. I owned their Vector, the first outdoor, sportsfocused wristwatch that incorporated an altimeter, barometer, compass, and thermometer in one chunky housing. For me, a watch needs to do more than tell time if I’m going to take it along on my outdoor endeavors. That’s why Suunto’s flagship wrist-based GPS watch, the 9 Baro, has consistently been on my wrist for the last month.

Weighing 2.86 ounces, the Baro feels solid without being heavy. The comfortable silicone strap is easy to swap out for a variety of other options, and it did a great job of staying in place on my arm during vigorous activities. The buttons, which are all located on the right side, appear to be primarily designed for right-handed people. But thanks to the touch screen (sluggish compared to a smartphone), this didn’t pose any major problems, even for this lefty. I was able to read the display, even in bright sunlight.

The GPS tracking can record your track for download to a phone or computer, display predefined routes that you upload to it via smartphone, mark POIs in the field, and even help you backtrack to a premarked location.

The Baro’s GPS tracking is arguably its most useful feature. It can record your track for download to a phone or computer, display predefined routes that you upload to it via smartphone, mark POIs in the field, and even help you backtrack to a premarked location. The default accuracy of this GPS unit was sufficient for my needs, but you can adjust the interval that the watch registers your position and even select from four different satellite systems (GLONASS, Galileo, QZSS, and BeiDou). This effectively lets you prioritize between higher accuracy or longer battery life. Battery life is impressive—up to 120 hours of GPS use or 14 days in time mode. Charging is easily accomplished with the included magnetic USB interface.

Some of the other features that I found useful were the sleep tracking, heart rate monitor, and customizable sports modes. The sleep tracking is surprisingly right on and relays how many hours of shut-eye you got and what percentage was deep sleep. The heart rate monitor, which fluctuated in terms of accuracy, was useful enough for keeping my pace in check on long trail runs so that I didn’t hit a “wall” before getting back to my car. Customizable sports modes allow you to choose from a large selection of data fields to display during your chosen outdoor activity; it even has a paragliding mode for when I take flight.

$599 | SUUNTO.COM

MATT SWARTZ FIELD

Rocky Talkie

A straightforward communication solution, as durable as it is reliable.

Reliablecommunication makes adventures safer. And whether you are a group of hikers splitting up to explore different trails, a rock climber who is out of sight of your partner, or a convoy of overlanders, the humble radio has proven its value time and time again. But not all radios are created equal, and that’s where newcomer Rocky Talkie, based in Denver, Colorado, shines. Their FRS radios are designed specifically for the world of outdoor recreation, with a smart yet simple design that elevates them above most in the FRS category.

Let’s start with this radio’s biggest strength: battery life. Its lithium-ion battery can achieve 120 hours, that’s 15 8-hour days of standby time (powered on, no use).

Its lithium-ion battery can achieve 120 hours, that’s 15 8-hour days of standby time.

I can’t confirm that number, but I can vouch for multiple days of regular use without the need for charging, which is better than any similar FRS radio that I have tested. USB-C charging means that 12-volt power sources like off-grid battery banks with USB outlets can provide a charge. The only drawback to the proprietary battery is the cost for additional backups.

Overall performance of the radio in the field was above average compared to other FRS radios. I easily achieved transmission ranges within the advertised limits and with excellent clarity. With line-of-sight, I had no problems receiving and transmitting over five miles. In a valley with small rolling hills and patches of trees, I was able to send and receive over three miles from inside my vehicle while driving. Urban settings were the only place where the radio didn’t impress me, but that is not a surprise within the FRS frequencies.

Multiple positive design elements stand out on the Rocky Talkie: the on/off button is nearly impossible to activate accidentally; the shatterproof LED screen; the included leash and carabiner (a welcome departure from the standard belt clips found on most radios); and the IP56 rating, which means you don’t have to be worried in wet or dusty environments. It’s even surprisingly durable. I handed them over to my friend’s toddlers for an afternoon of not-so-gentle use in a local state park, and they both survived (the toddlers and the radios) without a scratch.

My only criticism is the price of $90 each, but in this case, you get what you pay for. In the future, I would love to see a detachable handheld mic, allowing the radio to remain in the safety of a backpack while still being usable. A modular mounting system would also be an appreciated addition, providing adaptability to more specific use cases, such as vehicle dashes.

$180/PAIR | ROCKYTALKIE.COM

Wild Zora

Paleo meals to go made with freerange meats that are gluten- and dairy-free with no nuts, grains, or added sugars.

Freeze-dried backpacking meals are an exceptionally convenient way to eat in the backcountry. They are lightweight, simple to prepare, and don’t need refrigeration. Freeze-dried meals have also gotten pretty tasty due to increased consumer demand. However, one thing that manufacturers of shelf-stable meals have generally not offered are options for people with dietary restrictions. But times are changing, and Wild Zora, a food producer based in Colorado, has stepped up to the plate to offer freeze-dried meals with no artificial ingredients that are also gluten-, nut-, grain-, dairy-free with no added sugar. Their meals are packed with protein and utilize free-range meats as well as organic vegetables.

CALDERA CHICKEN CURRY

The flavor of the chicken curry was good—a little sweet with a mild curry taste that had just a tiny hint of heat. Like the other Wild Zora meals that I have tried, I felt that the quality of the protein was a step above most other freeze-dried meals on the market. The recommended 1.5 cups of water left me with a bit more liquid than I would prefer, so I would advise erring on the side of caution with less water, adding more if you need it. The curry fully rehydrated in roughly 10 minutes at 5,280 feet above sea level. At 400 calories, this meal felt filling, thanks to 37 grams of protein. For anyone partaking in extra high-output pursuits, you may want to add some oil or fat to boost the calorie content a bit. The same goes for the meal below.

400 CALORIES | 37G PROTEIN | $13, ONE SERVING | WILDZORA.COM

MOUNTAIN BEEF STEW

After a long day on the trail, a hearty meal is often the main thing on our minds, and for me, few things are as satisfying or filling as a nourishing beef stew. This meal is lightweight and also packed with protein: 37 grams in this single serving. The ingredients are straightforward and include grass-fed beef, vegetables (some organic), spices, and herbs. Preparation is simple, requiring only boiling water and patience. It’s ready in 5-15 minutes, depending on your elevation (longer for higher elevations). The stand-out attribute of this particular meal is the quality of the meat—some of the best we’ve experienced in a freeze-dried meal. Overall, the taste was a little plain, so I would recommend seasoning with some additional salt, pepper, and fat (butter or oil). The shelf-life is two years from the date of production.

410 CALORIES | 37G PROTEIN | $13, ONE SERVING | WILDZORA.COM

There is nothing better than a satisfying meal after a day of adventure in the backcountry, and it needn’t consist of hotdogs and Kraft singles on white bread. Enter the Nomad, the low-mess solution to smoking and grilling. As travelers, we demand ease of use from gear and the ability to stow and go, and this product delivers. The grill features a diecast cook chamber, stainless honeycomb grates, dual-layer aluminum shell, and high-temp food-grade sili-

Nomad Grill and Smoker

Low-mess grilling, anywhere.

cone. All parts are bolted in place, not riveted, which means a replacement part is only a few turns of a wrench away. The cooking chamber features a tongue-in-groove lip providing a seal when closed, keeping charcoal off your seats, floor, or cargo area. Thanks to rare-earth magnets cast into the corners of the cook chamber, the grate fits in place and does not rattle, much less move, during transport. The outer layer is constructed from Type III anodized cast aluminum and utilizes SurfaceSafe technology, allowing for significant heat dissipation and thermal management. While the grill will likely melt a plastic table, it seems safe to use on tailgates and wood and metal tables.

The Nomad has become a permanent fixture in my kit. It cools quickly enough to cook and pack up in far less time than most of the other brands I’ve used. Figuring out airflow is a little tricky, but after searing steaks and smoking chicken quarters at camp, I was ready to roll. It’s a worthy investment, benefiting any overland gear list.

$599 |NOMADGRILLS.COM

Our Trip Around The World

By Renate Belczyk

Review by Ashley

Giordano

ISBN 978-1771603775

While most women abided by traditional gender roles in post-World War II Germany, Renate Belczyk and friend Sigrid Hirte had other ideas in mind. The years following the end of the war were difficult ones, yet Renate and Sigrid longed to travel and dreamt of exploring far-off places like Rome, Istanbul, Paris, and Moscow—and even Calcutta, Kathmandu, and Hong Kong. Inspired by a speech given by German writer Heinrich Böll, who argued that traveling and making friends with people from different countries would help prevent another war, the two young twentysomethings scraped up their pennies and set off to see the world.

From 1955 to 1958, Belczyk and Hirte hitchhiked and camped, traveling by freighter, boat, bicycle, and scooter through Mexico, Canada, Japan, India, Nepal, Egypt, Turkey, and Greece. Our Trip Around the World is an English translation of Belczyk’s diary written during that time. Whether riding on bad roads filled with potholes in Japan (“Going downhill was no joy either… we had to brake like mad to keep the bikes from falling apart,” she writes), running out of money at the Mexico/Guatemala border (resulting in a canceled visa), or pushing their scooters through miles of sand in the heat and dust of northern India, Belczyk’s book gives us a rare glimpse into rough and rugged travel well before mass tourism began. The best part is that it seems Belczyk and Hirte agreed that Böll’s advice was sound: “We both decided it was the people who had made this trip so wonderful.”

Four-by-four Driving

By Tom Sheppard

Review by Scott Brady

ISBN 978-0957538566

The fundamentals of any pursuit are worth researching, providing crucial insights into the essential skills and concepts of a craft. For overlanding, few luminaries possess the experience of Tom Sheppard and his 60+ year history of exploring the remote deserts of the world by 4WD. In the latest (sixth) edition of Four-by-four Driving, Tom updates key details of new vehicle models, including the much-anticipated 2020 Defender, Jimny, and others. His approach now includes considerations for current AWD and crossover platforms while still disclosing skepticism over increased complexities and fragilities that have come with the progress of technology. He could have easily taken the path of the Luddite, but Tom eschews that trap and does the deep dive into many of the modern overlanding options.

In addition to the detailed model coverage, Tom includes considerable detail and insights into driving technique, towing considerations, and taking full advantage of modern drivetrains. His advice is always sensible and accompanied by the wisdom that comes from remote solo travel. Tom’s technique toward trailer towing and center of gravity is particularly good, reminding the reader of the critical nature of tongue weight, load distribution, and drawbar length. The book serves as a worthwhile reference, best kept close at hand before heading out on a trip with a new vehicle or in unfamiliar conditions.

Near Varna

By Graham Field Review by Jacques Laliberté

ISBN 978-0993199370

Reading Graham’s newest is like meeting someone in a bar—which is actually where you’ll find him a lot of the book—a talky extrovert with hardboiled experience living somewhere “near Varna,” Bulgaria. Clues help you Google a proximate locale, and his website hosts a picture of his new digs.

Near Varna is a multilayered travelogue, and while a diary of sorts, and his musings inner-circle personal, they’re not intimate. Small glimpses of the inner Graham do occasionally leak out, as in “… the bigger the miracle, the smaller the audience,” a phrase more telling than his bombastic curseheavy rants against poor customer service, clueless travelers, and the German lady writing bogus reviews of places she’s never seen. You’ll wonder, is Graham’s writing self-aware cheeky, or amiably tongue-in-cheek? The Britishisms are quaint (what’s an oyster card top-up?), and his play on words fun, in an almost stream-of-consciousness patois that’s natural to his journal format of storytelling. He’s in on his own jokes.

Off the road for most of this book, his previous writings have him biking and motorcycling across China, Mongolia, Turkey, and onward. Graham’s fan base, country-hopping chops, biting product reviews, and prodigious blog content all prove he’s earned his place among moto-travel pantheons. Though cliché, you’ll feel like you’re along for the ride. Now blissfully home in small-town Bulgaria, Graham’s wanderlust hovers. “There’s relaxation, [and] then there is just annoying inactivity,” he muses.

Wild Women and Their Amazing Adventures Over Land, Sea and Air

Edited By Mariella Frostrup

Review by Ashley Giordano

ISBN 978-1788540018

Editor Mariella Frostrup’s vision for this anthology was to place overlooked travel heroines onto the historical map. “Forget Che Guevara’s revered motorcycle diaries,” she writes. “Lois Pryce has travelled across the Americas, Africa, and Iran by motorbike…” With no shortage of female explorers to choose from, Forstrup compiled this voluminous travelogue, which spans 500+ pages and includes 50 stories written by women travel writers of various backgrounds from the 1700s to the present. In a time where travel seems to be dominated by doing it “for the gram,” it’s refreshing to join the likes of Sarah Hobson on her travels through Iran in the 1970s disguised as a man, or Aloha Wanderwell, driving her Model T Ford across 75 countries in the 1920s while creating fuel for her car from a combination of bananas and animal fat in Brazil.

My copy of Wild Women is becoming well worn. The cover is faded around the edges, sticky notes mark sections underlined in pencil, while notes fill the margins. What is a dahabeeyah? Google “Bahia Palace, Marrakech.” Definition of nunatak? The short excerpts leave me wanting more, and my must-travel list grows by the day. For those looking for the perfect antidote to a case of unshakable wanderlust, Wild Women is a great place to start.

Vagabonding: An Uncommon Guide to the Art of Long-Term World Travel

By Rolf Potts Review by Tena Overacker

ISBN 978-0812992182

Initially published in 2002 and updated in 2016, Vagabonding feels like less of a guide and more so a testament to what many overlanders already find to be true. The notion to simplify your life, quit your job, and take the jump on indefinite travel has grown exponentially. Still, digital nomad Rolf Potts serves as an inspiration and proof that it can be done. The idea that “travel can be used to quietly enhance your life” is a good one, and the updated tips and resources are useful and valid, perpetuating your starting point no matter what your experience level.

According to Potts, reducing your material possessions in favor of more valuable commodities such as time is key; the rest will follow course. Given our current situation, I found it refreshing to refer to Potts’ thought (pre-pandemic) in a recent interview that “…sometimes it is nice to sit on the hill and watch the world go by.” This is the time for planning. Learning happens in the pre-takeoff stages as well as during the journey itself. “Strike a balance between knowing what’s out there and being optimistically ignorant,” employing a sense of humor and humility as you go.

The reminder that we do not have to travel in the same way we work is essential. Travel slow, let the day happen, watch the sunset. And perhaps, change the way we work as well.

Adventure Motorcycling Handbook: A Route & Planning Guide to Asia, Africa, Latin America

By Chris Scott

Review by Scott

Brady

ISBN 978-1912716180

There are a few old-school overlanders, and Chris Scott is one of them. His books are infinitely practical, supremely thorough, and unfailingly honest. He strips away the bling, farkle, and ego to reveal the true nature of motorcycle travel and the joys that come from exploring the world.

Having been in print for nearly 30 years, the Adventure Motorcycling Handbook (AMH) was updated in 2020 for its 8th edition, hitting 440 pages in the process. The book starts thoughtfully with planning, helping the reader decide where they want to go before focusing on what they will ride. The latest edition includes a few nice design updates and infographics to help visualize the process. There are sections on documentation, language, budgeting, and even choosing a travel companion. Next, Chris churns through the mire of selecting a motorcycle, including many of the new choices available. Chris has always been an advocate for the mid-weight bikes, and his wisdom won out with all of the current 600-800cc options flooding the market. After a brief foray into modifications, the AMH gets down to the business of route selection, planning, and life on the road.

The book ends with a wonderful romp through curated trip reports from iconic travelers, sharing inspiring tales of adventure throughout the globe on their trusty steeds.

A Land Lost in Time

A philanthropic mission on Royal Enfields results in a deeper understanding of the people of Nepal.

By David Page

by Abby

Photo

Casey

FOR AS LONG AS I CAN REMEMBER, the thought of spending time in the Himalayas was on top of my bucket list. Climbing and trekking have long been a part of my heritage, so why not at the rooftop of the world? Some years ago, I was on a fishing expedition in Alaska when my father shared a novel with me about an expat living in India that had built a basket case Royal Enfield and rode from India into Tibet. I finished the book knowing this was something I needed to do.

Some years passed. A new love sparked a conversation about life achievements, and the idea was reborn. Never one to shy away from the unknown, Abigail suggested we drop everything and go to Nepal. While her excitement had my mind bounding unbridled ahead, I knew our new business needed my devout attention, and it was an impossible undertaking at this juncture. A year later, a work trip with a newfound colleague and friend found us talking over dinner about his recent travels. I mentioned that the next time he headed out of the country to please let me know as I was itching for a new destination. A few months later, he called to tell me he was going to Nepal on a humanitarian effort to deliver clean drinking water systems to remote villages via Royal Enfields. Before he could even finish explaining the details, I said count us in. Being able to combine my lust for adventure in the land of my dreams, riding motorcycles as part of a do-good enterprise was all the incentive I needed. I immediately called Abigail, explained the situation, and wished her a Happy Birthday (as it happened). The planning was soon underway.

Five of us met in a little airport lounge in Dubai. While we waited to board our flight to Kathmandu, each of us had the chance to explain our background and why we had ended up here. A pilot, an artist, a journalist/photographer, an influencer, and myself (also a photographer) were all on this journey through a love of motorcycles and a genuine desire to help others. There was something special about this ragtag eclectic crew that promised anything but an average trip.

After a few days in Kathmandu, we were off to Surkhet to meet up with our mission director and genuinely wonderful human, Vishu Sijali, owner of Altitude Riders, and our fleet of Royal Enfields. To say I was under sensory overload as I kick-started my Bullet 350 for the first time was an understatement. With a rundown on the bikes, terrain, and safety, we were on our way.

From Surkhet, we rode to Pokhara via the foothills of the Himalaya while stopping in numerous villages along the way to check on past clean water initiatives and current needs for schools. Humans all have a few basic requirements to survive, and many of us take them for granted with our fortunate lives. In this day and age of science and progress, it was appalling to recognize firsthand that some still don’t have access to clean water.

Our ensuing cultural tour and delve into local history revealed a land lost in time—a time where people worked together to maintain tradition, family, and tribe. The next three days were spent sharing experiences with the people of Kaina. We hiked to the top of one of the mountains behind the village to share tea with an important elder. Once inside his home, we were able to share a common bond in music and ended up dancing and singing the only song he knew in English, the “Hokey Pokey.”

The village had wanted to honor our group for bringing the gift of clean water and treated us to a parade in which we were the stars. Once gathered in the center of a makeshift town square, our faces were decorated in tikka and adorned with a new khata (ceremonial scarf) every few minutes by someone new. Women danced, men beat drums, people laughed, and children scurried about dressed in colors so vivid it left me to wonder why anyone would ever want to experience progress, growth, or technology.

Five days into our trek across the country, we rode up the side of a mountain into remote Kaina Bazaar, the main focus of our mission. According to historians and Nepalese culturists, the village is close to 300 years old. We five Americans, weary and tired from the beating the road had given us, were about to ride into something unfathomable. During the last few miles up the mountain into Kaina, I noticed large groups of villagers walking up the trail toward our destination—curious as it was approaching nightfall. What could possibly be going on at this late hour? As we made our way around the last bend, the answer unfolded. They were coming to welcome the foreigners to their home and way of life, reminding us that we are all just making our way in the world. I could write endlessly on our journey, but the real story is revealed in the people who became my friends, my family. The faces on these pages are the people of Nepal—this is Nepal.

THE LONGEVITY OF OUR MACHINES WAS ALWAYS AT THE TOP OF OUR MINDS AS WE PUTTERED DOWN THE TRANSHIMALAYAN HIGHWAY.

(OPENING SPREAD) AFTER RIDING THE DUSTY, ROCKY TRAIL ALONG THE LUGUM RIVER INTO THE RUKUM DISTRICT, WE REACHED A VILLAGE REPORTED TO BE 600 YEARS OLD. THE VISTA OVERLOOKING THE VALLEY WAS ACHINGLY BEAUTIFUL, SEEMINGLY UNTOUCHED BY TIME.

A MAN HANDLES SPINNING WOOL USED FOR RUGS AND CLOTHING WHILE MAGNANIMOUSLY GREETING US WITH HIS SMILE AT KAINA BAZAAR.

HOW MANY PAIRS OF FEET HAVE WALKED THIS BRIDGE ACROSS THE CREEK, I WONDERED.

A PASSAGEWAY INTO AGES PAST AT A BUDDHIST TEMPLE IN KATHMANDU BEGS WALKING THROUGH.

WOVEN FABRICS AND TEXTILES ARE COMMONPLACE WARES IN THE COUNTRYSIDE. I COMMISSIONED A SUIT JACKET FROM THIS FELLOW IN KAINA BAZAAR.

CHORES HAVEN’T CHANGED MUCH HERE IN HUNDREDS OF YEARS; A YOUNG WOMAN CARRIES STRAW TO THATCH A ROOF OF A NEW HOME.

ONE SIMPLY DOESN’T RIDE A STREET BIKE THROUGH A CREEK CROSSING. OR DO THEY?

AS WITH MOST THINGS IN NEPAL, THE RIDING PACE IS RELAXED, AND AS IT COMES. SO WHEN WE ENCOUNTERED A PROBLEM WITH THE ROAD, A NAP IN A RICE FIELD WAS AN OBVIOUS SOLUTION. THIS SNAP SHOWS THE JUXTAPOSITION BETWEEN CURRENT CULTURE AND THE WAY OF LIFE MOST STILL ENJOY IN NEPAL.

A LONE HYDRO-POWERED STREAM GRINDER FOR CONVERTING CORN INTO FLOUR FOR CONSUMPTION STRADDLES THE WATERWAY IN A SHOW OF ASTOUNDING INGENUITY.

IT’S HARD TO IMAGINE A ROAD POTENTIALLY BEING CARVED OUT OF THE GRANITE IN THE SAME REGION OF THE HIMALAYAS AS AMA DABLAM. I FEAR TECHNOLOGY AND THE 21STCENTURY WILL CATCH UP WITH THESE OFFTHE-BEATEN-PATH REGIONS OF THE WORLD.

BAD BOB’S CLUTCH HAND AT THE READY, PREPARING FOR A RIVER CROSSING, TELLS THE STORY OF THE CONDITIONS, WEATHER, AND HIS MINDSET AS WE TRAVELED DEEP IN THE HIMAL.

THE MORNING WIND CARRIED THE FRAGRANCE OF MOUNTAIN RHODODENDRON AS WE WATCHED A SHEEP SHEARING TAKE PLACE. THE DOGS KEPT THE HERD IN CHECK AS THE MEN CARRIED ON.

OUR MODERN CONVENIENCES FAIL IN SO MANY WAYS WHEN COMPARED TO THE BAREBONES NEEDS OF THIS FAR-OFF LAND.

ALMOST EVERY PLACE WE STOPPED, VILLAGE WOMEN FLOCKED TO ABIGAIL AS HER LONG, BLOND HAIR AND BLUE EYES WERE A RARE SIGHT.

THE VIBRANT COLORS WORN BY THE WOMEN OF KAINA BAZAAR BECKONED US AS WE SETTLED IN FOR SONGS AND CELEBRATION.

by

Photo

Scott Brown

THERE ARE FEW MOMENTS IN MY LIFE I AM SURE NEVER TO FORGET, AND THIS WILL FOREVER BE ONE OF THEM. NEPAL TAKES GREAT JOY IN CELEBRATING COUPLES, AND THEY MADE SURE TO BESTOW THEIR LOVE UPON ABIGAIL AND ME ON THIS DAY IN KAINA BAZAAR.

THE SOUND OF THUNDERING DRUMS WOKE US EARLY ONE MISTY MORNING AS THE VILLAGE PREPARED TO TREAT US TO A DAYLONG CELEBRATION IN THANKS FOR BRINGING THEM THE ABILITY TO CREATE CLEAN DRINKING WATER FOR THEIR SCHOOLS AND CHILDREN.

AN EX-GURKHA SOLDIER TOOK PART IN A LAKHEY DANCE CEREMONY. HIS EXPRESSION CAUGHT MY EYE FROM AFAR; THIS WAS A STRONG, PROUD MAN SHOWING HIS LOVE FOR HIS CULTURE.

GHANTAS (HINDI BELLS), HANGING IN THE TEMPLE’S ENTRANCE DOME IN FRONT OF THE GARBHAGRIHA (INNER SANCTUM). IT IS SAID THAT WHEN YOU RING THE BELLS AT THE TEMPLE, YOU ARE INFORMING THE GODS OF YOUR ARRIVAL.

ABIGAIL ACCEPTS KHATA; THESE GIFTS ARE TREASURED AND WILL ALWAYS REMAIN WITH US.

OUR SHERPA AND DRIVER, CHITRA, TAKING PART IN THE SONGS AND DANCES OF HIS PEOPLE. PRIDE IS A POWERFUL TOOL, AND I WAS TAKEN ABACK AT THE WANT TO DANCE EVERY INSTANCE THE DRUMS BEGAN.

THE GURKA SOLDIER, TAKING PART IN THE EAGLE CEREMONY.

TIKKA WAS OFTEN OFFERED TO US AS WE ENTERED A NEW VILLAGE, EVEN IF WE WERE JUST PASSING THROUGH. NEPALESE CULTURE IS SO WARM AND INVITING THAT IT’S HARD NOT TO FALL IN LOVE WITH THIS LAND.

by

Photo

Abby Casey

A LOCAL BLACKSMITH CREATES A KNIFE FOR A CEREMONY USING A TIME-HONORED TRADITION. I HAD TO STOP AND PINCH MYSELF, REMINDING MYSELF THAT THIS EXPERIENCE, 15,000 FEET UP THE SIDE OF A MOUNTAIN IN NEPAL, WAS NOT A DREAM.

A PICTURE IS WORTH 1,000 WORDS— AND THIS FACE IS NEPAL.

FAMILY IS EVERYTHING IN NEPAL; PEOPLE CARE FOR ONE ANOTHER AND TAKE GREAT PRIDE IN THE NEWEST GENERATIONS.

THE BLUE EYES OF THIS CHILD CAPTIVATED ME; SHE APPEARED TO LOOK RIGHT THROUGH YOU WHEN HER GAZE TOOK HOLD.

A STREET BIKE RIDER STOPS FOR GAS AND SHOWS OFF HIS NEW RIDE TO THE VILLAGE ELDERS. BELONGINGS BRING ACCLAIM HERE, AND THIS GENTLEMAN’S DELIGHT IN HIS MOTO WAS OBVIOUS. THE BIKE LOOKS OUT OF PLACE IN THIS SCENE, PERCHED FRONT AND CENTER IN THIS REMOTE LOCALE, BUT SOMEHOW FITS JUST THE SAME.

AS WE REACHED THE END OF OUR TRAIL, NOT ONE OF US WAS READY TO LEAVE. I WOULD BE WILLING TO BET EVERYONE IS THINKING ABOUT THEIR NEXT TRIP BACK. MY JOURNEY BEGINS IN MAY WHEN I SWING MY LEG BACK OVER AN ENFIELD AND RIDE THE MUSTANG VALLEY TO THE TIJI FESTIVAL.

Over and Out

The evolving intricacies of overland communication radios and the shift to General Mobile Radio Service.

By Scott Jensen

Rareis the overland traveler without a radio. Despite the proliferation of human development and mobile phone service into previously wild and remote lands, the ability to chat with your touring convoy over voice radio remains unmatched in utility and joy. Amateur radios, which I featured in “Radio Communication for Overlanders,” Overland Journal, Spring 2007, reigned supreme as choice technology.

A radio, however, is only as good as those with whom you communicate. Amateur (or ham) radio entails significant investment in the education of band plans, radio theory, an overwhelming number of radio equipment options, and a possibly annoying mismatch among parties of frequency capabilities. By its charter, ham iterates and innovates in its own way and will do so for years to come, maintaining a place for it in the communications toolset. It provides a select few a means of communication far exceeding the troublesome license-free Citizens Band Radio Service (CB or CBRS) that was so popular alongside our era-J40s and Series IIIs when the apropos song “Convoy” was on the charts in the US, UK, and Canada.

Ham radios for overland purposes are met with a distinct caveat. For those traveling with family, friends, and others who did not (or candidly, care to) pass their government regulatory “Cool Kids Club” ham radio test and agree to the litany of requirements, communication is not reasonable. Nor legal.

more popular with young children if mobile phones were not so pervasive at nearly every age today. These FRS radios utilize those original CB frequencies allocated more than 72 years ago.

Hang with me, for not too long ago, this story became interesting. In 2017 in the US, the regulatory organization that controls the wireless spectrum (Federal Communications Commission) clarified rules that helped radio manufacturers bring to the market better and more accessible mobile radios. The commodity of professional-grade radio communication with all the benefits for radio Luddites (your friends, travel mates, children, etc.) is now within immediate grasp.

General Mobile Radio Service (GMRS) is the name. Today, radios straight off-the-shelf give all the goodness of professional radios paired with the relative simplicity and ease of consumer devices. Features include:

• Transmitting at up to 50 watts

• Employing repeater (those lovely radio installations connect us way beyond the range of our own radios)

• Data communication (like location telemetry)

• Analog and digital squelching

Today, radios straight off-the-shelf give all the goodness of professional radios paired with the relative simplicity and ease of consumer devices.

It may surprise you that the nearly worldwide, largely license-free CB radio in the US was originally intended to be something quite different from what we know today. Way back in 1948 (in context, when the Rover Company was just getting started with the Series I), CB in the US was allocated a set of frequencies up in the 460-470 MHz ultra-high frequency (UHF) range. In the late 1940s, these high frequencies were out of reasonably-priced consumer electronics’ capabilities. Thereafter a set of lower radio frequencies were allocated to the CB radio you know and love (or hate) today. Operating in the HF/11-meter band at 27 MHz and limited to 4 watts of power, radio propagation and mobile communication reliability are always suspect for the old CB.

This is a small bit of boring yet pertinent history as that original UHF allocation (recall 460-470 MHz) is not just within easy commercial and consumer reach today but is the precursor for a new era of radio communication across the Americas. For some time now, you may have already seen the Family Radio Service (FRS) radios: small, inexpensive hand units that might be even

GMRS is purpose-built as a traditional radio for everyone. As such, it is exploding in popularity. In fact, the famous Jeep Jamboree in the US is switching away from CB and all trail conversations to GMRS. The broader Americas, Canada, Mexico, Brazil, and most other South American countries allow for shared FRS/GMRS use with limited channel and power use. As with most international overland travel, be sure to check local regulations.

GMRS is not the free-for-all for CB. To begin, you need an FCC license to use it in the US. Rest easy; there is no test, just a $70 fee for a 10-year term. The license additionally grants all of your immediate family members access to use GMRS radios as well. Sending one of my sons out to spot a trail line or campsite location whilst I brew a cuppa in the shade, knowing we can reliably communicate back and forth, is a relaxing game changer.

Radio manufacturers have been a bit slow to keep up, and as of this writing, there are not that many GMRS radio options. I will review three mobile radios on the legal market today that are pre-programmed to operate GMRS. Though other hand radios are available, let us focus on the higher-powered mobile radio units that are fit for our wheels.

MIDLAND | MXT400

The

first in our lineup is the Midland MXT400. Upon unboxing, it is noticeably heavy (2.9 pounds) given its size and is a reasonably sturdy device.The case and cooling fins are high quality as they protect the radio’s speaker adorning the top of the unit.

It is a very traditional mobile radio with a higher power output at 40 watts (10 watts shy of the maximum permitted power) and a footprint with no remote head unit, mounting against a flat surface via a bracket. What I loved most about this radio were the prominent dials that had an exceptionally positive haptic engagement, the best of any radio reviewed. The channel dial took intent, and there is no worry of turning too far or too quickly. The other radio unit buttons like power/pressure and menu options are positioned logically and spaced far enough apart that my gloved hands could efficiently operate them.

Another appreciated, distinctive attribute of this radio is the size and contrast of the LCD display. It is very easy to read both in bright sun and dim light. Important too is the ability to ascertain what channel is selected as well as any other options enabled such as privacy codes, and to be able to do so with a glance.

Both Continuous Tone-Coded Squelch System (CTCSS) and Digital Code Squelch (DCS) are available for privacy codes/tones. If those acronyms are alphabet soup to you, they’re simply mechanisms to identify you and others in your group so that you all don’t have to listen to anyone else who may be on the same channel.

The very straightforward mic is plugged in via an RJ45 connection. It is light yet robust and on the smaller side if you want to use other units with additional front-mounted buttons. Ergonomically speaking, it was exactly what you would expect for a quick grab of the mic on a rutted road to make or reply to a call.

The 400 does have some shortcomings. The biggest is the inability to set a different (or split) set of privacy codes for transmission versus receiving. Many repeater systems employ a split-code privacy function, and these repeaters cannot reasonably be used by the MXT400.

Another small annoyance is that channels 8 through 14— by FCC regulation—are limited to FRS-style output (e.g., .5 watts and not allowed by GMRS radios). The 400 skips these channels entirely in programming, and you cannot transmit or receive on them. Given the FRS’s frequency limitations, not much is lost by truncating these channels out of the radio, but it would be nice to at least be able to monitor/listen to them.

$250 | MIDLANDUSA.COM

BAOFENG | GMRS50X1

Unlikemany BaoFeng radios that are generally known to be sold without many frequency restrictions (with or without license), the GMRS50X1 is specifically designed to operate within all legal parameters for the GMRS band. And yet, it has nearly every feature for which you may or may not have ever asked.

This radio is also a traditional footprint without a remote head, and as with the MXT400, a mounting bracket is required to affix it to your vehicle. This unit is the lengthiest of the lot. At over 7.5 inches in depth, it will require a strategic location at your driver’s position, ensuring both visibility to the LCD color screen and rear access for power and the antenna.

The features of this radio are second to none. With the feel of a more complex ham radio, you can program it to any permutations of channels and privacy code combinations you desire. Though GMRS has actual, defined channels, the 50X1 allows for direct frequency entry (variable frequency oscillator or VFO) into those channels, which can be very useful because repeaters are often published with their frequencies and not their channel numbers.

Other great features of the 50X1 are the ability to do the split privacy codes in order to use those pesky split repeaters; the ability to scan an extensive range of UHF and VHF frequencies, including the FRS channels; a dual-tone multi-frequency (touch-tone) mic; and a maximum-allowed 50 watts with options for low and medium power.

Both on the open plains and the continuously coniferous montane foothills of Colorado, the simplex performance was excellent. So much so that my helper and I preemptively cut our testing day short as we were fruitlessly driving hours away from each other in these hills, attempting to find holes in reception.

An odd but possibly useful feature of the 50X1 is a frontfacing button to receive FM commercial radio stations. A note for those in higher latitudes during the winter season is that though legible, these buttons are small and close enough together to be problematic to operate when wearing gloves.

My biggest complaint about the BaoFeng, however, stems directly from the number of features it has. They require a significant amount of LCD-panel real estate, and it is generally quite difficult to read the small letters. On one particularly sunny day when underway on a bumpy corrugated road, the panel required frequent refocusing of my eyes, diverting my attention away from the road.

$200 | BAOFENGTECH.COM

MIDLAND | MXT275

Finally, we have another Midland contender that brings a different radio footprint than the other two. The 275 takes a cue from many of the Australian UHF CB radios and brilliantly places full user interaction and experience in the mic itself—a speaker-mic, if you will. The base unit is remotely mounted.

The 275’s highest power output is only 15 watts; I wish it were much more. This is markedly lower than the other radio options. I was still able to connect to most local repeaters (granted, usually located at higher elevations) and keep in contact with another vehicle direct (simplex) at well past 15 miles away with ease in open prairie grassland, which certainly qualifies as communicating in a touring convoy.

The radio comes with a small, magnet-mount antenna that I forthrightly did not use. Luckily, the antenna connection is a common SO-239 UHF jack, and with this radio, as with each of the others, I ensured connection to the same roof-mounted GMRS antenna.

With a respectfully large display and the means to mount the unit more near my driving sight periphery, I found this radio easy to use, see, and control. It did take me more than a week to get used to the myriad of mic-mounted control buttons. I mounted a separate control unit in the rear of the cab and was pleasantly surprised to find out a 10-foot commodity RJ45-terminated extension cord served the purpose of extending the mic cable to my driver’s seat, making undercarpet installation easy.

One feature I cannot wrap my head around is this radio’s bespoke enumeration of privacy codes. A sub-audible privacy tone (CTCSS) of 141.3 Hz on this radio is privacy code numbered 22. Why? They operate identically, but communicating with repeaters and other mobile radio stations who use the actual privacy code listed in frequencies becomes a mental mapping exercise at worst. And at best, it requires you to get out the user manual to remember what privacy code number matches what frequency tone. The MXT400 from Midland, on the other hand, displays and clearly shows the actual tone frequencies for disambiguation.

Unfortunately, the 275 (like the 400) does not support split code repeaters, meaning that the transmit and receive privacy codes must always match. Alas, I mostly blame some repeater owners who have configured their services this way. On the flip side, the small, magnetic-mount antenna may come in handy for testing one’s installation before running a more permanent antenna coax.

$150 | MIDLANDUSA.COM

CONCLUSIONS

Mobileradio remains a valuable communication and safety tool for the overland wayfarer. Though ham/ amateur radio offers a plethora of options, its barrier to entry for many is too high. GMRS is the perfect blend of radio performance and ubiquitous access for those touring the Americas with relative simplicity.

The three radios reviewed each bring a varied set of benefits, yet all agree on an easy set of 15 predefined channels and another eight channels that support communication with repeaters. GMRS repeaters are not as numerous as ham repeaters but have respectable coverage in the US. Repeaters, in my experience, are not the primary use case of vehicular travel. Rather, communicating with your convoy, scouts, spotters, and base camp takes up the majority share of your radio airtime. For these reasons, I now find GMRS to be a primary radio instead of a secondary one.

As to which radio ranks highest, I prefer utility over style. I err on the side of overengineering nearly anything. That said, despite a number of the limitations of the Midland MXT275, including its lesser 15-watt output, the understated ease-ofuse of the control microphone with a much easier cab installation makes it a win for me.

There are also compelling reasons to choose the BaoFeng GMRS50X1, including a full 50 watts of power, supporting split privacy codes for repeaters, and the ability to monitor/ listen to the FRS-limited channels. The increased complexity with its involved menu system matched with a more difficultto-read display did not impress—quite the opposite.

Midland’s other MXT400 is a very solid GMRS radio. It ticks many of the feature boxes, and it is hard to ignore the higher 40-watt output. But its traditional fixed mount and similar operating modes were too baseline compared to the benefits the 275 model provides.

For the near future, I will accept adjusting my memory for an ordinal numbering system for privacy codes on the MXT275 and enjoy the immediate use of GMRS for my overland touring communication.

EDITORʼS NOTE: In the latter part of 2020, after the writing of this article, the United States Federal Communication Commission "type accepted" a new entrant to the consumer GMRS radio market. The Wouxun KG-1000G appears to be a 50-watt, full-feature radio with a remote-mount head unit. We hope to review this product soon. This is great news as we expect even more GMRS radios on the market to come in the near future. radioaficion.com/cms/wouxun-kg-1000g/

Latitude

Portfolio by Akela World 37-44°N

Angels and Broken Bolts

Driving the Bartang Valley on a wing and a prayer in eastern

By Karin-Marijke Vis

Photography by Coen Wubbels

Tajikistan.

Clockwise from left: Sheaves of wheat are placed in stooks to dry until ready for threshing. This bird’s-eye view of the Gudara River from the Kokjar Pass was awe-inspiring. While in limp mode, we take every unobstructed mile as a bonus. Years of practice have perfected fuel efficiency to minimize the use of scarce teresken shrubs. The valley stretched out among the colored peaks on the high plateau. Opening spread: Welcome to the land of majestic peaks, glaciers, and high-mountain deserts.

TheLand Cruiser limped into Gudara. I was steering frantically on a downhill, twisting path, having to turn the wheel a number of times before the wheels responded at all. We were at the end of our tether and relieved to have made it back to civilization. That is to say, a wind-blown village of 63 mud-brick houses at the remote, eastern side of the Bartang Valley. Here people get their water from a well, toilets are long drops set away from dwellings, stoves burn on animal dung, and most farmers till their land by hand.

A BROKEN STEERING SHAFT

It had taken a full day to cover 15 miles. Too tired to drive one more inch, I turned off the engine with a breath of relief. It was late afternoon, and farmers were returning from the fields with carts stacked with hay in preparation for winter. Women and children were herding their sheep and goats homebound. Smoke rose from the chimneys of freshly lit stoves. On our left, an open, friendly face was taking us in with curiosity. “Let’s see if he can help,” Coen said. He jumped out of the Land Cruiser, walked up to the man, and shook his hand. His name was Zash. Not sharing a language, Coen took him to the front of the Land Cruiser, where they looked at the mishmash of straps holding the steering rod in place—sort of.

Three days earlier, the center steering shaft had broken in two during a shallow stream crossing. We were stuck in the wide, mostly dry riverbed of the Gudara River, surrounded by red-brown mountains void of vegetation and without cell phone reach. We were more than a day’s drive away from the Pamir Highway and 15 miles

from the nearest settlement. While in a dire predicament, we lucked out in many ways—the weather, for one. It was autumn. There were no rains and no melting snow, both of which could have caused the river to swell and inundate us within hours had it been spring or summer. Where we broke down was another luck of the draw. Only an hour earlier, we had been zigzagging up and down a mountain pass, a one-lane, unpaved path with a vertical drop on our right. Had the steering snapped there, we would probably have been launched over the cliffside, Thelma and Louise style. We thanked our guardian angels many times throughout the following days.

My response when having to deal with problematic situations is first to brew coffee, relax, think it through, and then act (unless it’s potentially life-endangering). This often takes the sting of strong emotions out of our system and allows us to look at things more rationally. With an espresso in our hands, we made plan A, B, and a possible C while taking in our surroundings. We were enveloped by a vast, empty world of gray, red, and brown rock under a clear blue sky. The air was warm yet fresh, and we had a sparkling clean stream for water with no human or animal in sight—what a gorgeous piece of the planet. At an elevation of 10,500 feet, the climate was harsh nonetheless. The sun burned down fiercely, but as soon as it disappeared behind the mountaintops, temperatures plummeted. From the dry, sandy river bed, dust devils rushed our way, covering us, only to dissolve higher up the valley.

THE BARTANG VALLEY

We were enveloped by a vast, empty world of gray, red, and brown rock under a clear blue sky.

In our 16 years of continuous overland travel, we have seen our share of remote landscapes, but few can beat the Bartang Valley. Part of the Pamir Mountains in eastern Tajikistan, the 180-mile-long Bartang Valley’s name is apt. Bar meaning wide, and tang meaning narrow, the valley is indeed home to wide, desert moonscapes as well as deep, narrow canyons, twisting and turning among 16,000- and 20,000-foot-high peaks with a river thundering at the bottom. The valley runs through the Tajik National Park, a UNESCO World Heritage Site that covers 18 percent of the country (2.6 million hectares), a wilderness home to 1,000 glaciers, 4,000 lakes, and inhabited by Marco Polo sheep and the endangered snow leopard. If you like traveling in sublime remoteness, the Bartang Valley is waiting for you.

While hard to reach with few roads in and out, the valley has been inhabited since ancient times. Petroglyphs, sacred sites, and the remains of fortresses all stand testimony to the previous inhabitants. Throughout history, villages often remained cut off from each other because there were no connecting roads. As a result, the individual dialects derived from the Bartangi language are so distinct that people may not understand each other. Most of them also speak Tajik as well as limited Russian. Remote as the valley is, people have always depended on each other, and as such, hospitality is a long-standing tradition. By offering hospitality, they receive barakat, the blessing of God. Traveling here is challenging in many ways, but you can count on people sharing tea and food and offering you a place to sleep if need be. That is if you’re in a village.

CREATIVE SOLUTIONS

For now, we were on our own, preparing our tea, coffee, and everything else. How were we going to get out? The tie rod and the

The Kokuybel River accompanied us into the Tajik National Park.

Clockwise from top right: Coen, dismantling the malfunctioning steering system in Gudara. Bursts of mountain wildflowers give color to the bare surroundings. Under the watchful eyes of villagers, Coen and Mish weigh the options. Sharing a moment of laughter after having had tea with these shepherds. This is the nylon strap that got us to Gudara and saved the day (and trip). A dust storm, sweeping across the highlands and the village of Gudara. Opposite: The landscape of this high-elevation desert was a surreal backdrop to our entrance to the Tajik National Park.

relay rod were still very much alive and kicking. As there was no more axis to revolve around, the steering arm with these rods, however, had lost all its functionality. We needed to put and keep the steering arm in place and return some of its rotating action. Coen disassembled the entire linkage system to MacGyver something from the limited stuff we carried. Two days went by without finding a solution. Drilling a hole didn’t work, and trying to get the broken shaft out of the steering arm didn’t either. But while working on this, Coen had the brilliant idea to reverse the arm and use the other end of the shaft (that was sticking out an inch or so) as a pivoting point. It would be more difficult to control because the Pitman arm was now on the long side of the fork, but it should work. We just had to figure out how to keep everything together.

We weren’t by ourselves all the time and were grateful for the distraction. The Bartang Valley is popular with longdistance cyclists. We drank coffee with Malcolm, who had flown to Kashgar (in China), taken the bus to Tajikistan, and had three weeks to cycle the Bartang and surrounding valleys. We shared tea with two Dutchmen, a Pakistani, and a German who were all on long-distance trips from Europe to Asia; they had met on the road and were sharing part of the journey. Marisa and Philippe had also been on the road for many months, cycling from Germany to make a loop in Central Asia.

Our nerves were increasingly frazzled, but we didn’t like to admit it. On day three, we had one last chance. If this didn’t work, the plan was for Coen to walk to Gudara, wait for the weekly bus to leave the valley, and search for a solution in Khorugh or possibly even the capital of Dushanbe, hundreds of miles away. Who knew how long I’d have to stay here by myself, but I had food, water, and there were bushes down by the riverbed in case the cooking fuel ran out. Still, it wasn’t a scenario we were looking forward to. We jerry-rigged the steering arm using ratchet straps and ropes and fired up the engine. I took my place behind the steering wheel while Coen guided me to make the first, tricky 180-degree turn that put a lot of pressure on the improvised repair.

It worked. Miracle, oh miracle. Driving in first gear, we hobbled across the stony path that followed the river. Again, we were so lucky. There were no steep climbs or descents, no other potentially dangerous stretches while driving all the way to Gudara. The path was primarily flat or undulating. That was challenging enough. Soon I needed more turns on the steering wheel to feel any reaction; the void, as we called it, increased rapidly, sometimes requiring three full turns. We frequently needed to re-ratchet the parts in place as the enormous forces jerked the bundle of straps loose over time. Just when we started to worry if we’d make it, Gudara stretched out in the valley below us.

From talking with Zash using Google Translate, we learned that getting spare parts was going to be impossible in this country. Our Land Cruiser doesn’t exist here, nor does Tajikistan have a courier service to get the parts sent from abroad. Yet, our luck held. This lonely village had a welder named Mish. With a massive bolt from an old Lada Niva and the necessary welding, the Land Cruiser was drivable again within two hours. Another hundred miles of wilderness lay ahead of us, but Mish assured us the improvised repair would hold. “Just check every once in a while and retighten when necessary.”

Night had fallen, and it was bitterly cold. Glad to be out of that dust-devil riverbed, we took the time to wash the sand out of our hair under the tap of the village water pump, and I heated water for a body scrub in the Land Cruiser. We felt refreshed and were confident about the journey ahead. After a cup of tea at Zash’s place, we crashed into bed, exhausted.

VILLAGE LIFE AND A CUP OF TEA

The next morning we said our goodbyes and headed southwest, elated to be steering again. We followed the Gudara, which later would merge with the Murghāb into the Bartang River, crossing bridges when the road continued on the other side of the water. The road meandered through a vast, sandy landscape with enormous boulders scattered about as if the gods had played a game of marbles. All of a sudden, the world was green. We had entered a village. Like Gudara, it had a 19th-century feel to it except for the presence of satellite dishes—even cars are a rarity this far in the valley. Houses stood along small patches of land where people were squatting while digging in the ground to harvest potatoes one by one.

On our left, we spotted a sun boiler and stopped the Land Cruiser to check it out. The owner came out of the house to sign-language to us about how it worked. A parabolic mirror multiplies and centers the sun’s energy onto a very small spot, making it possible to cook food or boil water by placing a pot on that focal point. This simple invention is a blessing in a region with little wood and no money for gas cylinders. A man walked up to us and asked if we wanted tea. Of course, we did. I asked for the toilet. Tam—there, he indicated. While in other places, I had seen long drops behind a wall, here it was just an open field down a hill.

We entered the typical Pamiri home—a stone-brick construction plastered with adobe—through the kitchen with a stove and an elevated portion about a foot high on which wheat had been drying. Along the edges of the second room were elevated sections as well, covered with carpets on which people sit, eat, and sleep. Tea was served on a piece of plastic spread out on one of these sections, in a teapot with ceramic cups. Green tea is the typical beverage in Tajikistan, for which they use loose leaves (tea bags are unheard of in such rural areas). Custom demands that cups only be filled halfway, so you always have hot tea. And tea is never just tea. We also sampled delicious naan bread, fresh from the oven and broken into pieces by the host; it’s often served with butter or cream.

We sat as we might have in the 19th century, apart from a modern flat-screen TV blasting forth a show with the hottest Tajik music star performing on a stage of glitter and bright lights. The contrast of this village with the big city was unreal. Urban areas lure youngsters, and when possible, parents send their kids to cities. Our host, Mirchon, was 35 and had lived here all his life. He knew the world outside the Bartang Valley only from television. Our hostess, Gulchotun, was 55. She had a daughter going to school in Khorugh, outside the valley. Elsewhere, other parents proudly told us of kids studying in Dushanbe and even Moscow.

THE BEST OF THE BARTANG VALLEY

The next village, Savnov, lies on an elevated, alluvial plain on the river’s northern side. Green with grassy fields and poplar trees, it was an idyllic setting. Men and women stood chatting in groups, raising their hands in a friendly greeting as we slowly followed the track that eventually petered out in the fields. It turned out that part of the village has no roads. I asked a man for a magazin (shop). “Follow me,” he motioned. We walked on sandy paths and across fallow fields to the other side of the village. We entered a building without a sign, where, on the typical elevated plank section, lay and hung an amalgam of products: shoes, coats, candy, tuna in cans, oil in canisters, and eggs. We had arrived in the lower, warmer part of the Bartang where more people lived and had shops, small as they were. In the upper part of the valley, people need to be largely self-sufficient and eat what they produce. I took advantage of the opportunity to buy some eggs.

On my right-hand side, I spotted the ruins of a fort and asked the same man if we could go and take a look. “No problem,” he motioned and went on his way. The fortress’ remains stretched out above the highest part of the village, offering mind-blowing views of the Bartang River that raged below us and the vertical rock face rising into the sky on the opposite side. Who had lived here? And when and why? There are many more fortresses farther south in the Wakhan Corridor and at the valley’s western end. With arteries of the Silk Road having run through the Pamir Region, their presence was easily understood. Not this one, though, and it added to the sense of mystery that sometimes comes over you when traveling.

Additionally, there is something very peaceful about this valley. Perhaps because technology, with all its mind-buzzing distractions, has no place here. I submerged myself in the blessed feeling of being able to experience this phenomenon.

Back on the main road, we zigzagged up a 3,000-meter-high pass, the valley growing increasingly smaller below us. Once more, we said thanks to our guardian angels that the steering shaft had not broken here, on this narrow road that didn’t allow for any margin for error, let alone a malfunctioning steering system. Back at river level, we came to a tributary flowing into the Bartang River. We had crossed many bridges by now, but here there were none. A local was crossing it on foot, carrying his bicycle on his shoulder. Cycling overlanders had told us about a knee-deep river passage; was this the one? The river was partly dry with rocky sections and streams rushing through them. Normally this wouldn’t have been a particular worry, but

The road meandered through a vast, sandy landscape with enormous boulders scattered about as if the gods had played a game of marbles.

Mish, welding a Lada Niva part to the Land Cruiser’s steering arm.

Clockwise from top left: The track plunged and snaked into the Bartang Valley. The Savnov Fort was perched high above the Bartang River. As we descended the valley, the track narrowed down to a gorge. Tea is never just tea. Crossing the Bartang River—again. There was no need to ford the river as we came across this brand-new bridge. Old equipment was being used to clear the path from landslides.

we preferred another solution to minimize the stress on our improvised repairs. On our right, we spotted tracks leading into the side valley. We gave it a try, and as luck would have it, half a mile farther was a brandnew bridge.

All that luck, of course, couldn’t last forever. It ran out a few miles down the road when we suddenly heard an ear-piercing sound. I hung out of my window to spot where it came from; “Right-front side,” I concluded.

A leaf spring had broken, and soon a second followed. Close to the village of Roshov, we limped on once more in first gear and asked for advice there—this time to no avail. “Khoroug is your best option,” they said, which was another 110 miles. Coen taped the leaf springs together with a piece of wood in between so one leaf couldn’t break the next. When we realized that this setup would probably hold, we relaxed again, taking in the fabulous views. The valley narrowed down to a steep gorge showcasing a dramatic world of gray rock and a thundering river, with paths cut from the steep mountain slopes.

Over the past week, we had made our way from the Murghāb Plateau at the northeastern end of the valley (with freezing temperatures at night) to lower elevations. The western part of the Bartang is greener, more populated (no matter how scarce, still), and the higher temperatures were bliss. We wanted to postpone leaving this beautiful world and were ready for a rest as well. Thanks to iOverlander, we found a lovely camp spot along a bend in the river. Hemmed in by mountains, it was thankfully free of the wind that blew so fiercely elsewhere in the valley. There was a bit of grassland far enough from the vertical rock wall to minimize the chance of a rock or pebble shower on our roof and heads, some trees for shade, and a narrow stream com-

ing straight from the mountain with clear, cold water for a body wash and laundry.

“I can’t believe you made it out of there; I never expected to see you here,” Malcolm (the cyclist whom we had met on the first day of our breakdown) exclaimed upon our arrival. We had some catching up to do, for sure. We were joined by Matt, who had been walking around the world for five years. He had some good stories to share, too. This was the pause we needed for a couple of days, some time out while making plans for the rest of our time in the incredible Pamir Mountains.

We felt so confident with Mish’s welding that we decided to explore more before heading for Dushanbe. There, a friend of a friend was flying in the following week with spare parts. Eventually, we drove an additional 1,250 miles, albeit at an average speed of 15 mph (I think we hold the record for limping through the Pamir Mountains), finally arriving in Dushanbe. I kid you not, the exact moment we parked in front of the hotel where the spare parts were waiting for us, we heard a thump. The welded Lada Niva bolt, which had held the steering rod in place since Gudara, had snapped. All in all, our luck had held out until the end.

TRAVEL TIPS

INFORMATION Pamirs.org is a good, all-around source of information for the region.

PERMITS To travel in the Pamir Region, you need a GBAO permit. You can apply for it together with your e-visa (evisa.tj).

COVERAGE Some villages and road stretches have mobile coverage with MegaFon or Tcell but don’t expect more than a quick email check.

SAFETY The region is prone to earthquakes; some choose to carry an SOS beacon.

TOURIST OFFICE PECTA is a regional tourist office in Khorugh. They are very responsive to any questions about traveling in the Pamir (pecta.tj).

COMMUNICATION Don’t expect a lot of English to be spoken in the region (or Tajikistan at large). Prepare by downloading the offline version of Google Translate (English-Russian translates better than English-Tajik, and Tajik is available only in an online version). Wherever

By Graeme Bell

If you are like me, you not only love being in the wild but also learning new skills and using your hands to work with nature. Heading up into the woods feels so entirely natural and refreshing for mind, body, and soul. Before setting up camp, I will change into my work gear, grab my Gränsfors Bruk Scandinavian Forest axe, a machete, bow saw, and wood bag and hike into the forest looking for an old fallen trunk to process into logs for the campfire (laws permitting). In Morocco, we were lucky to be “stranded” with a disintegrated clutch in a large wooded campsite surrounded by felled trees. The camp owner was more than happy for us to log, keeping winter at bay under a perfect sky of African stars. A campfire is so much more rewarding when you have worked for it. Living on the road and driving an old Land Rover camper, there is always work to be done on the vehicle—either simple maintenance or running repairs. I have learned a person will do themselves a great favor if they have the right gear for the job.

Based in Seattle, Washington, C.C. Filson Co. has been around for over a hundred years, creating unique clothing and gear of the highest quality, now reminiscent of an era gone by. Filson is one of those rare companies that still manufacture products meant to last generations. Yes, their items carry a premium price tag, but you get what you pay for and then some.

These are products tailored to the modern overlander with a passion for the outdoors and hard work: a fieldwork outfit to last decades. As a modest buyer who expects the maximum gain from each dollar spent, I see the investment value in these items.

Filson guarantees the lifetime of products against failure or damage in its intended use, and the company has an excellent reputation for honoring its guarantee. It’s a no-brainer—what would Grandpa do?

FILSON.COM

Into the Wild with Filson

A fieldwork ensemble that will surely last decades.

MACKINAW WOOL CRUISER JACKET

This may be the only jacket you will ever need. Patented in 1914, this 100-percent virgin wool classic is renowned for its timeless design and year-round functionality, with nine pockets and the water-repellent, insulated comfort you need for workwear. But, at that price, I doubt I would wear it while doing an oil change.

$395

LIGHTWEIGHT ALASKAN GUIDE SHIRT

Pre-washed with a comfortable fit, this midweight, 5-ounce cotton, all-season shirt is designed to last on a hardworking back. No frills, no fuss. Still, there are multiple color options for the fashion-minded. Also available in women’s sizes with a vintage wash (enter discreet frills and fuss) for an extra $20.

$125

C.C.F. UTILITY CANVAS PANTS

These workhorses are triple-seamed, duck canvas, pop-riveted, with a reinforced backside, and double-layer knee pad pockets. Get them dirty; don’t give a damn. Wear these while changing wheel bearings beside the track, chopping wood for camp, and cooking on the fire. If you’re a serious lumberjack, take the plunge with the Oil Finish Double Tin Pants. Yes, metal pants.

$225/TIN, $98/UTILITY

TOOL BELT POUCH

You wear a tool pouch when working around the house. Why not wear one when doing work on the truck? No one I know does it; don’t ask me why. When you are servicing the engine, changing a starter, or working on the camper, the tool pouch makes perfect sense. And on the road, it is the perfect holdall while doing maintenance or woodwork.

$95

ROPER BOOTS

This thick, oiled, leather, Western-style boot is made tough in Portugal. Constructed with a Goodyear Vibram sole, it’s designed to be resoled, ensuring that the Ropers will last as long as your feet, or at least for a decade or more, depending on use. I used to buy cheap work boots annually until I recognized my misstep. Cry once.

$398

RUGGED TWILL TOOL ROLL

I like to keep a tool roll handy for those little jobs which pop up during the day: a set of screwdrivers, pliers and spanners for the battery, a few fuses, and some electrical tape. You could also store your wood carving and leatherworking kit in this beauty.

$125

SKINNER FIXED-BLADE KNIFE

It’s compact, sturdy, razor-sharp, and ready to carve some biltong, cut a rope, or skin an orange. It is made for the hunter, yet useful for us all. USA made “from start to finish,” the Skinner comes with a handy leather sheath.

$125

HERITAGE SPORTSMAN BAG

Constructed of weather-resistant 100-percent cotton, tin cloth, and bridle leather, this pack is perfect for lugging lunch, a thermos of coffee, and a good book. You could fill it with well-loved tools or even head to the store for a supply run. My chosen purpose for this bag would be as a dedicated tool bag to carry my wood carving kit, auto electrical tools, and other specialized implements.

$395

INTO THE WILD WITH FILSON

The heavy clatter of a military tank in the street outside our house woke me up. On my bedside table, a small analog clock, my Swiss Army knife, and a Kiss Destroyer cassette all leapt into the air in collective fright.

At first, I thought it was another earthquake. Here in northeast Iran, the massive Eurasian and Arabic tectonic plates engage regularly in grinding matrimonial fallouts. But this was no earthquake. It lacked that stealthy roll-on we’d experienced just six months ago when the last quake hit Tabriz and rolled west into Rasht, to us. This was a noisier, mechanical rumble.

I ran to the living room window, where we had a view of the street below. There it was, a British-made Chieftain, gingerly pivoting our tight suburban street corner like some hulking but considerate dog, a self-conscious mastiff trying not to knock over grandma’s furniture. It stationed itself not 50 yards from our house, belching black smoke, its guns pointed down Pahlavi Avenue at the main access point to our small community of British, American, and German expats and the occasional Iranian family. It was sent by the regime to protect us, or at least to make a show of it.

War, Water Thieves, and Wolves

Overlanding Iran in the late 1970s amidst a brewing revolution.

By Christian M. Simon

Discontent with the rule of Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, the last Shah of Iran, had grown palpable months earlier: curfews, sudden blackouts, long waits at gas stations as supply lines were disrupted—an irony in this petroleum-rich country. Things got a little more personal when one day, Mom dispatched me to Babaks, our local bakery, to pick up a loaf of naan for lunch. Three boys confronted me outside, looking belligerent. I recognized one of them, Amin. He was the brother of Rana, a 15-year old Iranian beauty who lived several blocks away and on whom I had a hopeless crush. One of the other two boys flicked me on the shoulder and growled, “American? American?!”

I held my naan to my chest, comforted by its warmth. “Nah,” I said. “Allemande, German.” I gave them the names of a few German football stars to prove it, Gerd Müller and Franz Beckenbauer. Rana’s brother pulled them away. “Leave him,” he said in Fazi. “He is nobody.”

The truth was, the growing revolutionary fervor in Iran confronted us with few serious threats. We had no overt political ties. Dad was a mechanical engineer working a contract for an Iranian-owned wood-and-pulp factory, not a foreign diplomat or multinational executive.

We tried to respect local laws and culture. Mom wore a chādor when public etiquette required it. We did not throw

My mother walks into the bright sunlight at Isfahan, transported into another time.

wild decadent parties. Once a month, Dad bought a tin of Caspian caviar and a bottle of Russian vodka from a man who showed up on our doorstep after dark. But this habit he kept strictly to himself, indulging it only in the privacy of our dining room with a teaspoon and a shot glass after a long day surrounded by wood and pulp.

Of course, with the tank on our doorstep and the country plunging deeper into chaos, some nerve-wracking days still lay ahead for us. Until then, though, Iran treated us famously.

The hospitality of its people was unmatched. Their food was outstanding, and the country’s cultural history was staggering: Isfahan, Qom, Persepolis, and Shiraz, underground desert villages, Zoroastrian fire temples, and altars of the dead. Iran was a feast. And what dangers we faced were largely of our own making.

Dad loved to overland and was not overly cautious about it. His hunger for travel to remote and exotic places often overrode sensible preparation and safety. In Africa, we toured Rhodesia at the height of the civil war. In South West Africa (now Namibia), we were probably among the first to offer up a Ford Cortina, a small sedan built in England for more genteel

Dad,

purposes, to the rigors of the Kalahari, the Namib, Nossob, and Etosha.

For Iran, Dad’s plan was to traverse the country north to south, then head into parts of Afghanistan and on to Pakistan. His vehicle of choice was his beloved Westfalia, boasting his homemade cruise control, beverage holders, and other innovations. She had carried us comfortably and safely from Cape Agulhas to Kariba. But after putting her into a shipping container in South Africa and waving auf wiedersehen, we were never to see our Westfalia again. Somewhere in transit to Iran, it was stolen or ransacked and abandoned. The man who brought the vodka made a killing that week.

So we toured Iran in a Paykan. This car, which, incidentally, shares its name with an Iranian football team and a missile boat, was Iran’s equivalent of the VW Beetle—a car for the masses. Everyone drove one. It was a simple, cheaply made four-door sedan with a small trunk, very similar to our Ford Cortina in South Africa. Into it, we crammed all our gear for several weeks’ travel, including a tent, sleeping bags, and clothes. An ice chest sat on the back seat between my sister and me. It was no Westfalia, but it took us to the places we wanted to see.

The driving was more dangerous than the brooding revolution. High-speed, last-minute overtaking in oncoming traffic was practically a national bloodsport. Failed efforts lay mangled and still smoldering on highways and in mountain passes. On more than one occasion, we saw bodies lying in glittering pools of coins and fluttering banknotes that passersby dropped out of their car windows to help cover funeral expenses.

So horrified was Dad at these scenes and how frequently we encountered them that he broke with his usual devil-maycare attitude to implement a safety routine while driving. Apart from some careful white-knuckle driving, he drilled my sister and me in quickly dropping behind the seats in front of us when he shouted out, “Sofort (immediately.)” The goal of this hapless exercise was to provide us with some sort of buffer in case of a collision. What might happen to Mom and Dad in the front seats was left to our imaginations. There were no safety belts or airbags in our Paykan.

In the Dasht-e Kavir, Iran’s central desert, we met with a collision of a different sort. We had pulled several hundred feet from the road and set up camp by a small stream of water, an aqueduct, burbling down a slope. A few ancient trees provided shelter. Dad had just set up the tent; Mom was busy unpacking her makeshift kitchen to begin dinner.

“Look,” Dad said. His gaze was fixed on a rocky ridge a quarter of a mile away, shimmering red and gold in the early evening light, where two figures on horseback were silhouetted. For a minute, they sat on their horses, unmoving. Then they pulled around and descended toward us.

“Get into the car,” Mom said to my sister and me. From the car window, I could see the two riders clearly as they approached our camp. They were rugged-looking men, large and bearded, wearing Cossack-style hats and some sort of riding

with his venerable Paykan, a Zoroastrian burial tower looming in the background. Thirteen-year-old me, my sister, and mother in Isfahan, circa 1977.

chaps. Each carried a long implement that looked like a scythe in one hand. The blade portion was clearly not metal, maybe wood; still, they looked distinctly ominous in the hands of these men.

I saw Mom rummage in her kitchen kit and withdraw a carving knife. She stepped up to Dad’s side, clasping the knife behind her back. The men pulled up, dismounted, and stood by their horses, scythes in hand. I cracked open the car window a little more.

“Salaam,” Dad said and managed a smile.

I saw Mom

The men returned the greeting, but not in that characteristically warm Iranian way. The younger of the two glowered at Dad. “Berim, he said.” Then more loudly: “Berim!”

She

Dad shrugged and smiled wanly. “I don’t know Persian,” he said in his limited Farsi.

The two men looked at each other. Then the older one, his beard partially gray, took several measured steps forward toward Mom and Dad.

Mom stiffened and stepped forward, too, but Dad put a hand on her shoulder and pulled her back. Gray Beard was doing something odd.

Using his scythe to lower himself, he crouched down on all fours, then let the scythe slip from his hand and fall to the ground. In a breathtaking burst of speed and agility, he crabwalked over to Dad and sank his teeth into Dad’s calf. “Owwww,” yelled Dad.

The man reared back and looked up at Dad. “Heh? Heh?” Then, for good measure, he lunged forward one more time and repeated his attack on Dad’s other leg.

This bizarre display left Mom so shocked, and I suspect a bit relieved at the comedy of it, that she forgot the knife behind her back. It must’ve also dawned on her what Gray Beard was trying to say. “Come,” she said to Dad, who was rocking from foot to foot. “We need to pack the car and leave.”

The men helped us, their demeanor now entirely changed. Their horses tethered and happily grazing, their scythes propped up against a tree, they helped unstake and pack the tent, gather up our belongings, and stuff everything back into the trunk of the car. They chatted with each other and with Dad in a string of inexplicable comments and gestures. When he noticed me in the back seat, the younger of the two men reached in through the window and tousled my hair. When we were all packed and ready to go, Gray Beard clapped my father on the shoulder and pretended to bite him on the neck.

“Ha, Ha,” Dad said, his dignity now thoroughly in tatters. He gave a sigh of relief when we finally pulled out of the campsite.

I looked back. There, in the rapidly enclosing darkness, stood Gray Beard and his partner, side by side and waving us goodbye. They were water thieves.

Dad later puzzled it together with help from his faithful Fodors. Water scarcity and the need to irrigate meager crops

drove men out under cover of darkness to divert aqueducts into their own farmlands and then revert them before dawn. It was a crime dating back centuries, and a very serious one. These water grabs from your neighbor, using shovels or wooden scythes to do the job, could get you your hand cut off—or worse—if you were caught.

Gray Beard and his partner must’ve known the stakes. They were actors in their own ancient and deadly version of Chinatown. And good at improvising, too, as we later realized when Fodors offered another informational tidbit. This region of Iran was home to wolves.

Our last 10 days in Iran we spent holed up in the threestar Hotel Elizabeth in Tehran, where we’d stayed when we first arrived in the country a year ago. It was a different place then, a trope of Western gentility. Tourists indulged in tea and scones in the Victorian dining room; businessmen were served gin and tonics in the bar in casual transgression.

Now the dining room and bar were dark and boarded up. Broken glass lay on the marble floor. Most of the staff had left. Mr. Abed, the hotel manager, sounding apologetic and sleep deprived, personally delivered to our room what food and supplies he could scrounge up. Boiled eggs, dry toast, and washing detergent, so Mom could attempt a round or two of laundry in the bathtub.

From our hotel window, we could see smoke columns rising everywhere we looked, as if the city had flipped and were trying to grow roots in the sky. The chatter of gunfire rose to our room, sounding unreal and abstract. My sister and I had to ask Mom what it was.

The hotel was full. Thousands of people were clamoring to leave. Governments—American, German, British—were strong-arming their commercial airlines to evacuate their citizens through the international airport. By the time we arrived in Tehran, the central control tower at the airport was inoperable. Flights could land and take off only during the day. In the lobby and alleys outside our hotel, vast amounts of cash exchanged hands. When someone appeared waving air tickets, roars of celebration went up. Everyone on the ground was stuck with faith. After a week in the hotel, my dad secured passage for us on a Lufthansa jet.

Our last night in Rasht, I sat opposite Rana at dinner. Her parents had invited us over. We dined seated on an elaborate Persian rug over smoked rice, roast chicken, and pomegranate sauce. I remember Rana’s dad saying, “I’m so sorry about all this. It is not who we are. I’m certain you will be coming back in no time. No time at all.”

Rana and I glanced shyly at one another. Her large brown eyes seemed to confirm what her father was saying. What she saw in mine, I cannot say.

rummage in her kitchen kit and withdraw a carving knife.

stepped up to Dad’s side, clasping the knife behind her back.

Preparing the GX for backcountry exploration. By Scott Brady

Lexus GX 470

Photography by Scott Brady and Paula Burr

performance, and value, contrasting some of the eccentricities of our decade-long GWagen build. The G-Class was a wonderful vehicle, and I could have easily driven it for another decade, but it had limited appeal to our audience—it was time to try something new. As a result, we purchased a clean 2007 GX 470 in Arizona in the spring of 2018, where it served daily driving duties and remained unmodified for over a year. The delay in modification yielded numerous benefits, including learning the stock platform’s limitations and how it genuinely needed to be improved. This article will focus on all of the off-highway modifications, recovery solutions, and electronics employed to prepare the GX for remote backcountry travel.

THE J120 POSSESSES A LONG LIST OF DESIRABLE TRAITS. MOST NOTABLE ARE THE HIGH-STRENGTH FRAME CONSTRUCTION, FIVE-LINK SOLID REAR AXLE DESIGN, AND THE COILOVER INDEPENDENT FRONT.

The goal of the Lexus project was to cast the widest net possible between daily driving duties and remote travel. A sufficient payload permits the fitment of a bumper and underbody armor. Opening page: The GX 470 is both attractive and classic in the same form, bridging the gap between the 80-Series Land Cruiser and newer (more complex) SUVs. The ARB bumper is thoroughly functional and also serves to transform the appearance of the more genteel stock profile.

Traditionally, the best SUV platforms in North America have been restricted to the Land Cruiser offerings, and to a lesser extent, the 4Runner, G-Wagen, and Land Rover wagons. In 2003, Lexus released the GX model in North America, Russia, and other limited markets based on the international J120 chassis. What was critical was its association with the “J” designation, which shares the general emphasis on robustness and reliability of the Land Cruiser. In numerous markets, the J120 is even called a Land Cruiser or Prado. Development began in the late 1990s with Lance Scott of Toyota ED (Europe), which is often considered the pinnacle of the bodyon-frame era, and the J120 possesses a long list of desirable traits. Most notable are the high-strength frame construction, five-link solid rear axle design, and the coilover independent front. The J120 has won numerous awards throughout the globe, including winning Fourwheeler of the Year. In addition to the above accolades, the Lexus variant received the venerated 4.7-liter V8, known to be one of the most reliable engines ever sold in the USA. The GX is made in Tahara, Japan, on the same production line as the international Prado and 4Runner.

WHY A GX 470?

We wanted to build a platform that struck an ideal balance between reliability,

With so many options on the market, my search kept bringing me back to the GX, as it was a better value than the 4Runner, and had a higher payload than anything in the decision set short of a 200-Series Land Cruiser. The payload rating is due in part to the 7-passenger seating, but also because of the airbags with automatic load leveling. In some markets, the payload of the J120 ranged as high as 1,907 pounds, which inspired confidence in the reserve capacity of the GX (although GVWR was not exceeded). The ride and drive of the GX on the road significantly improves comfort and makes the long pavement stretches easier on the occupants. Despite our love of the backcountry, most trips require an investment in highway miles to reach the trailhead. For off-highway performance, the GX is impressive even in stock form, only limited by ground clearance at the rear bumper and along the running boards. The 109-inch wheelbase makes the vehicle a good balance between stability and maneuverability on the trails. And of important consideration, it is possible to buy a clean GX 470 with reasonable miles for as little as $17,000.

ESTABLISHING A BASELINE

In that first year, it became evident that a few things needed to be addressed before modifications began. For this, I called DeYoung European Motors, the same outfit I trusted for 10 years with my G320. Most noticeable was the ailing rack-and-pinion steering, which is an area of weakness for the platform. The rack, bushing, and pump were all showing signs of wear, including a

Left column:

With solo travel a regular prospect, I always fit a high-quality 12-volt recovery winch. The Warn Zeon 10-S fit perfectly in the bull bar and was complemented by Warn’s Sidewinder hook replacement.

It is easy to discount IFS for backcountry travel, but the Toyota suspension configuration delivers in the field. The GX now rides and handles better than stock while benefiting from more ground clearance.

The tire mount requires measuring with care and then drilling four times into the back door. Additional work is needed to accommodate a relocated license bracket and lighting. The end result is worth the effort.

Right column:

The rear suspension took some work to incorporate a lift using the factory airbags, including configuring a custom spacer and adjusting the height sensors. The rear BP-51s are long travel, so spacing the bags is critical to prevent damage at full extension.

The AEV Crestone wheels look great on the GX and are complemented by the tall and narrow Toyo A/T IIIs.

One of the modifications that most impressed me was the Timbren bump stops. Their taller profile and progressive design are just what the GX ordered.

Bottom:

Putting the spare on the rear door completely changes the look of the GX and gets the tire out from under the vehicle. ACC Garage produces these units in the USA.

leaking pressure line. With larger tires in the plan, we rebuilt the system with all-new parts and strengthened the tie-rod ends with their Tie Bo No stainless steel reinforcement rods.

Additionally, any lift put added strain on the CV axles due to the change in the operating angle. The original CVs showed signs of wear and were leaking grease from the boots. While the front end was being freshened, the CV axles were replaced with factory Toyota parts to ensure long service life and strength on a lifted AWD SUV.

There were a few functionality items I did not care for on the GX, mostly related to the undermounted spare, the factory side steps, and the limited underbody protection. Given that the GX is based on the Prado, it has a swing-out rear gate, which would allow for either importing and modifying a Prado gate to mount the spare or using an innovative (and arguably more robust) option with the ACC Garage Becky tire mount. Properly installing this mount is a genuine project, but the instructions are adequate, and it really is a step-by-step affair. It took me a few days to fully complete, as I spent all the time required to address any issues discovered along the way. This included additional painting and rust protection, along with a measure-three-times, cut-once pace. The kit comes with a sturdy, thoughtfully designed tire mount that bolts through the Lexus gate and is reinforced

with plates, angle shims, and a lower striker ramp. This ramp secures to the rear body crossover and helps to support the weight of the tire and wheel combination. Additional attention is needed in mounting the license plate, improved backup light, and relocating the backup camera. In the end, it was one of the most satisfying and transformative modifications, changing the appearance of the GX. The spare tire is now immediately accessible (not buried in the mud), and the factory tire well can be used for either an extra spare, or for my purposes, additional water and fuel storage. It should be noted that the rear-mounted spare does reduce visibility slightly, and shifts the center of gravity up marginally as well.

With the spare relocated, I turned my attention toward removing the factory running boards, which is a few-minute job, yielding a big improvement in ground clearance. It has the extra benefit of reducing weight by 30 pounds from the vehicle, offsetting the added 19 pounds from the new tire mount. At this point, I considered rock sliders but ultimately held off due to the payload impact. Rock sliders that can additionally serve as side steps have real advantages in the field, but I felt comfortable going without because of the ground clearance gained (details later in this article), relying on the watchful eye of a spotter when warranted. Others may choose differently based on their use case.

SUSPENSION AND TIRES

Through the years, I have grown fond of working on what cannot be seen first. And few modifications serve the driver as much every day (while being mostly unseen) than a good suspension. With each passing year, suspension systems get stronger, more adjustable, and ultimately more usable for travel. The GX already starts with a good suspension from the factory, with driver-adjustable compression damping, and a longtravel, multi-height rear airbag configuration. We wanted to retain those attributes, improving on them with a fully integrated system. There were several goals to achieve, including additional ground clearance, while also increasing the spring rate on the front springs to accommodate the weight of a bull bar and winch. The factory front rate is too soft for even an unloaded vehicle, so I needed an additional 200+ pound rate

The GX has been an impressive vehicle in all I have asked of it, including long road trips or a fun day of rock crawling. In the era of soft SUVs, the GX has the heart of an overlander.

increase (with an adjustable preload) to improve the overall handling and accommodate the weight of the ARB bumper.

After some deliberation, I selected the Old Man Emu BP-51 front coilover and rear remote reservoir shocks, an ideal confluence of service life, performance, durability, and adjustability. A principal performance advantage is the internal bypass configuration, which permits significant changes to

AFTER SOME DELIBERATION, I SELECTED THE OLD MAN EMU BP-51 FRONT COILOVER AND REAR REMOTE RESERVOIR SHOCKS, AN IDEAL CONFLUENCE OF SERVICE LIFE, PERFORMANCE, DURABILITY, AND ADJUSTABILITY.

fluid flow throughout the shock stroke. In practical terms, it allows for a supple ride in the middle of the shock range and improved vehicle control during large suspension events. Another feature I wanted was rebound and compression adjustability. I intended to run the vehicle without a front anti-sway bar [Editor’s Note: This is not a recommended or endorsed practice.], which makes precise rebound control more essential to manage sway or load transitions. The shocks also happen to be a work of art and are designed for long-distance remote travel in harsh conditions. They installed easily, but the rear did require some adjustment to accommodate the stone guard and the mismatch between airbag length and shock stroke.

For the suspension, another objective was to retain the airbags in the rear, which provides a significant improvement in ride quality while load leveling for variable payloads. As my daily driver, the Lexus can be near empty, or fully loaded with camping gear, or pulling a heavy trailer, so the flexibility of airbags is worth retaining. This required spacing the airbags up from the axle mounts by 60 millimeters using an Air Lift 52420 spacer, customized to the lower pin on the factory airbags. The ride adjustment rods were then adjusted to level the vehicle. This modification is critical, as the airbags are too short for the BP-51 shock stroke (something learned during local testing, not in the shop).

As the last step, I installed the new Timbren Active Off-Road bump stops front and

rear. These taller, progressive-rate, natural rubber jounces have provided several critical benefits for the project. Most importantly, the rear jounces are taller than the factory ones, protecting the rear sheet metal from tire contact on full compression. They serve as a secondary spring should an airbag fail, allowing me to drive off the trail. It was an airbag failure that initially inspired me to install these units, as the vehicle went down to factory bumps and the tires made fender contact—time to call a tow truck. The front Timbren jounces are only slightly taller than factory but work in concert with the BP-51s to provide an impressive amount of control. The suspension now works exactly as desired on the highway, at high speed on the dirt, and during low-speed maximum articulation events.

Tires and wheels are one of the most essential modifications to any overland vehicle, so I paid particular attention to the tire size selected. I have been a longtime fan of a tall and narrow tire, which improves fitment and reduces weight. One of my favorite sizes is a 255/80 R17, which measures over 33 inches tall and only 10 inches wide. Toyo’s new A/T IIIs were on the list to test, and they have exceeded my expectations for highway, dirt trails, and even snow and ice. The tires were mounted to (in my opinion) the best wheel available today for overland travel, the American Expedition Vehicles Crestone Dualsport wheel, which is a true DOT-approved beadlock. This allows for extremely low pressures in snow and sand without fear of losing a bead and also improves remote field service of a tire for patching and other repairs.

ADDITIONAL CONSIDERATIONS

As a safeguard, we installed one of my favorite accessories, the ARB bull bar, which provides full protection from animal strikes or light trail damage, inspiring respect from all but semi-truck drivers in developing countries. The ARB Summit bar is designed for the Prado 120, but it does work on the GX 470 with some patience, creating a template for the bumper wings to trim the Lexus fender flares. It not only works ideally for this application but again transforms the appearance of the vehicle. The bumper also serves as a platform to mount a Warn Zeon 10-S, one of the most effective models for this size vehicle and remote applications. It

retains a wired remote and benefits from a sealed Albright solenoid, synthetic line, and improved overall line speed. Lastly, a set of ARB LED lights was installed to provide ample nighttime illumination at all speeds.

To address underbody protection, I again turned to ARB, and their full complement of pressed and folded, 3-millimeter, laser-cut skid plates. The zinc-coated skid plates mount to factory attachment points and significantly improve resistance to trail damage, particularly in rocky terrain. While they do add some weight to the GX, the vehicle stayed within GVWR; the weight of the plates is extremely low in the chassis, actually improving the center of gravity.

The last consideration to the exterior was to take advantage of the open factory spare tire location to mount a set of Trail’d water tanks. At 6 gallons each, two of them mount right where the original spare was and even utilize the factory lifting winch to lift and secure the tanks. They provide more than enough water for a long weekend of camping. If my travels extend beyond the reach of the EPA (i.e., outside of the USA), then these tanks also work perfectly for emergency fuel storage. The key with auxiliary fuel storage is only to use them when needed and transfer the fuel as soon as possible. Twelve gallons of fuel weighs over 80 pounds but can be invaluable during those rare occasions when maximum range is needed.

Overall, the Lexus GX has proven to be an exceptionally reliable and genuinely pleasant vehicle to drive. It has served equally as a daily driver and as a long-distance backcountry tourer. Underneath all that leather and wood trim, this vehicle has the heart of a Land Cruiser, and that reason alone makes it a solid choice for overlanding.

RESOURCES

DEYOUNG EUROPEAN MOTORS 928-445-3222

ACC GARAGE accgarage.com

ARB arbusa.com

OLD MAN EMU oldmanemu.com.au, arbusa.com

AIR LIFT airliftcompany.com

TIMBREN timbren.com

TOYO TIRES toyotires.com

AMERICAN EXPEDITION VEHICLES aev-conversions.com

WARN warn.com

TRAIL’D trailedonline.com

THE SEARCH FOR POPSKIʼS LOST PATROL

Tunisia’s Sahara Desert holds secrets to the past in its vast sands.

The radio crackled alive with an excited voice, “I think we have something here. It’s a door panel, and it’s got a bullet hole in it.” Expedition members waited with bated breath for the next report to come across the radio net as they maneuvered their Land Rovers from line abreast formation across the desert sand and started to merge in the direction of the radio caller. Could we have found paydirt on the first day of the search?

Three weeks before, we gathered in southern England to pack our vehicles and drive toward our destination in the Tunisian desert. Our mission was simple: find the remnants of Popski’s lost patrol where it was attacked during the Second World War. Then retrace the survivors’ journey across the Grand Erg Orientale to Tembaine, Tunisia.

In 1942, Major Vladimir Peniakoff created No. 1 Demolition Squadron, Popski’s Private Army, a British Special Forces unit attached to the British Eighth Army. The squadron was tasked to raid German fuel depots behind enemy lines during the North African campaign of WWII. Nicknamed Popski by British radio operators who had difficulty in pronouncing Peniakoff, the squadron was structured and equipped similarly to the other two more well-known desert raiders, the Long Range Desert Group and the Special Air Service Regiment.

Early in 1943, Popski’s unit suffered a number of casualties and lost seven vehicles to enemy action when it was attacked from the air by German Luftwaffe Bf 109s. Following the onslaught, Popski led the 56 survivors across the Sahara on a 200-mile march to safety.

As the leader, James Davis planned our expedition, organized logistics, and guided the mission. He was keen to find the remnants of Popski’s lost patrol as the expedition group was named after Popski’s Private Army.

Popski’s Private Expeditions specialize in vehicle-based desert overland travel in vintage Land Rovers. As a veteran of many desert crossings in Morocco, James’ United Kingdombased group is well-versed in the rigors of North African deserts.

The team consisted of five military veterans (two Canadian and three British) and two British civilians (one a classic race car driver and the other a Royal Geographical Society Fellow) for the crew. Each was chosen for a specialty they could provide: James Davis (team leader), Andrew Carver (search specialist), John Manning (master mechanic), Roger Ames (logistician), myself (medic and photographer), Andy Bush (mechanic), and Alan Hall (historian).

During the planning phase, a Tunisian guiding company, Saharan Sky, learned of the expedition and reached out to James to offer their services. As this was his first foray into Tunisia, James decided to have the company on call for any unforeseen contingencies. Although no formal contract of support was negotiated, we did call on them a few times during the mission. I’ll get to that later.

We used one Series III Lightweight and three larger 110s, all built in the 1980s-1990s, with military service records for

In 1942, Major Vladimir Peniakoff founded what became known as Popski’s Private Army, the smallest independent unit of the British Army during WWII. Opposite: Our excitement grew as we loaded our Land Rovers onto the ferry for the overnight crossing of the Mediterranean Sea. Opening page: We cruise through a provincial town in northern France en route to Marseille.

either the British or Dutch armies. Land Rovers were the vehicle of choice due to their rugged nature, carrying capacity, and ease of repair. The four vehicles each had a 2.5-litre diesel, an excellent choice for overlanding due to its simple yet timetested engine design.

After gathering six of the seven expedition members west of London, England, we were soaked with rain while driving south to the port of Newhaven. Thirty- and forty-year-old Land Rovers make great desert trucks but lack in the windshield wiper and heater departments. Not to worry; we dried out on the ferry across the English Channel to Dieppe.

Upon arrival in France, we rapidly cleared customs. Our spirits were high, and our clothes dry as we headed south over Routes Nationales and D-class roads towards Marseille’s southern port on the French Mediterranean coast. We had a couple of minor electrical issues (driving lights and turn signals) on the trucks during the two-day drive through France. The mechanically inclined stepped up and solved the prob-

lems along the roadside. Anyone who has ever owned or driven vintage British vehicles has a love-hate relationship with Lucas Electrical components.

After a chilly night of camping on the outskirts of town, we drove to the port and waited to board the ferry to Tunis. While waiting in line, we heard loud shouts from the direction of the port road. It was Andrew, the expedition’s fourth truck and final team member. He had driven from his home in Spain to meet us in Marseille. At last, we were all together.

The 22-hour crossing of the Mediterranean was spent mainly conducting team-building exercises—at the bar. It always amazes me how like-minded people connect quickly. Friendships were forged over desert maps and war stories.

Upon landing in Tunis, the Tunisian border guards were about as interested in us as the French border guards were. Apparently, old guys driving ex-military Land Rovers full of camping equipment are not considered much of a threat. Thankfully, we cleared customs in short order and were on our

way to our hotel in downtown Tunis. More team building was on the agenda for the evening.

After our last night in a comfortable hotel, we drove nine hours by road from Tunis to Douz, the gateway to the Sahara Desert. Douz was selected as the forward staging area for the journey as it had a campsite, market, and fuel station. The last night before reaching the Sahara was spent in the Desert Camping Club campsite, run by a lovely French woman named Sofie. She told us where the souk was, ensured we had enough beer for our journey, and offered drinking water from her well. Her hospitality in the middle of nowhere was truly ingratiating and much appreciated.

Upon settling into the campsite, we stripped the vehicles of doors, windscreens, and other equipment not required for the desert phase. All non-mission essential kit was kept in a small warehouse in Douz arranged by Saharan Sky. We topped up our water cans, completed radio checks, and stored the consumables we had acquired from the local market into the Land Rovers, ready for our first day in the desert.

On Day 7, we left the campsite and stopped on the outskirts of Douz to refuel the trucks. As soon as we turned the ignitions off, we were engulfed in a swarm of kids. Children of all ages climbed onto the trucks and extended their arms with their palms up. Even with my limited knowledge of Arabic, I knew they were asking for money. Andy and Roger threw candy into the crowd, and a mad scramble ensued towards the sweets, allowing us to make a clean getaway with our wallets intact. We left Douz and drove southeast to establish our first desert camp, an easy transit due to the hard-pack ground.

For nightly shelter, the team had their choice of a ridge tent or bivy bag. James supplied both for each participant as well as sleeping bags and camping cots. Six of us watched while one team member struggled to erect his tent. It was to be a nightly spectacle which brought much good-natured ridicule of the poor soul.

For food, we ate hot porridge and drank tea and coffee in the mornings. After Alan,

The skyline of Douz, the gateway to the Sahara. James Davis leads the expedition through the ancient roads of Douz. Opposite: Andy (left) and Roger (right) evade curious kids after refueling.

our Royal Geographic Society Fellow, mentioned that Popski’s Private Army added rum to their oatmeal during the war, the morning porridge was then offered in a similar fashion, and suddenly, was enjoyed a lot more. After a morning of driving, we devoured sandwiches of cold meat and cheese for lunch. In traditional British fashion, tea was brewed using Kelly Kettles during mid-morning and mid-afternoon breaks. Every night, each of us was responsible for making a meal, two each for the duration of the trip. We wolfed down culinary delights such as chicken curry, pad thai, Mexican burritos, tagine, and spaghetti Bolognese. Traditional bully beef and brown crackers were consumed with less enthusiasm, even when served with rum.

The following morning, we conducted desert training. James led the discussion of proven techniques for driving through the sand and invited members to share their own desert experiences. Roger relayed his background with the British Army in the Middle East.

After airing down the tires to 12-15 psi, we mounted up in the Rovers to experience the Tunisian sand. It wasn’t long before we were challenged by desert driving. Sand ladders, MaxTrax, and shovels were soon required to free vehicles bogged down. We learned very quickly to use the trucks’ momentum to crest

the apex of a dune and coast down the other side. This is easier said than done given the limited flat ground to gather speed in between dunes. We were spending a lot of time swinging shovels and hooking up tow ropes.

In the afternoon of Day 8, we drove to Fort Tisavar, a Roman fort near Ksar Ghilane. Built by the Roman Army during Emperor Commodus’ reign, the fort sits atop a hill in the open desert. I was amazed at the Romans’ ingenuity to construct such a defensible structure, given the location. Camp that night was at the base of the hill in a bowl sheltered from the wind; we enjoyed the stunning view as the sun set.

The next morning, we left the Roman fort for the oasis at Ksar Ghilane. Sticking out like a sore thumb, the green cluster of date trees beckoned from a sea of golden desert sand; it was like a scene out of an old Beau Geste movie. Merchants sold Arabic tea and North African food from cafés and hotels built from mud and brick, while the occasional European bathed in the crystal clear water of the oasis spring. After replenishing supplies, we left Ksar Ghilane, crossing the desert to Qaret Ali to find the site where the German Luftwaffe attacked Popski’s Patrol.

James and the expedition’s search expert, Andrew, led us into Qaret Ali using map coordinates recorded by Popski in his war diary. Qaret Ali is not a pinpoint location but an area whose name means “Ali’s place.” Once the team arrived in the area, Andrew and I drove south to a southern wadi to confirm the team was in the correct location. It was, and we were ecstatic. We established camp in the late afternoon between two wadis near the berm of the Grand Erg Orientale.

Only one small mystery remained: Popski mentioned in his war diary that his unit took up a defensive position on a “hill.” Both wadis had distinctive ridges on either side, but no hill was in sight. Had the geographical features changed that much over the last 70 years?

Day 10 started with a briefing from James on the day’s activity, the search for remnants of Popski’s lost patrol in Qaret Ali. Andrew provided an orientation of the Expedition bivouacs on the southern side of the wadi in Qaret Ali. Roger holds our find, the front engine cover from a 1941 Chevy truck, the type used by the Long Range Desert Patrol and Popski’s Private Army. Opposite: The remains of Fort Tisavar, built by the Romans near Ksar Ghilane, captured our imagination.

ground with a sand model, and Alan provided historical context. From the war diary, we knew Popski’s Private Army was using Willys Jeeps mounted with twin Vickers machine guns, Chevy 30cwts, and 3-ton support trucks. Seven of these vehicles were hidden and abandoned somewhere in Qaret Ali following the enemy air attack in January 1943.

Following the briefing, we mounted up and drove towards the Grand Erg Oriental. Andrew and I were closest to the berm of the sand sea as the team spread out, spacing the trucks evenly in line abreast formation for the search. As we carefully moved forward, the realization struck that we had driven onto the high feature described in Popski’s diary. It was the most probable location of a defensive position on high ground, but the hill was completely invisible from the wadi. Bingo—we had found it.

Andrew and I sat on the hill and watched the expedition conduct a vehicle-borne sweep of the area between two wadis. A few moments later, the radio crackled alive by an excited Andy, “I think we have something here. It’s a door panel, and it’s got a bullet hole in it.” With that transmission, we converged upon Tembo, one of the team’s 110s.

Searching the wadi, we found several large pieces of rusty metal, one with a bullet hole through it. The metal looked comparable to components of engine hoods, but we weren’t

quite sure of their origin. The size of the bullet hole matched a 7.92mm or .303cal, two common calibers of bullets used by both the Germans and British during the war. The search also uncovered an old tobacco tin with a barely legible label. Although we couldn’t confirm these were remnants of Popski’s lost patrol, we had found two tantalizing items worthy of further research. We were elated.

Satisfied with the finds during the search, we turned our attention to the mission’s second objective. We would conduct a crossing of the sand sea and navigate to Tembaine, a set of volcanic features directly south of Douz in the Grand Erg Oriental. Navigation to Tembaine would be conducted by map and compass with GPS as a backup. Looking forward to the next challenge, the expedition set off for Tembaine after a brief resupply in Ksar Ghilane.

Although we couldn’t confirm these were remnants of Popski’s lost patrol, we had found two tantalizing items worthy of further research. We were elated.

We soon discerned the drive to Tembaine would not be an easy feat. As the height of the dunes increased, so did the level of difficulty for the Land Rover 110s in traversing the soft sand. At the bottom of one such dune, Tembo suffered a severe bend in its steering arm. The team rallied to the rescue as bad weather moved in. The steer-

ing arm was removed, and Saharan Sky was called into service to facilitate an overnight repair in Douz. The next morning, a straightened steering arm was delivered to our desert camp, and Tembo was ready to resume the drive within an hour.

Day 12 saw the 110s often getting stuck, and only the Series III Lightweight was having limited success transiting the larger sand dunes. Tembo suffered a second bend to its steering arm, but this time the team was able to quickly complete a field repair. Andy and Roger jumped into action and straightened it with a pull from another vehicle. The steering arm was then reinforced by strapping a torque bar to it using electrical cable ties and two jubilee clamps. It was one of the best field repairs I have ever seen.

Due to the time lost during Tembo’s second repair and the difficulty in travel, James decided to skirt the sand sea in a big arc west and finally south into Tembaine. It would be a lengthier drive but an easier transit on the hard-pack sand. After a long day of driving and vehicle recovery, the expedition pulled up and camped on the erg’s northern edge.

The third day of the transit to Tembaine was an exercise in patience. Using a map and compass to navigate, as Popski would have done in 1943, meant we were using a map from 1941, which was surveyed by the French in 1928. Upon reaching a series of volcanic peaks similar to those marked on the map to represent Tembaine Mountain, we discovered the GPS coordinates showed modern Tembaine to be a flat-top volcanic mountain several kilometres farther south. These were good lessons in the fluidity of names and challenges of desert navigation, lessons Popski himself would have probably learned. Now using the GPS as the primary navigation tool, we reached the destination of Tembaine a few hours later, just before dark. There were high fives and dusty faces all around.

Using a map and compass to navigate, as Popski would have done in 1943, meant we were using a map from 1941, which was surveyed by the French in 1928.

The following day, it was with both a sense of achievement and a feeling of regret that we left the desert from Tembaine for an easy drive on tarmac to Douz. Over two weeks, friendships were forged, laughs had been shared, and memories were created. The team quietly drove back to Tunis, and after a series of ferry delays and bad weather in the south of France, we returned safely home to England, tired but accomplished.

Back in the UK, research into both relics confirmed the team found pieces of 1941 Chevy trucks used by the Long Range Desert Patrol and Popski’s Private Army. The tobacco tin was identified as a Scottish brand sold only until 1940. With these discoveries, we can now say with a degree of certainty that the mission to find the remnants of Popski’s lost patrol was a success.

John (left) and Roger (right) hook up tow ropes to rescue Shim, the expedition’s lone Series III Lightweight, in the sand sea of the Grand Erg Oriental.

Mud, Malaria, and Machine Guns

Western Africa riddled the Bell family with a series of formidable challenges, not for the faint of heart. For that very reason, they maintain it is the last great overland route.

By Graeme Bell

Photography by Graeme, Luisa, Keelan, and Jessica Bell

Clockwise from top left: An ancient typewriter with fresh ribbon sits in an office at the Gabonese border in the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Keelan is processed out of Gabon. A German family joined us in convoying across the pristine Nigerian highlands to Cameroon, a three-day, off-road trek. Making our way through the jungle in the Congo. Opening page: Keelan clambers into an abandoned Soviet tank, a remnant of the Cold War proxy war.

Beginning in late 2018 until mid-2019, my family and I drove our Land Rover Defender across the African continent from north to south. When planning the journey, we knew that we were going to face our most significant challenge since setting off to explore the planet seven years earlier. During those 10 months in Africa, we suffered malaria, mechanical breakdowns, and threats of severe violence while also enjoying incredible displays of kindness and humbling generosity. West Africa is the overland equivalent of summiting Mount Everest, and we will never be the same again.

Morocco to South Africa is arguably the last great overland route. Yes, others are more remote, wild, and extreme in terms of terrain, temperature, and location. The Canning Stock Route in Australia and the Silk Road in Asia are good examples of superb overland routes that pale in comparison to the Western Africa route, where extreme elements are compounded. Morocco and Namibia (and Angola) are the delightful bookends of this journey—relatively modern, prosperous countries that suffer far less from the lack of infrastructure and resources which inhibit those countries between them.

So, why is Western Africa such a challenge?

BUREAUCRACY

It becomes crystal clear as soon as you leave the Moroccan Western Sahara border and enter the no-mans-land to Mauritania that you are very, very far away from the peaceful and prosperous shores of Europe a few days drive to the north. Burnt-out vehicles are strewn across the landscape; a track weaves between them, and there are landmines here—do not leave the path.

It is as if you are entering a post-apocalyptic world. Towering walls ominously welcome you to a country of sand and wind. Men in military uniforms and black full-face shemaghs point at a building, “Stop there, go there.” We enter a latrinegreen-colored building to find a forecourt full of men and a few closed doors, but no signs. A nondescript metal door opens, a man escapes. Men start to shout, and we are pushed forward. What’s going on? Behind the metal door is the immigration room where a barefoot man dressed in a suit packs euro notes into drawers overflowing with them and languidly, eventually, issues visas.

To then enter Senegal from Mauritania, you most likely need to have a visa. If you do not have a carnet de passages (a carnet is essentially a passport for your vehicle), you will need to pay a $300 fee despite no law supporting that demand.

In Dakar, you have to fight the flow of traffic to apply for a visa for Guinea Bissau, and you’ll find yourself melting in the heat when you then apply for a visa for Côte d’Ivoire (aka the Ivory Coast, or CI) and Guinea–Conakry. In Abidjan, you will apply for a visa for Ghana. In Benin, you will apply for a visa for the Democratic Republic of the Congo (even though there were rumors about bikers whose visas issued in Benin were refused at the DRC border). In Lagos, you will camp in

a construction yard for four days so that you can apply for and receive a visa for Cameroon. You will have to repeat the process of travel, pay, and wait for visas for Gabon, Angola, Congo, Namibia, and South Africa (depending on your nationality). The average visa costs $50 (multiplied by four people in 12 countries with our South African passports), and that does not include the expense and effort to travel to the cities and find accommodation while applying for the onward visa. If just one of the visas is refused, your entire journey could grind to a sudden and costly halt.

When asked why the visa for their country is so expensive, the official will usually answer, “How much is a visa for me to enter Europe or the USA?” The system is reciprocal, you see. Tourism does not yet yield sufficient revenue to encourage visa-free entry, and an African Union based on the model of the European Union is decades from reality. It is best to apply for as many visas as possible before leaving your home base, but most visas carry validity limits before they expire, forcing you to rush and allowing for no eventualities.

CORRUPTION

Corruption and bureaucracy are often inseparable—bread and butter, whisky and ice. A uniform represents power. Though corrupt officials constitute a minority of the officials you will encounter on the road, they may have a huge impact on your journey if not handled correctly. Corruption is part of life in West Africa. Each taxi, truck, and bus pays a small fee to pass individual checkpoints as officials are often underpaid if paid at all. They must supplement their meager salaries by collecting small fees (or large fees, depending on the size and importance of their post). A receipt book and a stamp are prized possessions—a desk and an air-conditioned office, the Holy Grail. If all your visas and documents are in order, then you should have no problems, but an opportunity for punitive action will seldom be missed.

It is as if you are entering a post-apocalyptic world. Towering walls ominously welcome you to a country of sand and wind.

Generally speaking, border crossings are less of a hassle than the endless military and police checkpoints. If you are polite and respectful, you will usually be waved through. If you are arrogant and dismissive, you will be delayed. Sometimes, you have to just grin and bear it as the police search your vehicle for the fourth time that day, in the middle of the jungle, with sweat dripping from your brow. We never paid an obvious bribe and were not often delayed, primarily because we are law-abiding, mannerly, and practice infinite patience. An official will often ask, “What have you brought for us today?” expecting a banknote. We adopted the custom of handing out small packs of chewing gum as most West Africans do not smoke, and cigarettes hold little currency. Morocco, Ivory Coast, Ghana, Gabon, Angola, and Namibia are standouts for bucking graft; checkpoints are few and far between and are professional and friendly.

Clockwise from top left: Jessica suffered two bouts of malaria during our voyage. This sign served as a telling warning for bees in the Congo. Wildlife trade and bushmeat are both disturbingly common in Gabon, despite many species being listed as protected. Our Land Rover camper fought across the continent. By the time we reached Cape Town, we had replaced the clutch and gearbox.

DISEASE

The tiny anopheles gambiae mosquito is a murderous little creature. She mostly preys on the young and pregnant women, killing almost a million people a year despite decades of attempts to eradicate the scourge. Expensive preventative regimes such as Malarone as well as more cost-effective treatments are options; we soon learned to rely on portable malaria test kits and doses of Coartem. When our daughter fell ill with her first bout of malaria, we attended a basic but efficient pediatric hospital in the city of Enugu, Nigeria, where she received affordable blood tests to confirm the diagnosis. The treatment costs less than $10, which is okay when you earn more than a dollar a day. We all suffered from malaria and had to battle through the worst of the affliction, stopping to recuperate in a small hotel or rented house when we could. But when the Land Rover was stuttering with an electrical fault in the wild expanses of the Democratic Republic of Congo, drunken locals banging on the frame as we passed, with Jessica fainting from her second bout of malaria in the back seat, we realized that we were in a precarious position and needed to harness our skills and courage. That night, while Jessica rested and Keelan cooked dinner over a small campfire, Luisa and I diagnosed the electrical problem, repairing the wiring to the crankshaft position sensor while parked in a large hole hidden from view.

Bacteria are likewise virulent. A friend who had cycled over 100,000 miles around the world had to return to Europe after a scratch on his shin became horribly infected, despite having antibiotics and antiseptic creams at his disposal. All food and drink must be washed before being consumed, unbottled water must be effectively filtered, and it is wise to develop the habit of sterilizing your hands before touching food or your mouth. No matter how careful you are, you will invariably find yourself hovering over porcelain or a hole in a hut in pain. The flu will attack you when you least need it, your energy will drain when you need every ounce of strength to continue, and the heat will keep you awake all night while your head pounds and a cough wracks your lungs.

It is illness that truly renders the Western Africa journey intolerable at times, as you still have to make important decisions, fulfill bureaucratic deadlines, source food and fuel, drive long distances through chaotic traffic, tolerate yet another checkpoint, and persevere through the sweltering day and night, even when seriously sick.

INFRASTRUCTURE

South of the Sahel and north of Angola, much of the road network is atrocious. The two annual wet seasons wreak havoc on thin pavement and ancient tracks that struggle to connect countries north to south, east to west, and to their neighbors. While there most definitely has been progress over the last few decades (including new bridges where ferries once dominated and paved Chinese roads), it can take entire days to travel short distances. Ghana has fantastic roads, the Ivory

Coast is a joy to drive (mostly), and Nigeria will offer you both great roads and hundreds of kilometers of automotive hell. And while some cities, such as Dakar, are a nightmare to navigate and endure, others are a pleasure. Abidjan was a wonderful surprise, and Accra has its moments; both cities offer Western-style malls complete with South African retailers, supermarket chains, and the opportunity to wolf down a majestic American-style burger from Burger King.

Depending on the country, both electrical and internet services can be adequate or nonexistent, and the entire region hums to the drone of generators. There are hardly any trains; trucks rule the roads and do so with impunity. Plastic is the curse of West Africa. In the absence of waste management systems, the scent you will smell most often is burning plastic, its acrid smoke hanging in the air, obscuring the blue sky as the Harmattan wind blows dust from the Sahara across to the Atlantic to the Amazon Rainforest.

The Nigerian and Cameroon highlands are green rolling hills with ancient forests, rocky outcrops, mighty rivers, moist, red soil, and hospitable people.

After a soft year in Europe, we craved Western food but found those luxuries expensive and often impossible to source. Our diet consisted of delicious and nutritious bananas, papayas, mangos, pineapples, tomatoes, and onions complemented by canned sardines, baguette, Kiri cream cheese, and local beer—often served warm. Occasionally, we would eat at restaurants that served massive portions of rice and tough, skinny barbecued chicken or large fresh shrimp. Bushmeat is an essential source of protein for many West Africans, but hunting cannot feed nations for very long, and we refuse to eat endangered wild animals.

We have the distinct impression that many West African countries do not have amicable relations with their neighbors, and there is certainly not much cross-border trade. For instance, the border between Guinea Bissau and Guinea–Conakry is located on what is essentially a goat track. It took three days of wet-season, off-road driving to cross from central Nigeria into Cameroon as the southern Ekok border was closed due to the civil war in Cameroon. There is a saying that if trade does not cross borders, then armies will. I suspect many West African countries protect themselves by ensuring that border arteries are intentionally clogged and impossible to navigate swiftly in any substantial numbers.

NATURAL WORLD

Little of West Africa itself rises more than 300 meters above sea level. The Sahara extends its influence beyond southern Senegal, itself dry and dominated by grassland and enormous baobab trees. It is only from central Guinea–Conakry that the infamous jungle appears. And where the jungle begins; mobility becomes arduous, particularly where roads are few and only partially paved, continuing until northern Angola. The Nigerian and Cameroon highlands are green rolling hills with

Clockwise from top left: Exiting the bush to cross the mighty Congo River, we were relieved to find a sturdy bridge. The murder of two Scandinavian travelers in Morocco brought the danger in the Sahel close to home. We attended a vigil in Chefchaouen. Crossing the Congo is exhausting for man and machine; some vehicles just don’t survive the terrible tracks. Closing in on Angola.

ancient forests, rocky outcrops, mighty rivers, moist, red soil, and hospitable people.

The red mud, granite mounds, lush jungles, wild creatures, and low mountains are a mere memory of the paradise that once existed before reckless logging, palm oil production, diamond mining, indiscriminate hunting, and subsistence agriculture ravaged the land. Since European colonization, entire wild populations of lion, elephant, leopard, hippopotamus, chimpanzee, gorilla, and antelope have been decimated. Only a handful of these majestic creatures survive in remote, woefully underfunded nature reserves where poaching thrives. We spotted wild monkeys only once before reaching Angola. There were few birds, no herds, and the only wild animals we encountered were hanging limp from roadside stalls for sale. Even snakes are rare, valuable for meat and the exotic animal trade. Only insects seem to have escaped the hunter’s appetite.

Two further threats oppose any possibility of the natural recovery of exploited species: overpopulation and the exotic appetites of the new colonists, the Chinese. One can only hope that Chinese investment in commercial infrastructure will have unintended positive consequences and enable these nations to grow local economies, facilitating education, mobility, and sustainable agriculture. Removing wildlife from the menu and encouraging wildlife tourism while raising the standard of living for many impoverished, isolated communities is a lot to wish for, but possible.

CIVIL WAR AND UNREST

Mali and Burkina Faso offer a direct route to Benin or Niger and Nigeria, but Boko Haram and ISIS are disrupting those countries, attacking villages and kidnapping foreigners. We found ourselves stranded in the Rif mountains of Morocco; two Scandinavian girls were beheaded by an ISIS splinter group in the Taurus Mountains, a few hundred kilometers south. Chad is a no-go zone, as is the Central African Republic and parts of the Democratic Republic of Congo. When armies, rebels, and Islamists are not vying for control, tribal disputes lead to bloodshed and massacres. We did not sleep well in lawless southern Nigeria—a shot rang out just after dark, and a man with an assault rifle entered the hotel compound and beat the staff with a rod; a woman had been murdered right outside the gates. I cautiously introduced myself to the man while my family hid in a hotel room, preferring to negotiate with danger than be a victim of circumstance. His name was Commando, and he wanted to know where my security detail was. A day later, escorts took us from a police checkpoint to a police station where they instructed us to camp since the area is known as a kidnapping hot spot. Liberia and Sierra Leone are recovering from their own diamond-fueled conflicts, and the Ivory Coast (which was excluded from our 2010 Lonely Planet guidebook due to the conflict there) has taken a page from Rwanda’s book, making massive strives towards peace and modernity. The resources are there; the people want progress.

PEOPLE

We met a man called Mohamed in Guinea–Conakry, very close to the Sierra Leone border. He was a refugee from Sierra Leone and a waiter at the secluded restaurant where we had secured parking for the night. His family had been murdered, and he had escaped to Guinea with his younger brother. Mohamed wore a smile and took care of us like old friends. He stayed up all night watching over us as we slept through a thunderstorm, greeting us that morning with washing water and a cup of tea, refusing my offer of a tip. He asked for nothing.

We met a professor in Dakar, exiled from Cameroon because of a paper he published which exposed deliberate incompetence in the education system. We discussed Africa as equals even though he was far more qualified, and we had been absent from Africa for six years. Not once did we encounter aggression because we are white South Africans. We were always encouraged with a smile and the statement, “Then you are Africans too!”

We chose to follow the golden rules of overlanding, remembering that the majority of problems in any country are caused by a handful of fractured people. You simply cannot live in fear.

Driving through some of the poorest countries on earth in a large, expensive overland vehicle will attract a lot of attention. People want to shake your hand; school children will chase you through town laughing and waving; conversation will stop as you pass; and young men will call to you with a hissing, “Ksss, Kssss.” You might by now have the impression that West Africa is unsafe, but surprisingly, it is generally not. For the most part, we felt respected and welcome. Yes, there are often reports of travelers being attacked, even murdered, but considering that there are hundreds of people attempting the route every year, those events are rare and unlucky. We chose to follow the golden rules of overlanding (do not drive at night, trust your instincts, etc.), remembering that the majority of problems in any country are caused by a handful of fractured people. You simply cannot live in fear.

THE REWARD

It is because the Western African route is so difficult that it is so intensely rewarding. Those who have intelligently navigated this route understand that they have been forever changed by the journey, reaching deep within themselves and finding the resources and strength to endure that which many may find terrifying. The journey is magical. It transforms perception, reinvigorates passion, inspires introspection, and demands courage and faith in oneself, your companions, and the people whose world you are traveling through. I can think of no other route which presents equivalent challenges and rewards.

DESTINATIONS SHANNON O᾽DONNELL

CAMBODIA

It’s the generosity of the Cambodian spirit that most defines my memories of traveling across the country. People are quick with a smile in even the busiest tourist destinations—Angkor Wat hosts a staggering 2.5-million+ visitors a year. And in the small towns and rural mountain villages, I discovered that traveling off the beaten path rewards travelers in dividends.

Cambodia’s unique experiences remain undiscovered by most who visit. Decades of poor infrastructure development confined travelers to a set route through the country that hit the highlights but missed the nuanced details that enrich an overland journey.

Crossing the Thai border through Poipet, my niece and I made our first detour, heading for Battambang rather than the more popular route to Siem Reap. I had visited Siem Reap and Phnom Penh years before, hitting the guidebook must-sees with little thought for what lay beyond. With my 12-year-old niece in tow, we were at the tail end of a seven-month educational odyssey around Southeast Asia. We had eaten our way across Thailand and bicycled around Laos and Myanmar, leaving mere weeks to explore our final stop of Cambodia.

It was the destination I was most hesitant to visit with my niece. How can you explain to a child that we would spend our final weeks balancing light and dark? In the four decades since the Khmer Rouge’s devastating reign from 1975-1979, Cambodians in every pocket of the country have grappled with the aftermath of violence. An estimated two million Cambodians lost their lives—one-quarter of the population. We would bear witness to the darkest moment in the country’s history while also reveling in the wonders of the ancient Angkor Empire. We would stand in respectful silence at genocide monuments and battle overgrown brush in search of remote temples reclaimed by the surrounding forest. We would use history as a prism to better understand modern Cambodia’s fascinating contrasts.

Battambang was a delight. With the best-preserved French colonial architecture in the country, this sleepy city offered a gentle introduction to Cambodian culture. Hiring a tuk-tuk for the day, we ventured into the surrounding countryside. Our chatty driver acted as our guide, sharing engaging tidbits about his life as we drove first to Wat Banan Temple, a deserted Khmer temple complex completed sometime between the 10th and 13th centuries. Panoramic views from the 568 steps up are worth the visit alone, but we also enjoyed the solitude as the only visitors for miles. We later rode the historic bamboo train and then witnessed the evening exodus of thousands of bats from a cave.

Today, Cambodians express through art that which is impossible to convey with words. Nowhere is that more

evident than at Phare Ponleu Selpak (phareps.org), a non-profit born from Cambodian refugee camps in the late 1980s with a single idea: to use education of the arts and social work to help the nation’s children regain a sense of their cultural identity.

Intrigued by the promise of a circus show performed by children attending the local art school, I was unprepared for the serious subjects that would unfold across two hours. The performance transformed my understanding of the power of art to portray a multitude of nuances—without saying a word. That night’s circus show confronted Cambodia’s bloody past with color, humor, and somber notes of reckoning. In the show’s final moments, an acrobat fired a bow and arrow with her toes, the jolting pop of a nearby balloon symbolically ending the Khmer Rouge’s reign. I knew then that we could have had no better introduction to the twin flames alight in Cambodia: resilience and strength.

Sunset falls over the busy Sisowath Quay boardwalk in Phnom Penh. Opening page: Ancient apsara carvings dance through the Angkorian ruins near Siem Reap.

Clockwise from top left: Nature forcefully reclaims the temple at Ta Prohm. We deeply enjoyed watching the intricacies of Cambodia’s traditional Apsara Dance unfold on stage in Siem Reap. Vendors ply their wares on the streets of Phnom Penh. Tangy-sweet rambutan makes an affordable and refreshing snack on long travel days. Lavender Jeep Tours in Siem Reap offers scheduled or customized tours in A2 military jeeps.

Photo courtesy of Lavender Jeep Tours

TRAVEL TIPS

VISAS Most nationalities require a Cambodian visa, which is available on arrival at land borders and airports. A 30-day tourist visa costs $30 and is extendable one time. Scams are rife at land borders. Overland travelers should buy an e-visa ahead of time for $36—the peace of mind is well worth the small additional fee.

WHEN TO GO The high season coincides with cool, dry weather between November and February. By April and May, the weather is scorching hot. Monsoon rains alleviate the heat from late May through early October. Daily afternoon rainstorms are usually short, and these months see fewer tourists. If you can handle the heat and humidity, the countryside is lush and lovely during these summer months, and the lack of crowds is a welcome treat.

ACCOMMODATION Primary tourist destinations are flush with guesthouses and hotels, but in more rural areas, travelers should use local CBT organizations to arrange homestays and tours.

MONEY Cash is the preferred currency across Cambodia, although credit cards are accepted in major tourist areas. Once you’re off the beaten path, however, carry enough cash to cover all your expenses. The US dollar is the primary tourism currency, although the Cambodian riel is returned as small change when making local purchases. ATMs are rare outside of larger cities and accept Visa cards most widely, but Mastercards as well—foreign cards can generally only withdraw USD.

DRIVING Well-maintained highways connect the primary cities, but road conditions deteriorate in rural areas, where you’ll face pothole-filled dirt paths that are particularly tough to navigate during the rainy season. Motorbikes are a common way to travel overland, and 4WD vehicles are recommended for visiting remote jungle temples and trekking launching points. Cambodia Motorbike Tours (cambodiamotorbiketours.com) offers motos for rent from their fleet of 30 Yamaha WR 450 to 250 dirt bikes as well as fully supported tours. While there are no 4WD hire companies, vehicles may be available for private hire. Chinese infrastructure investments in the past few years have opened new regions to tourism, so beware of using older guidebooks or maps—they will not contain the latest routes. Importantly, do not venture from marked roads without a guide as Khmer Rouge-era landmines are still a very real concern.

CULTURAL CONSIDERATIONS Khmer is the official language of Cambodia, and English is the default language of tourism. The sampeah is a gesture of greeting and thanks, shared across the region—place your hands chin high and palms together, fingers pointing up, and gently nod your head. When visiting temples, both men and women should dress conservatively, keeping shoulders and legs covered. And being mindful of the genocide means not broaching this subject unless a local first offers insight.

FOOD Cambodian food features many fresh ingredients and favors pickled flavors, adding a tangy flair to the many rice-based dishes. Seafood is plentiful and well done, especially along the long coastline—fish amok is a must-try. Cambodian curries are popular and are milder than similar curries in neighboring Thailand. Vegetarian choices are plentiful.

We took a slow boat to Siem Reap the following day. It’s a seven-hour journey by water versus a three-hour bus ride, but the river provides a slice-of-life glimpse of Cambodia impossible to witness while whizzing down the dusty highways. Life unfurled at an unhurried pace. Locals plied the waterways in small wooden boats, and women washed clothes along the shores. Each sun-drenched moment captivated us as Angkor Wat drew near, an iconic source of national pride.

Siem Reap’s bustle came as a disorienting shock after days steeped in provincial quietude, so we eased into city life just as we had eased into our time in Cambodia. The city is home to many of the country’s most fascinating social enterprises, meaning we could support organizations with a strong social mission by choosing the right businesses for experiences we already had planned. From paper-making workshops at Genevieve’s Fair Trade Village (gftv-sr.org), which trains and employs the disabled, to exploring Angkor Wat with Lavender Jeep Tours (lavenderjeepsiemreap.com), which empowers local women to lead off-road tours in vintage A2 military jeeps, Siem Reap ignited our sense of wonder.

Sprawling across more than 154 square miles, Angkor’s temples whisper stories of centuries past. Once the capital of the Khmer Empire, which dominated Southeast Asia from the 9th to the 15th centuries, the region is far more than a collection of Buddhist and Hindu temples. It’s a trove of archaeological, artistic, and cultural significance that unfolds across an intricate expanse of ancient canals and reservoirs, dense jungle, and crumbling ruins. Symbolizing Mount Meru, the home of the gods, Angkor Wat’s five peaks beckon travelers as much as explorations of crumbling ruins at Ta Prohm, Bayon, and Banteay Srei—all three clear highlights.

No amount of time exploring could yield the complete discovery of all the Angkor complex offers, but adventurous travelers should trade a day near Siem Reap for a weekend venturing farther afield. The roads are rougher as you head north, but the temples are worth the adventure. Koh Ker has only recently opened to visitors thanks to a new road, and the site’s crowning glory is a seven-tiered pyramid that would look more at home among the Mayan ruins of Mexico. Distinct from every other Khmer temple, it’s possible to climb this steep structure for breathtaking jungle views. Overnight in Koh Ker, and then head deeper into Cambodia’s ancient history with a trip to the little-visited UNESCO World Heritage site of Preah Vihear, located along the Thai border. Or, detour to the mysterious Hindu temples of Beng Mealea before heading back to Siem Reap, where you’ll balance your time in the ancient past with a trip to the more recent one.

With weeks spent immersed in ancient and contemporary history, it was time to shift gears into nature. Community-based tourism (CBT) organizations throughout wildlife parks and the countryside offer access to a network of rural homestays. We kayaked through the landscape around Kampot before visiting a crab market in Kep, touring nearby plantations producing the world’s finest pepper. Each day in Cambodia brought us deeper into the patchwork of rice paddies and karst hills.

Nearby, the turquoise waters of Koh Rong Sanloem promised a respite from our long journey through Southeast Asian history. As our hammocks swayed in the breeze, we reflected on how this final stop on our itinerary differed from travel through nearby countries. My previous concerns that my niece could not handle Cambodia’s dichotomies had melted away during our first days in Battambang. At every step, the Cambodian people reminded us that although history indelibly shapes a people, the human spirit is more irrepressible than we could have ever imagined.

Four-wheel-drive vehicles may be available for hire. Our tuk-tuk driver guided us through the fascinating history surrounding Battambang.

by Chris Collard

Life unfurled at an unhurried pace. Locals plied the waterways in small wooden boats, and women washed clothes along the shores. Each sundrenched moment captivated us.

Photo

Once a year or thereabouts for the last 30 years, a gathering in the bush called Old Trucks Babanango takes place in South Africa. Oddballs arrive from all over the land with their vintage four-wheel drives of various lineages: Jeeps, Land Rovers, Land Cruisers, and Dodges. To be deemed suitable participants, trucks must have a metal dashboard, which serves as a kind of age stamp of approval. This keeps character in the gathering and excludes those modern spaceships-on-wheels with their air-conditioning and beeping fuel warnings. These spirited chariots fit right into the dry bush scrub with the swagger that only comes with experience—the sputtering growls of their heavy engines complementing the grunts and guffaws of their often equally antiquated owners. It is a much-anticipated reunion, and days of adventure are had on relatively challenging terrain in great company, with treasure hunts and bizarre off-road challenges punctuating the nocturnal hours of endless engine chat and tall stories around the fire.

A Dodge and a Donga

A lesson from a fortuitous acacia tree.

By John Gaisford

Besides being old truck enthusiasts, many of these grizzled bullets are accomplished practical jokers. As their vehicles were manufactured before the days of seat belts and emission controls, they were brought up in an age where rules were loose, and mischief was paramount to the survival of youth. Having a chance to escape the responsibilities of adulthood and just be boys in the bush again, one can imagine the kind of nonsense that takes place. Engines are cunningly booby-trapped, vehicles are silently wheeled away in the dark and hidden, and a man called Kalahari Haggis once went to bed in a tent that was the right way up and woke in it upside down and floating down a river. But it was on a certain occasion when, in the spirit of good humor and bad behavior, a practical joke could have gone very wrong.

It was a June weekend sometime in the early 2000s, and we were entering the valley of the Umfolozi River in the Babanango convoy. I was perched between a sack of potatoes and a toolbox in the back of my dad’s rattling and squeaking Willys Jeep,

The (almost) fateful Dodge parked in the grass clearing the morning after, none the worse for wear.

Photo by Roger Gaisford

being bounced around as we descended the rocky track through the bush towards the campsite on the valley floor. As is typical of winter in most of South Africa, the ubiquitous veld grass was high and brown. As we crossed the river, only a trickle meandered its way over the wavy migmatite bedrock, worn smooth by the muddy torrents of the wetter months.

Camps were set up amongst the trees on the fringes of an expansive grassy clearing close to the river. It had to be on the edge because the thorn scrub which flanked the clearing quickly became impenetrable. Once everyone was set up, and most of the already surfacing engine troubles had been sorted out, the menagerie of vehicles, drivers, passengers, babies, cool boxes full of braai meat and beer, and toolboxes of spares assembled to get proceedings underway.

That Friday afternoon began with a combination of challenges like Slow as You Can and Don’t Spill (a passenger carries a frying pan of water, trying to spill as little as possible while the driver negotiates some impossibly bouncy rocky crossings). Saturday was traditionally the ever-confusing treasure hunt, full of trickery for the unwary and inexperienced. So on Saturday night, with the treasure hunt sheets tallied and prizes awarded, the party naturally kicked into top gear—the whole weekend seemed to have been warming up to that night.

A group of us were sitting around the fire, trying to stay warm, when it was mentioned that Dave, a rather organized

and serious camper relative to the rest of us, had been saving his best snack platters for tonight. We didn’t need much encouragement, but instead of walking across the grass in the dark, risking snakes and holes dug by warthogs, we decided to pile aboard Ken’s 1958 Dodge Power Wagon pickup and be driven the few hundred meters to our destination. The Dodge walked in its crawler first gear across the field to Dave’s camp, the dim halo of the headlights lighting up the tall grass ahead. Some were squashed in the cab or standing on the wide running boards. The rest of us were sprawled on the flat wooden deck, discussing with wild imagination what culinary delights might be in store for us at Dave’s.

While we were having all the fun, our driver (we will call him Harry, for the sake of anonymity) was keeping his eyes on the slow stream of grass, disappearing under the bumper in front of him. He was alone in his thoughts, the reason being that in the passenger seat was a lovely young lady named Celia. But next to her on the running board, two old ruffians, Paul and Ken, were keeping Celia entertained with outlandish stories of travel—their heroics conveniently inflated. Harry had heard these predictable stories countless times, and so returned to his imagination to distract him. It didn’t take long before a plan was hatched, something sure to add more excitement to the evening.

Making sure the peacocking display next to him was still in full flight and nobody in the back was paying attention, Harry

Photo by Roger Gaisford

Nobody dared to bring the terror that had formed inside our heads to life by speaking of it.

aimed the Dodge for the dark wall of bush and trees along the edge of the clearing, slipped silently out of the cab, and walked off into the darkness. The driverless truck groaned away at a snail’s pace into the dark, just a black lump with two red taillights and a chorus of voices growing ever softer. Harry walked after it, not expecting it to go far before being stopped by a tree. But the Dodge entered the bush, and with its low gearing and excessive torque, began pushing down small trees as it walked itself into the dark. The thorny foliage on either side of us materialized so suddenly that we didn’t have time to do anything except to squash into the cab or huddle together in the middle of the deck at the back. Loud curses were being thrown in the direction of the vacant driver’s seat as branch after branch swiped across the deck. As Paul was awkwardly climbing over Celia to reach the driver’s seat and brake, there was a thunk as the front bumper met its match in the form of a stocky tree trunk. The engine sputtered to a shuddering halt, to many sighs of relief and subdued, yet more descriptive, cursing. But aside from a few scratches, nobody was hurt, and we trudged back out into the clearing to hurl more abuse at Harry. But all was forgiven, and, deciding that there was no point in trying to retrieve the Dodge in the dark, we left it leaning against the tree and set off for Dave’s snacks. We ate and drank merrily, sharing stories of the adventures on the back of the Dodge. These tales would have had a slightly different tone had we known what lay on the other side of the sturdy acacia tree that so fortunately stopped the Dodge.

The morning dawned bright and sunny, and armed with mugs of coffee and condensed milk to clear our heads, we troops marched off to inspect the scene. A clear line denoted the path the Dodge had taken, and up ahead she stood, her nose wedged against that one acacia tree. Ken got the truck started and began reversing her out, but Dave, who had walked off a bit farther to relieve himself, called us over with an urgent waving of his hands. “You guys won’t believe this; come and have a look.”

Not another 30 feet from where the Dodge had stopped was a very deep eroded donga, carved out by a floodwater channel of the main river. Had the Dodge reached this point, it would have fallen into the ravine bow-first like a scuttling ship and could easily have capsized. We stood in a line looking down into the donga in silent disbelief, each privately playing our version of what might have happened. Nobody dared to bring the terror that had formed inside our heads to life by speaking of it. “That was very close; thank God for that acacia tree,” was all that was said, and we nodded in agreement, keeping it at that.

Years later, after attending a vehicle safety workshop as part of my job in mineral exploration, I was reminded of that night with the Dodge. I began to wonder how best to adopt a safety mindset in the bush, as well as a respect for the environment, into our off-road leisure time without taking all the fun out of it.

What I realized is that when having a good time, it is often convenient to keep a near-miss as a near-miss and not to allow the mind to entertain the imaginary realm of what if. We are

usually extremely grateful for the luck, for avoiding the tragedy, but we should also make use of the lesson that is gifted to us and strive to share these experiences. But standing there near the Dodge, looking down at that donga all those years ago, we each unconsciously chose to bury the reality of how close we had come to disaster. Sure, we each learned from it in our own way, but the lesson was somewhat limited by not sharing it more openly with others.

In the last few decades, a safety protocol has taken precedence in my workplace, but a lot of us remain casual when it comes to driving in our leisure time. Even if we do not consider ourselves reckless or daredevils, we should always remind ourselves that if we choose to recreate with off-road vehicles, we need to treat them as what they are: heavy and powerful machines capable of doing a lot of damage. Now, this does not mean we need to live in a state of paranoia or conduct daily safety discussions on our weekend excursions. But rather, we should be encouraged to think before acting, and most importantly, encourage open talk about past experiences as reminders of what not to do. Harry underestimated the Dodge’s force and did not consider what might lie ahead in the bush or the potential environmental impact his truck could inflict. Had he taken this into account, or maybe had a co-conspirator in his plan to assess the situation with, he may have decided it was indeed a risky idea and that he should wait for a better opportunity to cause mischief.

There is considerable sport to be had with our vehicles in the backcountry, and innocent troublemaking often goes hand in hand with it. But safety needs to always be foremost in our minds. Before making the decision to scale that rock wall or how best to mount that Hi-Lift jack, or even to sabotage your mate’s engine, take a minute to stop and assess the situation and consider what could go wrong. When it comes to near misses, we may not be afforded a second or third chance, so take heed from the first. Or even better, think clearly enough to avoid the initial one altogether.

by

Some years later, the very same donga that the Dodge nearly disappeared into. Opposite: The Babanango convoy included Land Rovers, as well as a Willys MB, Willys CJ6, and Chevy CMP truck.

Photo

Larry Bentley

Staying Stable

Maintaining emotional health on the road.

With all of the breathtaking photography and amazing travel stories you’ve likely encountered, it appears that the nomadic lifestyle is a carefree, permanent vacation. That is not always an accurate representation, though. The romantic image of the non-stop road trip yields to the realities of maintaining an income and coping with feelings like loneliness and depression. Many new travelers quickly learn that life on the road is at times carefree but can also have many of the same challenges as a traditional lifestyle. Luckily for us, the support of other travelers, self-help, and technology can all play a major role in addressing the potential emotional health challenges that can arise while exploring far and wide.

YOU’RE NOT IN IT ALONE

Before you figure out the do’s and don’ts of life on the road, even small tasks like finding a place to park your vehicle and get some sleep can result in anxiety. I remember the first few nights in my RV; I’d jolt awake at the sound of anything outside the vehicle, sure it was someone coming to tell me we had to move. When confronting the initial challenges, many of us have often asked ourselves, Did I make a mistake? I thought living this way was exactly what I wanted. These everyday challenges can feel even more overwhelming if you’re an introvert as you may have lots of questions but no one to connect with to get the answers.

Nearly every traveler that I’ve crossed paths with has confided that they’ve experienced loneliness in some form during their travels. It would appear that despite our desires to be self-sufficient and independent, humans are social creatures, and removing ourselves from our “pack” can be difficult.

SEPARATION CAN BE TOUGH

Maybe your long-term road trip or transition to a nomadic lifestyle is the first time you’ve ever been separated from your friends and family for an extended period of time.

Amanda takes some time for herself. Meditation is a great way to calm a turbulent mind.

If this is the case, give yourself kudos for stepping outside of your comfort zone and trying something new. Do your best to accept the fact that being removed from our familiar connections is challenging. The feeling of separation often eases with time but know that these feelings still manifest in seasoned travelers. Being out on the road for a lengthy extent of time alone (or even with others) gives you plenty of time to sit and dwell on your thoughts, a practice that many of us have managed to avoid through the regular work and play schedules we keep. Traveling allows (and even forces) you to look inward more often, and this can be very new or uncomfortable, especially if you have trauma and painful experiences in your past. Do you have an eight-hour solo drive to your next destination? That’s plenty of time to mull over unresolved issues.

Sometimes negative feelings arise when we lack direction or purpose. I started to feel very conflicted toward the end of my three-year stint on the road. I was losing my motivation to continue traveling and questioning what I was achieving, barely working, and not focusing my energy on something meaningful. Many (myself included) adopt a nomadic lifestyle to change their trajectory in life and mix things up, only to find that achieving their itinerant existence was actually a short-term solution to a bigger problem. Without direction, life on the road can feel like it’s not leading you where you ultimately want to end up. No matter your reason for traveling, the first days or even months of hitting the road are often a mixed bag of emotions. One moment you might feel like you are on top of the world with endless possibilities ahead, only to be overcome with uncertainty the next day. The good news is that once you get past the initial challenges, living on the road can be deeply rewarding. Thankfully, there are lots of tools out there to help you push through the tough times.

LEARNING ALONGSIDE OTHERS

One way to ease the anxiety associated with being new to full-time travel is to combine forces. Being part of a group can reintroduce the community that you might be accustomed to, letting you bounce ideas off each other or teaming up to make tasks like finding a place to park for the evening feel more manageable. You can even help each other out with day-to-day tasks like shopping for groceries, finding potable water, or helping take care of each other’s pets. Just because you are living a nomadic lifestyle doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the comforts of having a community.

GET CONNECTED AT NOMADIC MEETUPS

Not everyone feels confident approaching another traveler’s RV, van, or overlanding rig. It makes sense—you’re not only approaching their vehicle but their home. This new dynamic changes the nature of social interactions, and unfortunately, it can make breaking the ice with a stranger feel awkward.

A marvelous way to meet other travelers is to make yourself more approachable. If you are in a safe place and feel comfortable with it, open up the doors of your vehicle so other travelers

Attendees at the 2018 Teton Valley Vanlife Gathering enjoy a yoga class. A nomadic lifestyle can be a social endeavor—nighttime at the Colorado Vanlife Gathering. Vanlife Q&A at one of the San Diego Vanlife meetups.

who happen to see you are more willing to approach you and say hello. Go one step further and put up a welcome mat or a sign that says, “Say Hi.” If you are looking to make friends, be obvious.

If a lack of social connection is the root of your loneliness, meetups are one of the best places to change that. Finding these social events can take a little bit of detective work. A Google search for “overland meetup” or “vanlife gathering” is a good place to start your research. Some events will require you to register and buy tickets; others are free, and you can just show up. These formal or impromptu happenings can take place on public or private land and range from afternoon happy hours to multiday extravaganzas, complete with live music, food, and a whole lot more.

Gatherings can be the perfect place to meet other travelers who are actively seeking to make new connections. Under normal conditions, it’s not uncommon for attendees to welcome you into their vehicle for a tour and dinner. It can also be a great activity before hitting the road, a chance to meet like-minded folks and tour unique vehicles to get ideas for your own ambitions. Some nomadic meetups have been taking place for a long time, like the Rubber Tramp Rendezvous (RTR), held annually in Quartzite, Arizona. This particular event sees thousands of travelers pass through over the course of its two-week duration. At its center, the RTR can literally feel like a city of nomads, and for this reason, it may not be for everyone.

Alternatively, there are smaller, more intimate events like the Vanlife Diaries Gatherings series or the Vanlife App’s recurring Fiesta Island meetup in San Diego. Even though these events are marketed to the vanlife community, they are open to everyone, including overlanders. These events usually range from fifty to a few hundred attendees and often incorporate environmental education seminars, beach cleanups, yoga, and discussion panels covering issues like building mobile businesses and addressing mental health needs. Whether you attend one of these organized functions or a random afternoon get-together, you can bet that most people attending are there to make new friends and be social.

STAY CONNECTED WITH SMARTPHONE APPS AND FACEBOOK GROUPS

Meetups are constructive, but they don’t last forever, and that’s where smartphone apps and Facebook groups can help you stay connected. There are a lot of impressive tools out there that have been created specifically for travelers. Some incorporate messaging as a standard feature, and most have loads of information, including details about campsites, places to fill water, RV dumps, and locations to access free internet. Expeditionportal.com is a community of nearly 200,000 overlanders that are traveling in North America and around the world, and a constant source of relatable knowledge.

FreeRoam is one of the top-rated smartphone apps which effectively incorporates resources, campground locations, and social features. It’s an excellent tool to connect and communicate

with other travelers. As a new user, you start with access to three public forums where you can chat publically with other users and then add them to your friend list to chat privately.

A few other apps that are definitely worth checking out are The Vanlife App (not just for vanlifers), Campendium, and iOverlander. The Vanlife App is the only one of these options that currently has a social feature; all three have loads of resources to help travelers find what they need.

If you are already a Facebook user, there are several groups that you can join to connect with travelers: Off Road, Overland Expedition, and Camping 4wd Vehicles (62,000 members); The Alternative Living Group (103,000); Overland Sphere (12,000); Van Life: Dwellers, Nomads & Vagabonds (31,000); #VanLife (51,000); and Women on the road (6,000) are merely a sampling. Generally, group members are friendly and happy to connect with other people living a similar lifestyle, but don’t be surprised if you encounter a few trolls along the way—that’s the internet for you.

EXPEDITIONPORTAL.COM IS A COMMUNITY OF NEARLY 200,000 OVERLANDERS THAT ARE TRAVELING IN NORTH AMERICA AND AROUND THE WORLD, AND A CONSTANT SOURCE OF RELATABLE KNOWLEDGE.

COMMUNITY ISN’T THE ONLY ANSWER

For some of us, community isn’t the medicine that we need. This is where practices like meditation, journaling, and experimenting with art can be a positive way to unpack and process feelings while on the road. If you’re intrigued but unsure where to begin, I have one word for you: YouTube. What better way to learn something new than with step-by-step instructions in the privacy of your own rig?

Yoga has been exceptionally helpful for me on the road, both to give me a break from my thoughts and to keep my body feeling good after long hours in the driver’s seat. If you are new to yoga, I’d highly suggest searching for “Yoga with Adriene” on YouTube. Her beginner lessons are designed for people with little to no experience with a focus on what feels good rather than pushing your body to its limits.

If yoga isn’t your thing, not to worry. Physical activity in any form is beneficial to your body, and believe it or not, your mental health as well. The Primary Care Companion to the Journal of Clinical Psychology states that “Aerobic exercises, including jogging, swimming, cycling, walking, gardening, and dancing, have been proved to reduce anxiety and depression.”

If you have physical limitations that prevent you from partaking in physical activities, art can be another wonderful way to boost your mood and help shift your focus. Watercolor is generally my favorite type of art to make on the road because you can find supplies just about anywhere, and it’s relatively affordable to get started with a basic kit. When it comes to learning, once again, I’ll point you to YouTube and its endless possibilities. My

partner and I usually seek instruction from the channel called “makoccino.” Mako has many tutorials that cover everything from beginner to advanced techniques. This is one of our favorite ways to spend an hour or two.

PROFESSIONAL HELP IS A CLICK AWAY

Making connections on the road, attending social gatherings, and keeping ourselves occupied with diverting activities may help us process our emotions. For some, professional help is a crucial service. As someone who considers themself “normal,” that is, I have no known underlying chemical imbalances or diagnosed psychiatric conditions, therapy has been a helpful tool to address difficult emotional experiences in my life. One of the realities of being a full-time traveler is that resources like therapists and other mental health professionals are not always easy to access. Fortunately, there are various web-based mental health services available, and many therapists allow for Zoom sessions.

The more you find and connect with the nomadic community, the more you will find support when you need it.

Two great internet-based health care options to explore are AmWell and DoctorOnDemand. Both of these platforms offer services at lower rates than a typical office visit, and it is often possible to get service much quicker (sometimes even the same day) than you would through a typical medical appointment booking. If you don’t need to speak to a doctor, there are other options as well. BetterHelp is another valuable service that can pair you with a licensed therapist for one-on-one sessions. They have overwhelmingly positive reviews, and a third-party study found that 94 percent of BetterHelp’s patients preferred their web-based therapy session to in-person appointments. This study also found that 70 percent of their patients reported reduced depression symptoms after utilizing their services.

HAPPY TRAILS

One of the most beautiful parts of being human is that in the most difficult of moments, we are not alone in our experience. Living on the road or traveling full time can be challenging. Without the social framework that we are used to in everyday life, a nomadic lifestyle can introduce feelings of loneliness and doubt. The more you find and connect with the nomadic community, the more you will find support when you need it.

We share a common belief that having a wealth of adventure is far more valuable than accumulating tangible things, which is a big part of what drives us to travel. A mobile lifestyle allows for this rich existence but requires that we check in with ourselves as no experience is worth sacrificing our well-being. We have a huge amount of resources at our disposal to keep our emotional health in check, provided we use them. And when we are personally feeling good, we can offer our support to fellow travelers who are feeling down.

A collection of nomads converge at the Rubber Tramp Rendezvous in Quartzsite, Arizona. Group photo: Teton Valley Vanlife Gathering. Ahhh, this is why they call it “Blue Mesa.” Petrified Forest National Park, Arizona

The evolution of modern outdoor protective gear.

Gore-Tex and Klim

It’s a wet 40°F atop Tomichi Pass in Colorado. I am riding with six other guys, and one of them just slammed his BMW R 1200 GS into a rock. The front tire is flat. Jason whales away at the damage with a hammer, trying to reshape the rim to hold air. Rain runs off his back in a steady stream. The rest of us stand in the downpour, also without shelter; some are shivering. It’s the better part of an hour before the tire finally holds air, and one of those times I am happy to be wearing motorcycle gear which keeps me dry and reasonably warm. It could easily be much different and has been for most of recorded history.

In 1903, when George Wyman made his historic first transcontinental crossing of the US on an “engine-powered bicycle,” now known as a motorcycle, he apparently carried little in the way of weather protection on the 90-pound moped. Wyman’s mode of transportation precluded him from wearing a long rubber coat, as was the norm for those riding in automobiles at the time, and he encountered plenty of adverse weather during his crossing. On a stretch of muddy road in Nevada, having made only 36 miles in five hours, Wyman stopped for lunch at a telegraph station, and in his words, “had little more than got started again when I got caught in a thunderstorm, and in less than a minute I was as wet as if I had fallen in the river.”

GRASS, GOOP, AND GUTS

It’s ages old, the struggle by humans to stay dry in the outdoors. Early Chinese field workers made coats of straw to shed water, and tribes in Africa used sticky latex, fresh from rubber trees, to coat outer garments. Some of the most successful were the Aleuts of the far north, who made coats of sea mammal gut, a substance that is light, tough, and waterproof. These kamleikas

In 1903, George Wyman was the first person to make a transcontinental crossing of the United States by motor vehicle. His fancy duds, characteristic of the time, did little to protect him from the elements.Opening page: Klim passed muster to partner with Gore-Tex in 2010. Only top performers are accepted to display the brand.

were sewn with threads of grass or sinew that expanded when wet and made the garment waterproof. Gut is strong but can tear and wears out with frequent use. Using their kamleikas almost daily, Aleut men needed three new coats a year, and each took about a month to make.

Scottish chemist Charles Macintosh started a fabric revolution in 1823 by sandwiching rubber dissolved in naphtha between two layers of fabric, from which he made coats. But the material had problems, and Charles Goodyear’s 1839 invention of vulcanized rubber, which resisted temperature changes, solved them by making rubber more pliable when cold and less sticky when warm. Macintosh applied Goodyear’s brainchild to his products, eventually mass-producing outerwear that became so popular that by 1900 the word Mackintosh (the “k” was added somewhere along the way) became a generic term for a raincoat in Great Britain. The Mackintosh company is still in operation, and these days the genuine article will run you about $1,500.

But even by the early 20th century, severe weather protection was a crapshoot. Natural materials such as wool (which contains lanolin) and waxed or oiled canvas (oilskins) acted as insulation and outer layers. Australian adventurist, sailor, author, and photographer Allen Villiers’ account from the 1920s squelches any romanticism about life aboard a whaling ship.

“For anything from six weeks to two-and-a-half months you are wet through and cold...Sometimes, when you most need warm food, there is none because the sea has swamped the galley fire. There is no steam heat. There is no drying-room for your clothes. You get wet and you stay wet; there isn’t anything else to do. You wrap burlap about your feet, and lash your oilskins at wrist and ankle with stout rope yarns. You might just as well not bother. Burlap will not keep you warm; no oilskins made can keep you dry for long. If the rainwater does not beat them, the sea does...Watch after watch, day after day, week after week, rain and hail and cold, storm and gale and hurricane: what a life!”

By the mid-20th century, vinyl and plastics became popular choices for rain gear. Unfortunately, although thoroughly waterproof, lightweight, and flexible, these materials would not allow water vapor to escape. Hence, the wearer would become as wet from sweat as from the rain they were trying to avoid. What was needed was a waterproof miracle fabric that would allow water vapor to pass through. Lucky for us, the evolution continued.

THE SECRET SAUCE

The DuPont company discovered polytetrafluoroethylene (PTFE) in 1938. Today we know it as Teflon, familiar for its nonstick properties and use in cookware. While working at DuPont, Wilbert L. Gore, a chemical engineer and chemist, saw the potential for other applications of PTFE. In 1958, he and

his wife, Genevieve, started their own company in the basement of their home in Newark, Delaware. They took PTFE to new heights in 1966 by developing cables for NASA’s first unmanned lunar soft landing. In 1969 Gore’s inventions were there again on the first manned lunar landing. The incredibly wide range of thermal capabilities made his inventions a shooin for exploration beyond Earth’s boundaries.

Also in 1969, Gore’s son Bob experimented by stretching heated rods of PTFE to gain greater yield. Initial tests were frustrating, as he carefully applied tension, slowly pulling them apart. Each time, the rod would break. Finally, by rapidly yanking, he was able to net an 800 percent increase in length. Surprisingly, the diameter of the rod remained the same over its entire length. As it stretched, the fibers separated, creating billions of microscopic pores. This new iteration was called expanded PTFE (ePTFE).

The discovery offered endless possibilities, as sheets of ePTFE could be modified and pores sized according to need. One characteristic of the material was that moisture vapor could pass through while the much larger water droplets of rainfall could not. This “breathable” water and windproof material quickly replaced the sweaty plastic raincoats of old. The patent for Gore-Tex was acquired in 1976. Now their logo is everywhere, found on products from boots to swimsuits.

Today, more than 300 membranes and other forms of ePTFE are incorporated into various products. One iteration of Gore-Tex provides a paper-thin material that virtually blocks heat transfer, acting as gossamer-like insulation for gloves, shoes, and other applications. Gore-Tex is also responsible for the creation of biomedical products used in our vascular systems, heart stents, mesh implants for hernia, and other repair procedures. You’ll also find it in cables, space suits, and even gaskets and seals for critical high-pressure components used by NASA. Your sleeping bag may be wrapped in a fabric bonded to Gore-Tex, and the waterproof but sound-permeable filter in your smartphone’s microphone is, you guessed it, Gore-Tex.

The company has been intentional in partnering with topquality manufacturers. Those who use Gore-Tex in their products must meet strict criteria, adhering to the “Proof Behind the Promise,” which states, “Superior performance is assured through constant innovation and the toughest standards anywhere.” The first motorcycle apparel manufacturer to incorporate Gore-Tex into their products was Finland’s Rukka in 1986. Others have followed over the years, including Klim, whose protective gear I was wearing that day on Tomichi Pass.

A NEW PARTNER

Winters in Rigby, Idaho, are harsh. In 1994, a young Justin Summers observed the ski patrol working outdoors in the cold and snow near his home and saw a need. They wore bulky parkas, ill-suited for the abrasion and varying weather conditions throughout the day as they dragged heavy hoses and hauled other materials, often chafing against their clothing. A jacket might last a season before being retired due to abraded fabric,

from top: After countless careful attempts to expand the

material,

a string of

stretching it almost 800 percent. Rapid expansion proved to be the answer. When PTFE is expanded, billions of tiny pores open up, creating vapor-permeable barriers to water droplets. Essentially, these one-way check valves allow moisture to exit one’s body and evaporate in the cooler open air. Heart stents and other biomedical devices using Gore-Tex are surgically installed or inserted via catheter to repair the human body.

busted zippers, or failure to keep the occupant dry. Summers theorized that using a durable outer shell and layering moisture-wicking garments beneath would better suit the user. His initial efforts to create ski jackets were based in his home garage, and his company, first named Teton Outfitters, eventually took the name Klim. They went on to become a successful producer of outdoor winter sports clothing.

Fast forward to 2010. Adventure riding had begun to transform the dual-sport motorcycling realm, and gear manufacturers were scrambling to invent clothing to suit the demands of this fast-growing market segment. Klim’s experience in the winter sports arena was a natural precursor to the manufacture of robust, versatile, all-weather motorcycle gear.

Despite Klim’s innovation and constant improvement, Summers and his team knew that to meet the demands of adventure riders and winter sports enthusiasts, they must partner with folks whose experience would complement their own. Gore-Tex would be the perfect match. Klim had determined that nylon would make an ideal outer shell, with its high melting point, flexibility, and tensile strength, equating to comfort and good anti-abrasion qualities. By bonding Gore-Tex to nylon, the positive characteristics of both materials combined to make a breathable, waterproof fabric that would last years and stand up to the rigors of active outdoor use.

Within a year of their application, Klim had met the qualifications and was accepted into the family of brands with the

Clockwise

new miracle

Bob Gore finally yanked

PTFE, successfully

Clockwise from top: Every garment wearing the Gore-Tex label must pass a barrage of stringent tests. This rain room is one of the more graphic illustrations. The Bootie Tester’s task is to submerge and inflate boot liners where they can be observed for telltale signs of leakage. Motorcycle gear must serve many purposes. Elements of abrasion resistance, impact protection, waterproofing, thermal protection, comfort, style, and more are considered when a manufacturer requests a partnership with Gore-Tex. Thermal qualities are tested in this -26° climate chamber by sensor-laden mannequins or, in some cases, a real human being.

Gore-Tex label on their products. With this partnership came scientific testing at the Gore-Tex laboratories, the same sort of testing used in the making of everything from the aforementioned space suits to heart stents.

TESTING, TESTING

Some tests are relatively low tech. A bank of 150 washing machines fills a room where various bits of gear are dunked and agitated for 500-1,500 hours, evaluating their ability to withstand the abuse of normal life at the hands of busy people. Gloves are tested for their ability to remain waterproof; liner trials include pulling out, breathability, moisture-wicking ability, and heat loss in wet conditions.

Wind, water, and heat are combined in numerous diabolical concoctions to aid in the trials to replicate up to 98 percent of all real-world environments.

Special machines assess abrasion resistance by pressing and rubbing fabrics for hours or days on end, and tear testing determines their suitability for specific areas of strain or impact. Centrifuges test new and well-used boots by filling them with water and then slinging them in a circle. Leakage is evident by staining left on material designed to show changes in moisture. A rain tower dumps 1/4 to 3 inches per hour of simulated rainfall, and a separate rain room blasts water from every logical direction onto a rider perched on a motorcycle. A complex Bootie Tester (yes, that really is the name) contraption pressurizes a boot liner or “bootie,” then submerges it in a water tank. Another machine simulates ankle articulation and toe compression in a walkinglike movement.

A climate chamber with -26°F temperatures surrounds either a sensor-laden mannequin or a real human while gear is tested for thermal protective qualities. Durability and comfort are sometimes in tension in the development of products using Gore-Tex, so human “test dummies” are essential to the outcome.

Wind, water, and heat are combined in numerous diabolical concoctions to aid in these trials. Up to 98 percent of all realworld environments can be replicated through temperature, humidity, and solar testing in this state-of-the-art laboratory.

Even softness, which translates to the production of noise, is a factor, especially in hunting gear or other garments where scraping and chafing could be annoying or detrimental to the mission.

Other companies with similar products have entered the market, but Gore-Tex remains the gold standard. A partnership with Gore-Tex is essentially a guarantee that we are not the test dummies. These and other innovative applications of the human spirit make companies like Klim, who meet their standards, trusted brands for today’s George Wymans.

Our machines are much more powerful than Wyman’s, and the mainstream roads are better, but here in the frigid downpour on Tomichi Pass, we still need the best protection available. Thanks to the partnership of these two innovators, I remain high and dry.

Hiddenin the hills above sparkling Farrer Cove, British Columbia, is a small tea room you get to by driving two kilometres along a rutted gravel road that passes through a dense forest. It was at this tea room that I first enjoyed a simpler version of this salad, minus the olives and cheese. I recreated the dish two years ago on the trail, upping its savouriness with minced kalamata olives and a touch of Grana Padano cheese.

This salad packs a big hit of umami, that savoury intensity found in Parmesan and Grana Padano cheeses, soy and tamari sauces, seared beef, ripe tomatoes, olives, mushrooms (including truffles), and more.

At overland rallies or after setting up camp following a long day of driving, this salad could be a meal in itself or is lovely served with an open-faced, melted brie and pear/walnut sandwich or burgers. Though comprised of a few specialty ingredients you may have to source ahead of time, it brings a bit of easy luxury to the backcountry.

Black Truffle Oil and Matchstick Apple Salad

This umami-filled, gourmet delight is ready to serve in mere minutes.

SERVES 2-4

PREP TIME 10 minutes

EQUIPMENT Chef knife, large bowl, box grater, cutting board

5 ounces arugula or mixed greens (without radicchio)

1 medium Ambrosia, Honeycrisp, or Braeburn apple, unpeeled and washed

6 pitted, fresh Kalamata olives

1/4 cup (or to taste) grated ParmigianoReggiano or Grana Padano cheese

1/4 cup toasted, shelled pistachios

1-2 tablespoons black truffle oil

Flaked salt and ground pepper to taste

Place the greens into a large bowl, removing any bits that are not fresh.

Place the kalamata olives on the cutting board, flattening them slightly with your fingers or the side of the knife for easier cutting, then mince them. Mincing means cutting very finely, almost to a paste. Set them aside for a minute when done.

Cut the apples in half, then cut each half into thin matchsticks (julienne cut) about 2 inches long by 1/8 inch wide. Have them also wait in the wings.

Add 1 tablespoon of black truffle oil to the greens, then gently mix together using your hands or salad tongs. You should see the oil glisten slightly on the leaves. Add up to one further tablespoon if needed. With this pungent oil, less is more, so taste the greens as you go. Once the oil is in the salad, never let it sit longer than a few minutes, or the greens may wilt.

Gently mix the minced olives in bit by bit, distributing as evenly as possible.

Grate the cheese and sprinkle it over the salad. Top artfully with the matchstick apples and pistachios. Devour at will. OVERLAND

Continued from page 136

hiked back down, offering to ride the Sherpa up so we could forge on. Tears sprang to my eyes. I felt sorry for myself and was envious of how easily Dave was riding his first time on dirt. I wanted to be the tenacious girlfriend who could do it, too. And if I couldn’t, what made me think I could ride around the world? Dejected, I allowed Dave to take my bike and told myself I’d try harder some other time.

Seconds after I resaddled and Dave blasted past me on his bike, I hit a slick mud puddle and fell off the seat faster than I could spit out a series of expletives. There was a disconcerting snap in my neck and lower back. Great, I screamed inwardly; I just broke my neck AND my back, all because I’m trying to follow this new guy I’m dating.

The BMW darted up on its rear wheel like a spooked horse then flipped, throwing Dave into the water. The 500pound bike came down on top of him with an impressive splash.

Lying facedown in the mud, I wiggled toes and fingers, then rolled over with a sigh of relief—no broken bones. I glared at my fallen steed soaking muddy water up into the panniers, which held all my camping gear. Fuel dripped out of the gas cap. My back was too sore to allow me to lift the Sherpa, and Dave was nowhere to be seen or heard. Ten minutes passed while I stewed. Was he at all concerned about me, or had he forgotten I was even there?

A dirt bike came up the track with two riders; one was Dave. I had a second of smug satisfaction, thinking he’d finally encountered a challenge too great even for him, and we could now go home. But he’d been hiking back to find me when the other biker passed and offered him a ride. There was a steep downhill section ahead full of erosion. Dave was sure I’d dig in my heels and refuse to ride it. “Fine, take it,” I said, referring to my bike, and stomped off.

Twenty minutes of hiking later, I found Dave and both bikes parked beside what looked to be a lake in the middle of the road. Okay, we’ll definitely be turning around now, I thought, relieved. The lake was, in actuality, a flooded beaver dam. Dave was talking with a guy on a quad, who looked me up (hair askew) and down (muddy pants) and declared to Dave, “I wouldn’t recommend continuing.” A pilot light of anger sparked within me.

The quad guy rode off with a good luck glance at Dave. Next, a gaggle of dirt bikers came slicing through the 100-foot-long flooded area like gracefully landing geese—all except for one guy who crashed and drowned his bike. While waiting for a truck from a nearby campsite to tow out the water-logged motorcycle, the dirt bikers assisted Dave in pushing my Sherpa through. At its deepest point, the water came up past a 6-foot-tall guy’s waist. When asked by the men if he wanted help pushing his F 800 across, Dave declined and slung a leg over his seat, starting the engine. I pressed record on my camera.

For a few feet, it looked as though Dave would sail across like a flat stone skipping the surface of a calm lake. But he sud-

denly veered off course and plowed up a steep embankment to the left. There was a collective ohhhh from the audience. The BMW darted up on its rear wheel like a spooked horse then flipped, throwing Dave into the water. The 500-pound bike came down on top of him with an impressive splash. I put down my camera to join in as a rescuer, thinking my new boyfriend might be dead. But Dave emerged like a breaching whale, sputtering and lunging for his drowning bike. He’d hit the kill switch before falling off, which cut the engine and stopped the intake of water into the system.

With help from the dirt bikers, we pushed Dave’s dripping machine to dry ground. Dave shivered. It was evening, and the sun was throwing long tree shadows into the forest. We thanked the others, then started our engines. Dave’s bike needed some encouragement but finally sputtered to life. We continued on by ourselves, only to be stopped less than a mile later by a wide, rocky creek flowing across our route. I got off, put my bike on its side stand, and forded the river on foot, letting Dave sort out the two bikes.

Hiking ahead, I found a picturesque place to set up camp shortly after the river crossing. Dave arrived with my bike, parked it, then headed back for his own. I unpacked essentials. By the time he returned, I had a fire going and two plastic cups waiting with red wine. I willed myself to have the nerve to ride the challenging sections that were still sure to come up but couldn’t find the confidence.

The following day, we came to another steep uphill section full of baby-head-sized rocks and loose dirt. My simmering anger for these stressful sections suddenly fueled me. Without thinking (too much), I twisted the throttle and jackhammered over the rocks. At the top, I nearly ran over Dave on his way back to help me. There was a twinkle of admiration in his eyes.

I pushed myself more after that, falling off or dropping my bike often while I rushed to ride ahead of my fears. One rocky tumble caused my brake lever to twist into a pretzel and landed a deep bone bruise onto my shin I felt for months. At each difficult section, Dave now waited to watch me. If I fell off, he hiked back to help me, his face kinder now. He only wanted me to try, and I just wanted his support if I failed.

During those four days, I became a better rider, and Dave a more attentive partner. At first, it seemed like the common interest we shared for motorcycles might be the very thing that split us apart. Neither of us had wanted to back down, and that kept us at odds. Yet somehow, we compromised for each other, which brought us closer. By the end of our adventure, we’d found something else we had in common: stubbornness—the deep grains of which would pave the road ahead for us.

Heather Lea and Dave Sears are now married and live in Bellingham, Washington. In 2017, they completed their roundthe-world trip after two years of riding through 40 countries and clocking over 55,000 miles.

•

•

•

Duelling Dynamics

An endurance test on a motorcycle run in British Columbia’s Chilcotin nearly ends a newfound relationship.

“

I’mnot doing that,” I said, pointing to a steep doubletrack arcing out of the safe forest I was standing in.

The road was the worst we’d seen yet. Summer in British Columbia’s Chilcotin was a beautiful time of year, but the previous winter had ravaged the dirt roads we were riding. Both sides of the track angled steeply down in a V-shape. The rut running through the middle was eroded, full of rocks, and 2 to 3 feet deep in sections. Ascending would require a zig-zagging trajectory, lots of throttle power, and the sort of mental mind frame I didn’t have.

Dave and I had wanted to take a four-day backcountry trip to become better off-pavement riders. We’d been dating for scarcely over a month and had already decided—with presumptuous overconfidence in our relationship—to ride around the world together the following year. The purpose of the trip was to evaluate our riding setup, not each other. But in the end, it was both. Our true dynamic surfaced there in the Chilcotin—a place of alpine splendor that Dave called his “happy place,” where I cried more than I’d allowed myself before in front of any man.

That Dave chose a rugged, remote mountain range for his first-ever backcountry motorcycle trip—and my second— should have been a red flag, though there were previous signs he was an ambitious sort. Just weeks earlier, he enrolled in a motorcycle course, got his endorsement, bought a used BMW F 800 GS (not exactly a beginner bike), and proceeded to ride it home to Bellingham from Seattle during rush hour. And that was all within a span of seven days.

I had learned to ride as a 40th birthday gift to myself, months before meeting Dave. Two days after passing my motorcycle exam, I rode the Washington Backcountry Discovery Route. This—in both my eyes and Dave’s—made me the more experienced dirt rider between us.

The Chilcotin was our first big experiment together. My mind batched a brew of romantic expectations, such as riding high into the alpine to set up camp and drink wine while watching the sunset. But on the forest road leading off the highway from Pemberton, I was pelted with humility and gravel stones, kicked up from Dave’s rear tire as he took off with a thumbs-up. I caught him 15 minutes later, only because he was waiting for me to crest one of many steep, loose gravel switchbacks. I was stress-gripping the handlebars of my 250cc Kawasaki Super Sherpa while my rear tire spun out, trying to gain traction. Was it my imagination, or did Dave seem disappointed I was so far behind?

As the afternoon wore on, Dave got visibly more impatient, and I grew more defensive. While I hoped he’d come out of his self-focused reverie and notice his new girlfriend wasn’t keeping up, Dave was scouting every patch of dirt, mud, and water crossing he could find. That I couldn’t follow didn’t seem to occur to him.

From the forest, where we stopped to stare at the steep track, I wanted to turn and go back. Dave did not. He jumped on his bike and blasted uphill, his rear tire dropping into and spinning out of the middle rut, flinging dirt and rocks into the air. At the top, he leaned the F 800 on its side stand and

Illustration by Michele Dallorso