Overland Journal :: Gear 2019

GEAR GUIDE 2019 $12

OVERLAND

FRASER ISLAND | KNIVES | CONGO | MOROCCO

JOURNAL

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CONTENTS GEAR 2019

Feature s 30

Lost in Kʼgari: Exploring the Path Less Traveled on Fraser Island, Chris Cordes

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Straight to the Point: The Best Pocketknives for Field Use, Bryon Bass

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Congo to Congo: Crossing One of the Most Remote Regions on the Planet, Dan Grec

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Project Vehicle: Diesel Ford Excursion, Chris Cordes

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Where the Mountains Meet the Desert: Morocco by BMW G310GS, Chris Scott

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Everyday Essentials: Products that Make Your Life Easier, Rachelle Croft

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From Scratch: Coming to Terms With Life After the Adventure Ends, Heather Lea

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Beauty, Brains, and Breeches: The Story of Aloha Wanderwell, Tena Overacker

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Feature Vehicle: A2Aʼs Defender 130, Graeme Bell

Dep artments 12

The Feed

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Field Tested

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Overland News

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Life on the Road: Save the Seals, Bill Dragoo

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Overland Medicine: Breathing, Dr. Jon S. Solberg MD, FAWM

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Photography: Video Series Documentation, Bruce Dorn

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The Collective: The Truth about Bribery, Bryon Bass, Graeme Bell, Scott Brady, Dan Grec, Lois Pryce

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Tail Lamp: Drama in Cotopaxi, Ashley Giordano

On the cover: In search of Fraser Island’s forgotten tracks and hidden gems.

Photo by Chris Cordes.

This photo: An attempt at circumnavigating Cotopaxi Volcano in Ecuador.

Photo by Richard Giordano.

Back cover: A tea break on the long ride back over the High Atlas.

Photo by Chris Scott.

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OVERLAND J O U R N A L

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

GEAR 2019

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

EXECUTIVE CREATIVE DIRECTOR Sinuhe Xavier

DIRECTOR OF EUROPEAN OPERATIONS Michael Brailey MANAGING EDITOR OVERLAND JOURNAL Sarah Ramm EDITOR EXPEDITION PORTAL Chris Cordes EDITOR Tena Overacker

CONSERVATION EDITOR Åsa Björklund

MEDICAL EDITOR Dr. Jon Solberg, MD, FAWM

ARCHAEOLOGY SENIOR EDITOR Bryon Bass, PhD

CONTRIBUTING EDITORS Graeme Bell, Rachelle Croft, S.K. Davis, Bill Dragoo, Ashley Giordano, Dan Grec, Catherine Lawson, Heather Lea, Cyril Mischler, Stephen Peters, Lois Pryce, Chris Scott SENIOR PHOTOGRAPHER Bruce Dorn CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS David Bristow, Richard Giordano, Steve Thunder, Dietmar Zepf COPY EDITORS Arden Kysely, Jacques Laliberté TECHNICAL EDITOR Chris Ramm CARTOGRAPHER David Medeiros CUSTOMER SERVICE COORDINATOR Alexandra Christenson CONTACT

Overland Journal, 3035 N Tarra Ave, #1, Prescott, AZ 86301 service@overlandjournal.com, editor@overlandjournal.com, advertising@overlandjournal.com, 928-777-8567 MOVING?

Send address changes to service@overlandjournal.com.

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Overland Journal is a trademark of Overland International, Inc. All rights reserved. Reproduction in whole or in part without written permission is prohibited. Overland Journal is a wholly owned subsidiary of Overland International.

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.

THE FEED

ROW 1 @the.overland.nomads Mangystau Region, Kazakhstan. The Bactrian camel is native to the steppes of central Asia but presently restricted in the wild to remote regions of the Gobi and Taklamakan deserts of Mongolia and Xinjiang. A small number of wild Bactrian camels still roam the Mangystau Province of southwest Kazakhstan. @overlanderscolombia We arrived at #cochabamba after seven hours from Sajama, about 443 kilometers away on a route in very good condition but with a lot of cargo truck traffic. Upon our arrival, the reward [was clear].

Erik and Erin Benson on their Nordkapp Adventure

by BMW R1200GS. ROW 2 @landcruising.adventure Super flashback—Vietnam. We were shocked by the amount of scooters and light motorcycles roaming the streets of Hanoi, [and we felt] like an elephant in a Chinaware store. @thedangerz We will eventually leave this lake (and stop posting photos of it), but I’m feeling like that time is not coming soon. #AbrahamLake#Frozen#Frozen Bubbles @janfillem The dog is the perfect portrait subject.

ROW 3 @christopherthoms Lily, piloting the Commando. @let_me_be_wild Spending our last day in Cartagena like tourists. #LetMeBeWild#CartagenaDeIndias#Colombia @gr4nola Back in the Andes.

JOB WELL DONE

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Kudos to journalists Brady and Cordes for a hard look at a wide assortment of impressive expedition kit, and the overall subject of offpavement trailers. Good luck finding this kind of coverage anywhere else. The only shortcoming I noticed was that the type of coupler was not specified in some instances, [nor] the pros/cons of each addressed.

In the past, military trailers have been the only ready-made alternative. As far as I know, leaf springs with shocks [are still] the standard. This would include the Sankey, [Brockhouse], and Penman HD trailers that the British military tow with their Defenders, which feature the same track and similar wheels, but with leaf springs, not coils.

Historically, the most common practice has been that the trailer suspension and brakes were less sophisticated than [that of the] tow vehicle. It is unusual to even see shocks (dampers) accompanying leaf springs on the average trailer, and if there are brakes, they are most often drums. Ground clearance is usually sacrificed in the name of deck height to ease access and/or loading. Conventional and common design has not lent itself to off-pavement travel.

The ideal off-pavement trailer would have the same suspension, track, ground clearance, brakes, and wheels/tires as the tow vehicle. These parameters have to do with balanced and complementary performance as well as parts commonality. In light of the specs of several of the test subject trailers, I have to ask why a trailer should have better suspension, more ground clearance, and bigger tires than the tow vehicle? A trailer is only ever asked to follow, not lead.

OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

SHARE Use #overlandjournal on Instagram or Facebook.

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

Since my old bones dictate an upgrade to Defender-level equipment by converting a Marshall 127 RAF ambulance, I also am building a trailer from a toasted Range Rover chassis and a “fully patinaed” Defender pickup bed. A lot of time and less money will go into it, but in the end, I’ll have just what I want.

Paul F. Shoen 1972 Land Rover Series IIA Carawagon

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CONTRIBUTORS GEAR 2019

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GRAEME BELL

CHRIS SCOTT

DAN GREC

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 touring 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.

Chris Scott is an award-winning, UK-based adventure travel writer who specializes in the Sahara; he’s visited over 40 times since 1982, from the Atlantic Ocean to the Red Sea using motorcycles, 4WDs, a jacked-up Mercedes sedan, local bush taxis, and camel caravans.

Chris’ desert films have been featured on the National Geographic channel, and for many years he updated the Outback regions of Australia for Rough Guides. His books include Sahara Overland, the Adventure Motorcycling Handbook, and Overlanders’ Handbook. He recently published a short guide on Sahara camel trekking as well as The Street Riding Years, an urban memoir describing his life as a motorcycle messenger in 1980’s London. An Amazon bestseller, it was Ride magazine’s “Book of the Year.”

Dan Grec is an adventurer, snowboarder, and photographer who now hails from Whitehorse, Yukon, Canada. Growing up in Australia, family camping trips gave Dan a passion for wilderness exploration in remote destinations. After studying and working as a software engineer, Dan went in search of a more vibrant life. Eventually driving 40,000 miles from Alaska to Argentina, he became inspired by the characters he met along the way and is now dedicated to helping others realize their own overland dreams. To this end, Dan created and maintains WikiOverland—the community encyclopedia of overland travel.

After years of planning and preparation, he is currently circumnavigating the entire African continent in his Jeep Wrangler Rubicon.

LOIS PRYCE

CATHERINE LAWSON DAVID BRISTOW

HEATHER LEA

Lois Pryce is a British travel writer, broadcaster and author of three best-selling books about her solo motorcycle journeys from Alaska to Argentina, London to Cape Town, and most recently, a 3,000-mile ride around Iran. Her latest book, Revolutionary Ride: On the Road in Search of the Real Iran was shortlisted for the Edward Stanford Travel Writing Award. Her work has appeared in the Guardian, Telegraph, New York Times, Independent, and CNN. The Telegraph named her as one of the World’s 10 Great Female Travelers.

With her husband, adventure filmmaker Austin Vince, she is also co-founder/director of the Adventure Travel Film Festival which occurs annually in the UK and Australia.

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Captivated by wild places and passionate about their preservation, writer Catherine Lawson and photographer David Bristow run Wild Travel Story, an online information hub devoted to documenting the world’s best independent adventures. From remote 4WD expeditions to high-elevation hikes, cycle tours, and sailing and paddling trips, their unforgettable journeys are documented with videos, photos, and blogs that reveal all the tiny details independent adventurers need to put together their own trips. Road testing every journey is the couple’s now 7-year-old daughter, Maya, who became an overlander at four weeks of age, traveling 27,000 kilometers in a trip documented in Wild Travel Story’s first book, Highway One: The Ultimate Australian Road Trip, published by Australian Geographic in 2012.

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 G650GS 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.

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CONTRIBUTORS GEAR 2019

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CYRIL MISCHLER

S.K. DAVIS

ASHLEY GIORDANO

Cyril received an early education of the African bush through dusty Land Rover rides during summers spent in West Africa as a child. As an adult living in his native France, these memories drew him to seek further adventures. Fresh out of college, the tropics proved irresistible, and he found himself trekking the backcountry of Latin America. From the tallest peaks of the Andes to the deepest jungles of Central America and the Amazon, Cyril has found his place in the southern wilds. He’s spent the last 18 years in Central and South America as an explorer and expedition guide. In his spare time, he works as a photojournalist whose work has been published in dozens of magazines in Scandinavia, the UK, and the US.

Steven is a Utah native who, aside from riding motorbikes, runs a small business and raises a family just north of Salt Lake City. After living in the Middle East, Europe, Canada, and Colorado, he returned to Utah to put down roots. Both his fiction and nonfiction have been published in magazines as well as online, and he is currently finishing an adventure/crime novel. When asked about his magnetic sense of humor he only replied, “I want to become the eccentric billionaire without all the money.” Currently, Steven rides a 2017 BMW R1200GS Rallye and spends most of his time exploring the West, including Baja California, Mexico.

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 zig-zag 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.

RACHELLE CROFT

BILL DRAGOO

STEPHEN PETERS

Rachelle Croft is a Montana native, wife, mom of three, business owner, and driver. She founded X Elles Racing in 2011, focusing on long-distance rallying, teaching, and sharing her story of healing after abuse as a child. She has since completed three of the iconic Rally Aïcha des Gazelles through Morocco, as well as the first Rebelle Rally in 2016. Rachelle is an owner of Hiline Productions along with her husband, Clay Croft, co-produces the YouTube series Expedition Overland, and has traveled from Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, through Central America and south to Lima, Peru. She hopes to encourage women of all ages that anything is possible.

Bill Dragoo is an adventure motorcycle coach, certified flight instructor, commercial seaplane and sailplane pilot, skydiver, scuba diver, Jeeper, adventure journalist, and a lover of all things that happen off the pavement.

Always game for a challenge, Bill has won numerous competitions in motocross, crosscountry mountain biking, and sailboat racing.

He has enjoyed first and second place finishes at RawHyde Adventures Rider’s Challenge and represented Team USA in BMW’s 2010 GS Trophy competition in South Africa, Swaziland, and Mozambique. He is quick to tell anyone that the synergy between riding and writing has opened doors he would never have imagined as a younger man.

Raised just outside the marginally controlled chaos of Washington, D.C., Stephen fled into the wilderness of the Eastern US to climb, mountain bike, and camp at every opportunity.

While working as a designer, he witnessed the events of September 11 firsthand, an experience that catapulted him into service with the US Army and combat throughout Iraq, seeding his passion for vehicle-based travel. After relocating to Texas in 2009, Stephen decided the only way to hide his Yankee roots was to buy a big diesel truck to explore the expansive Southwest. He now runs a diesel performance shop and spends most of his time looking for fish who will eat his horribly tied flies.

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OVERLAND J O U R N A L

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E X P E D I T I O N P O R TA L . C O M

THE WORLDʼS LARGEST OVERLAND COMMUNITY

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FIELD TESTED CHRIS CORDES

Front Runner Spare Wheel Step An easy solution for accessing your vehicle rack.

Accessing the roof rack on four-wheel drives seems like a real pain these days.

Tires keep getting bigger, vehicles keep getting higher, and most of us aren’t getting any taller, which means that it’s time to get a leg up on the problem. If you have the right vehicle and feel like drilling holes in your truck, you could permanently mount a ladder, but for everyone else, there’s this convenient step from Front Runner.

This helpful product attaches directly to your spare tire using a 5-meter endless ratchet strap and provides two steps and three handholds to make accessing your roof rack a snap. It’s made from black, powdercoated stainless steel and will fit tires up to 35 inches with no drilling or tools required.

Installation couldn’t be easier. Simply thread the strap through the step, loop it over the tire, and ratchet it down. Be sure to check clearances between the step and vehicle before opening the swing-out, as well as verify that your spare tire mount can support your weight.

I’ve found the step to be surprisingly stable with no shifting or movement under my 225 pounds, and each foothold is large enough to gain a solid purchase even with size 14 feet. Grip is excellent in all conditions thanks to the raised edges on the drain holes, and there are no sharp edges to make barefoot climbing dangerous. $163 | FRONTRUNNEROUTFITTERS.COM

Scheel-Mann Seats Vario F XXL They’ve got your back.

According to a Harvard study, the average person will spend 37,935 hours of their life driving. For overlanders, that figure is undoubtedly much higher, so it only makes sense that we would search out a better seat for our health. With two back surgeries behind me, I wanted something highly adjustable and ergonomically designed, which led me to Scheel-Mann.

Scheel-Mann has been producing aftermarket seats for over 50 years, and their work has been used in nearly every segment of the automotive industry, from race cars to four-wheel drives. They offer a range of models with different features, fabrics, colors, and sizes, but it was the Vario that caught my eye. It’s based on the company’s traveler seat which is fashioned to promote good posture and back health for any oc-

cupant, but the Vario features 10-way adjustability to assure a perfect fit, heating elements for cold days, and lower bolsters to make ingress and egress from tall vehicles a breeze. There’s even an XXL model with 3 inches of additional height. All of this translates to a phenomenal driving experience, in a seat that feels as if it were made specifically for you, regardless of your height.

The Scheel-Mann seats have changed my life on the road, allowing me to reach destinations feeling rested and pain-free. To learn all about them, check out the full review on Expedition Portal. expeditionportal. com/the-best-seat-in-the-house-scheel-mannseat-review/

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STARTING AT $1,699 | SCHEEL-MANN.COM

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FIELD TESTED BRYON BASS AND S.K. DAVIS

Mosko Moto Backcountry Pannier Kit and Duffle Soft gear that can roll with the punches.

Aluminum panniers have been the gold standard of moto luggage for good reason: they’re easy to pack, easy to lock, and your gear stays protected. You can put your Starbucks sticker on them, too. The downside? If you have any kind of get-off, your panniers are done—at least on one side.

After replacing my third one, I decided to give Mosko a try.

I know what you’re thinking: Steven, you must be a sucky rider.

Maybe that’s true, but I like to use my gear. So I went with the 35-liter pannier system paired with the 30-liter duffle.

The panniers are easy to install, and the mounting wedges, which connect to nearly any kind of metal luggage rack, make nightly removal a snap. The pannier system comes with all the hardware you need unless you’re riding a BMW with offset racks, in which case adaptors are available through Mosko.

The biggest advantage of these Mosko items is that they can take anything you give them—and more. No longer will you fret over bending panniers. The included bag liners made of heavy-duty PVC keep things dry, and the ballistic nylon outer is nearly indestructible. I’ve tested these bags in downpours, mud, heat, and even snow—they offer real-world performance without looking like appliances strapped to your bike. (SD) $700 (PANNIERS), $200 (DUFFLE) | MOSKOMOTO.COM

Prometheus Design Werx Expedition Watch Band Compass Kit Shoot a bearing with a waterproof watchband compass.

For Patrick Ma, Prometheus Design Werx (PDW) founder and field gear innovator, an everyday carry compass is essential kit. Inspired by heritage equipment used by old-school commandos, PDW has modernized the wristwatch band-mounted compass of yore with distinctive, functional features.

With scant makers of pressure-rated, oil-filled button compasses, sourcing certainly wasn’t easy. Secured inside a ruggedized non-magnetic billet aluminum housing (titanium also available), the PDW Expedition Watch Band Compass is unobtrusive, comfortable down to 100 meters, and prepared for abuse.

With strontium aluminate illuminating the four cardinal directions and the silicone gasket encircling the compass, it’s ready for low/no light terrestrial and maritime navigation. There is also a groove machined into the case interior to secure that glowing gasket. Break the compass? There’s a small hole on the housing flipside to nudge it out for replacement. The case’s integral slot fits straps up to 22 millimeters wide, or it can be tethered to gear via the included silicone carrier. It is well-executed simplicity.

In low light, the glow doesn’t blow out my pupils. Wrenching around engine compartments, I still can’t seem to scratch it. Pick and shovel digging hasn’t bothered it, nor surf zone pummeling or adventure motorcycle riding. It has yet to leak from a dive. On a 20-millimeter watch band, there may be some very negligible play. I’ve worn the titanium model extensively, paired with various watches, for fieldwork and at formal functions. This is excellent, minimalist kit. Never underestimate the importance of analog horology timekeeping and navigation equipment. (BB) $42/ALUMINUM, $114/TITANIUM | PROMETHEUSDESIGNWERX.COM OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

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FIELD TESTED SCOTT BRADY

Native Planet Socks Properly prepared, all the way to your toes.

Clay Croft and I were standing on the Greenland ice sheet. It was minus 30°C, the wind was biting, and the effects of standing on ice and snow were taking their toll. Yet impressively, our feet were warm; both of us had received a pair of new Heat socks from Native Planet, complete with technology more typically reserved for astronauts. They are far warmer than their thickness would predict, employing Nilit Heat fibers comprised of coffee charcoal yarn, which provide for exceptional insulation. The socks do require some movement to fully function, but once any exercise starts to build heat in the foot, it remains for far longer than with other socks in the same conditions.

Native Planet has a full line of socks, for function in hot weather to bitter cold. One of my favorites is the Patrol, a taller all-weather option with good calf compression that works as well on an airplane as it does on an adventure motorcycle. $30/HEAT, $20/PATROL | NATIVEPLANETUSA.COM

PROS Wide range of socks for all conditions High-quality materials and construction Patrol has good calf compression to reduce deep vein thrombosis while driving

CONS Calf compression can be tight for those with larger calves Some colorways can be “loud” when worn with shorts

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OVERLAND NEWS CHRIS CORDES

Chevrolet ZR2 Bison Chevy ups the ante with a fully built overland truck.

Overlanders in North America have an almost reverent respect for the small displacement diesel trucks used overseas. For years they begged manufacturers to bring them to the US, but to no avail. Then in 2015, something surprising happened: Chevrolet delivered a one-two punch wake-up call by introducing the new Colorado with a 2.8L Duramax diesel, and later announced a lifted and armored trim package called the ZR2, complete with front and rear electronic locking differentials. We expected the competition to catch up, but it looks like Chevy won’t be giving them the chance with the introduction of the Bison.

This package, developed in conjunction with American Expedition Vehicles, gives US buyers the opportunity to buy a ready-to-roll overland truck straight off the showroom floor under factory warranty. It includes features we already loved from the ZR-2 such as a lift kit with racingderived Multimatic dynamic suspensions spool valve dampers, front and rear lockers, and improved approach and departure angles, plus a range of new ones like 17-inch aluminum wheels wrapped in 31-inch Goodyear Wrangler DuraTracs. There’s also a winch-ready stamped steel front bumper and matching rear, frame-mounted recovery points, sliders, and five boron steel skid plates for protection on the trail. You can even add a snorkel and, of course, the Duramax 2.8L diesel instead of the standard 3.6L petrol V-6.

Combine all of that with Chevy’s recent ascent past Toyota, Nissan, and Ford in J.D. Power’s Vehicle Dependability Study, and the Bison is going to be impossible to ignore.

CHEVROLET.COM

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OVERLAND NEWS CATHERINE LAWSON PHOTOGRAPHY BY DAVID BRISTOW

Tiny trekker Maya Bristow has become the youngest Australian to reach Everest Base Camp (EBC) after walking for 19 days from the Nepali town of Phaplu to the foot of the world’s highest mountain and back again.

The gutsy six-year-old reached the Himalaya’s most famous mountain camp on May 21, 2018, calling the adventure “a really beautiful walk” and snapping an icicle off the Khumbu Glacier to celebrate.

Her achievement might seem ambitious for someone so young but with two Himalayan treks behind her (the upside of having travel photojournalists as parents), this pint-sized adventurer was up for the challenge.

When you throw in the Her dad, David Bristow, and I led the staggeringly beautiful way and because we had trekked in Evermountain scenery and the est’s Solu-Khumbu region several times warm Sherpa hospitality before and were familiar with the route, and comfortable lodges we both felt Maya was in safe hands. We along the way, Everest set out from Phaplu, a day’s drive from Base Camp becomes Kathmandu, with a plan to set a child’s surprisingly family friendly. pace and see how everyone travelled.

Fortunately, Maya was having so much fun and adapting well, we just kept on going until EBC was on the horizon.

David considered Maya pretty unstoppable: “So many trekkers told us that seeing her skipping along the trail gave them such a boost, and they would stop to talk to her and give her a high five.

Lots of parents told us that they wished they had brought their own children along too but hadn’t considered it possible.”

To tackle the adventure, we spent six days walking from Phaplu to Namche Bazaar where we stopped for two nights to rest and acclimatise. The next seven days spent trekking to Everest Base Camp were short because we limited our daily climb in altitude to no more than 300 metres, and after two or three hours of walking, we were done for the day.

Most EBC trekkers don’t stop to count yaks or spot Himalayan tahrs, or poke around herders’ huts or skim stones in the rivers, but kids enjoy mountain playgrounds in a very special way and Maya loved being there.

Having a child in our midst meant that our days began sipping sweet, milky “bed tea” and on the trail, we’d stop to pick up fallen rhododendron blooms and swing on suspension bridges. In Debuche, we prayed with chanting Buddhist nuns who spoiled Maya with chocolate and plied us with mugs of masala tea.

Taking our time definitely helped us acclimatise well, which is the most challenging thing about attempting to reach EBC. If managed properly, the high altitude of Nepal’s most popular mountain trek becomes less of a problem, and when you throw in the staggeringly beautiful mountain scenery and the warm Sherpa hospitality and comfortable lodges along the way, Everest Base Camp becomes surprisingly family friendly.

Six-year-old girl treks to Everest Base Camp.

A young Australian walks into the record books after a 19-day Himalayan adventure.

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Clockwise from top: Maya Bristow at Gorak Shep, two hours before becoming the youngest Australian to reach Mount Everest Base Camp. Trekking under her own power, Maya spent 14 days on the trail from Phāplu, ascending 3,000 metres in elevatio to reach EBC. Tent City at Everest Base Camp.

OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

OVERLAND NEWS ADVENTURE READS

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Endurance: Shackleton’s Incredible Voyage

I Can, I Will. Women Overlanding the World

Land of the Dawn-lit Mountains

By Alfred Lansing

By Sunny Eaton, Laurie Holloway, and Karin Balsley

By Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent

Review by Chris Cordes ISBN 978-0465058785

Review by Scott Brady ISBN 978-1732394100

Review by Cyril Mischler ISBN 978-1471156564

If you’re looking for a mellow read, a historical book to calm your nerves before bed, this is not it. Endurance is the harrowing tale of Sir Ernest Shackleton’s Antarctic expedition, a journey gone horribly awry, and one of the world’s most thrilling adventures. First published in 1959, new maps and illustrations have been added to this edition, joining the mix of personal accounts, diary entries, and brilliant narration. Alfred Lansing immerses the reader in the daily lives of Shackleton and his crew. You follow along as they sail from England to South America, down to the Antarctic where they become stranded in ice and forced to winter aboard. Get inside the heads of the crew when the ship is eventually crushed and slips beneath the waves. Lose yourself in the overwhelming weight of their ordeal while they spend five grueling months on the perilous shifting ice. Feel your heart pound as a few brave volunteers make the 1,000-mile crossing of the world’s most dangerous ocean in a pieced-together lifeboat. Every day is filled with new challenges, and behind each ray of hope is an unexpected threat waiting to strike.

Endurance will keep you turning page after page in a mixture of excitement and dread, and as you dive further into their grueling trials, you’ll discover the iron will, unyielding bravery, and unbreakable brotherhood of mankind.

Sunny Eaton and Karin Balsey left successful careers and a comfortable life to explore the world together. Their desire to travel was mutual and sparked by deep conversations such as, “If we had six months to live, how would we want to spend that time?” And as individuals and a couple, what did they want to experience and accomplish? This resulted in the start of an overland journey, including the purchase of an 80 Series Land Cruiser and the plan to drive to Ushuaia. As they traveled through Central America, they encountered other women travelers, a web that also extended to the rich network of social media.

From those contacts, they discovered amazing stories, and the idea of a book was born.

In her latest book, Antonia Bolingbroke-Kent takes us to yet another off-the-beaten-path corner of the world, complete with mysterious shamans, murderous bus drivers, a high-elevation Tibetan Shangri-La, and tea gardens.

Arunachal Pradesh is the easternmost Indian province, located where the great timeless civilizations of Southeast Asia have met and collided. More recently, the province was subject to a heavy dose of controversial British colonialism. Add numerous indigenous cultures caught in the mix, and nearly every ecosystem on the planet Earth, and Arunachal Pradesh has all the ingredients to inspire the best of travel writing.

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Over the past two years, Sunny and Karin have interviewed and recorded the chronology of these globetrotters traveling around the world by 4WD, motorcycle, van, and bicycle.

The volume is a wonder of inspiration and strength, showcasing explorers that have lived life on the road and shared their stories of discovery. The authors go into great detail of the lessons learned and experiences that differentiate each of these inspirational travelers. The imagery and layout are stunning, creating an even greater sense of wonder about these vagabonds. Perfect bound and in full color, this book is exactly what overlanding is all about—adventure.

As Antonia alternately navigates frozen mountain passes surrounded by 7,000-meter peaks, snake-infested jungles, and bustling Indian cities on her 150cc Hero Impulse motorbike, she narrates her adventures and the incredible people she meets on her path armed with the wittiness and humor only British travels writers seem to be equipped with. She tells the reader about her eclectic journey, often dangerous, occasionally bordering madness, always captivating. She also smartly inserts side stories about curious facts and the rich history of the places she’s taking us. From a British colonial heyday to WWII epic marches through the jungles and high passes, she has researched her topic well, and it shows. This beautifully penned carnet de voyage will not disappoint you.

By Dan Grec

By Beryl Markham

Lone Rider: The First British Woman to Motorcycle Around the World

Review by Stephen Peters E-book

Review by Åsa Björklund ISBN 978-0865471184

Review by Sarah Ramm ISBN 978-1937747985

Do not go to Africa. The sheer volume of horror stories we absorbed from movies and media in the 1980s and 1990s alone should keep you firmly planted at home, wistfully dreaming of exploits on the continent. And for God’s sake, don’t read Dan Grec’s well documented, comfortably informal account of traveling the West Africa route. It might shatter these notions with practical advice on how incredibly plausible travel in the region really is.

Female adventurers have decorated history sparsely. The debate as to why I will happily leave aside. What I can say, though, is that Beryl Markham was an extraordinary example of someone who conquered not only geographic barriers but also social and cultural norms, for which she paid dearly. However, not for a second does she pity herself in this autobiography written in funny, frank, and eloquent prose about her life growing up in Kenya in the early 20th century. While her British father set up a farm, Beryl played, explored, and hunted with the Nandi children, forming a deep connection with the local people that most of her compatriots lacked at the time. As an adult, Beryl became Kenya’s (and probably Africa’s) first female racehorse trainer. After that feat, Beryl dove right into a new, arguably more dangerous profession: aviation, delivering post and passengers across Africa’s wildlife-swarmed savannahs. In 1936, she became the first person to fly solo across the Atlantic from east to west—an accomplishment that ended with a crash landing in Nova Scotia.

Elspeth Beard is nothing short of courageous and daring. In this memoir about her trip around the world by motorcycle, she openly gives the reader emotional insight into her adventure. Starting with her backstory and leading up to shipping her bike, she elaborates on how she decided to leave her home and life behind and how it impacted the people around her.

Overland Travel Essentials: West Africa

For nearly a century, Africa has been reduced to myth, legend, and the regurgitation of sensationalism that is all too common with international adventure. In Overland Travel Essentials: West Africa, Dan addresses these misconceptions with the demeanor and perspective of a fireside chat, alternately identifying the most common fears and then addressing them in turn. He preempts our “But what about…” arguments with sound, practical advice involving vehicle, healthcare, logistical, and safety recommendations. Does one need a diesel 6WD monster truck to survive the rugged travel and apocalyptic roads? Nope. Will we likely be fighting for scraps in a third-world prison cell after the military has stolen all of our titanium cookware? Nope. Will we benefit from a rubber snake on the dash of our Troopy? Yes. Dan’s book is a stripped-down manual designed to deliver accurate, updated information aimed to realign his readers’ opinions with reality. If fear of danger or impracticality has kept you from considering the West African route, give this book a chance to change your mind.

West with the Night

Autobiographies risk suffocating the reader with self-admiration, but Beryl Markham has none of that. Instead, her passion for Africa glows throughout West with the Night. This is the brilliant tale of a woman born a hundred years before her time, and it provides a snapshot of a time gone by—partly for the better and partly for the worse.

By Elspeth Beard

Many travel narratives go into great detail about the trip itself, while Elspeth dives into her thoughts from every occurrence along the way. It is this attention to detail that puts the reader straight into 1982 behind the handlebars of a 1974 BMW R60/6. You’ll experience adversity, as well as the hardship and joys of travel. If there is one theme in this book, it is to keep going. Despite the ups and downs, it will all be worth it.

After returning home, while she has changed and grown, her home is just how she left it— even down to the fact that no one seems interested in her remarkable trip. Elspeth gets back into the flow of normal life and puts her mementos and stories into a cardboard box for two and a half decades, where they waited patiently until the world was ready to hear her story.

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Lost in K’gari Exploring the path less traveled on one of Australia’s most famous islands.

By Chris Cordes OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

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H

ey guys, no one panic, but there’s a snake heading your way.” I looked at James, and with more than a little concern said, “Wait, what?”

“Yeah, it’s a red-bellied black,” he replied, “so stay back, it’s deadly.” Great. I had crossed the entire continent without seeing a single snake, and now when I was finally relaxed on a beach, one decides to show up for the party. Fortunately, James was used to these sorts of things and shooed it off with a flashlight and stick. We went back to eating dinner and casually discussed how screwed we would have been if it had bitten one of us way out in the middle of nowhere. That’s when I spotted the snake once more, slithering behind the rest of the team toward their feet. This time it was their turn to jump, and everyone scattered into the light on the safe side of camp. We redoubled our efforts to scare the thing off, but the venomous reptile continued to circle the camp, slithering into the light from unexpected angles. It was more than a bit unnerving. The jet-black snake was nearly impossible

to see amongst the decaying branches and leaves on the ground, and I began to feel like the star of some horror movie waiting for impending doom.

Eventually, we realized something more drastic was needed, so we unloaded the sand flag from the Land Cruiser and handed it to James. As he inched closer to the snake, encouraging it to go back into the brush with the end of the flag, it became more aggressive. With one fluid motion, James used the flag to scoop underneath the snake and sent it on a first-class flight away from camp.

As we breathed a sigh of relief, I hoped that would be the last of our lethal visitors for the trip, but somehow I knew it wouldn’t be.

The Maheno’s form stands tall over the surf, shrouded in the salt-heavy air. Opposite: The island’s infrastructure is far from advanced in places, but we don’t mind a log bridge now and then. Opening spread: The farther one ventures into the heart of K’gari, the more her vegetation closes in.

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OF MYTH AND LEGEND According to the Butchulla people, the story of K’gari began thousands of years ago when the world was still new. The powerful god Beiral had created mankind but had no place for them to call home.

He sent forth a messenger, Yendingie, along with the goddess K’gari to form the oceans, islands, and mountains that cover the earth. Together they crafted a planet of unequaled beauty, but K’gari fell in love with her work and pleaded with Yendingie to let her stay. Unable to dissuade her, the great messenger agreed, but on the condition that she could not remain as a shining white goddess. Instead, she was transformed into a dazzling island, surrounded by the trees and flowers she loved, dotted with mirrored lakes so she could see her home in the sky.

It was in this form that she stayed and remains today.

K’gari, pronounced gurri, translates to paradise in the aboriginal language, but most people know it better as Fraser Island. Like many four-wheel drive enthusiasts, I first learned At 710 square miles, of the island by watching Australian YouK’gari is the world’s Tube channels, but these videos only gave a largest sand island and glimpse of this spellbinding place. arguably one of the most At 710 square miles, K’gari is the alluring. It is dotted with world’s largest sand island and arguably stunning lakes, sugary one of the most alluring. It is dotted with beaches, enormous stunning lakes, sugary beaches, enormous dunes, and despite its dunes, and despite its lack of traditional lack of traditional soil, soil, an abundance of life. Thanks to mycoran abundance of life. rhiza—fungi present in the sand—rainforests, mangroves, peat swamps, and eucalyptus have been able to thrive.

The resulting tropical haven became an ideal home for a diverse array of birds, fishes, and reptiles, as well as one of the purest lines of dingos in existence. All of these features helped it earn a UNESCO World Heritage status, as well as protection under the Great Sandy National Park. Not a bad résumé for such a small place.

With a week to spare in the land of Oz, I decided to hitch a ride with Hema Maps to discover the side of Fraser not seen on YouTube.

We were to float in its hidden lakes, explore its forgotten backroads, and hopefully show people that this place is more than just a beach.

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SHIMMERING SEAS There are no bridges or roads to K’gari. To access this unpaved paradise, you need to take a ferry, one that’s a far cry from the large transport ships most of us know. These vessels run ashore on Inskip Point on the mainland, requiring vehicles to be driven down the small peninsula and onto the ramp that they lower to the shore. It’s an awesome experience, as long as the soft, churned-up sand doesn’t bury your truck to its frame—a very real risk. I knew that there was a strong possibility of getting stuck here going into the trip, but I hadn’t considered that I was driving a Hema-branded truck, which meant everyone on the point would be watching. If I were to botch this short drive, there would be no mercy online. I tried not to think about it as we prepared to head for the boat, but then my phone beeped with a message from my girlfriend. It read, “Did you know there’s an entire Facebook group dedicated to people getting bogged on Inskip Point? It’s hilarious and has almost 200,000 followers. It would suck to get posted on there. By the way, good luck!” Helpful, very helpful.

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K’gari’s beaches are beautiful, but they can also be dangerous should you be caught in a rising tide.

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I rolled onto the beach prepared for what I could only imagine would be quicksand designed by the devil himself, but to my very pleasant surprise, it wasn’t much different than the beach driving back home. We cruised out to the ferry with The high tide was ease and rolled aboard the ramp, feeling a still a ways off, but little giddy for having gotten off so easy. I an unexpected storm parked the Land Cruiser in our designated surge had brought lane and made my way to the bow to watch the surf too close for the short transit across the channel. After a comfort, and it was few minutes, a low rumble emanated from now a race against the deck, and the ship lurched away from time before our route the shore, its flat front end battering against was cut off. the waves, sending a cool mist into the air. I breathed in deeply, savoring the smell of salt, the pitch and roll of the ship, and the resplendent coastline closing in. I was already falling for K’gari, and based on what I had seen of its “challenging conditions” so far, it would be smooth sailing from here on out.

FAMOUS LAST WORDS “You guys are sinking pretty bad.” “I know, I know!” I responded as I dropped yet another gear while the sand sucked away my momentum. It was our second day on the island, and we had just begun OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

our journey down one of Fraser’s long beaches. The high tide was still a ways off, but an unexpected storm surge had brought the surf too close for comfort, and it was now a race against time before our route was cut off. I was eating my words about smooth sailing as quickly as the sand was devouring our truck. Suddenly, traction returned, and I felt the turbo-diesel V8 spool up, throwing power back to the tires, allowing me to shift up once more. Through the blur of the wiper blades, furiously beating the water off the windscreen, I could see our destination: a small inlet that led into the interior. “Almost there,” Micah called from the other truck. A sandy two-track leading inland appeared, and we turned for it, disappearing into the thick foliage.

THE GODDESS K’GARI Suddenly the roar of the surf was gone, the wind became a gentle breeze, and a vibrant paradise surrounded us. Deep green ferns and bushes covered the earth, with splashes of orange, yellow, and pink from flowers and mysterious fungi. Enormous trees towered overhead, with otherworldly epiphytes cascading down their trunks, and colorful birds darting between their branches. This was the side of Fraser I was looking for. The trail weaved its way through the rainforest like some grand snake, and other serpents of crystal clear wa-

Left column: Staghorn ferns, attached to the towering trunks of Fraser’s trees, have an otherworldly appearance. Some forms of island life are quite friendly; others are less so.

Because K’gari is a sand island, you don’t see heavy sediments murking up the water.

Instead, many creeks are so clear that you barely notice the water. Middle column: White gum trees seem to stretch endlessly toward the sky in many parts of the jungle. The variety of plant life on the island will never cease to amaze you, especially when you realize that they’re all growing in sand. Right column: Some plants and fungi have a surreal quality, each with their own unique, enchanting nature. The jungle teems with noise on the sandy two-track. Birds call to one another, bugs chirp and buzz away, while all kinds of larger animals prowl through the undergrowth. I was continually amazed by the beauty of Fraser, often seen in the fine details scattered across the island. Opposite: After driving across the red center of Australia, these tropical rainforests seemed impossibly lush.

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ter intersected our path and danced along it. Occasionally, we would get out and walk the misty banks of these creeks which felt more at home in a Tolkien novel than in the real world. Due to their translucence, from a distance, you couldn’t even tell they were there save for the gentle babbling sounds reverberating off the rocks.

Despite their beauty, these waterways paled in comparison to the freshwater lakes of the island, K’gari’s mirrors to the sky. These shimmering jewels were believed to be holy places by the aboriginals and still hold special meaning in their society today. Some sit high in the cradle of snowwhite sand dunes, perfect reflections of the blue sky above, while others called perched lakes appear tea-stained from the gradual buildup of decaying plants. Barrage types like Lake Wabby are even more unique.

They are slowly being swallowed up by sandblows with each passing day and will eventually disappear entirely under their shifting mass.

Out of all the oases on the island, it was Lake McKenzie that captured my heart.

Its waters appear a crystal blue even on a cloudy day, and in the heat of summer, diving into their depths is heaven.

Sadly, I was only able to walk McKenzie’s soft sandy shores for an hour before the storms closed in. Fraser is a rainforest after all, and each day brought showers and occasionally downpours to quench the land’s thirst. As a cascade of droplets began to fall, we ran back to the vehicles and set out for our camp. I was thankful that I’d be using a rooftop tent and not the swag; it promised to be a soggy night.

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Sand is slowly swallowing parts of the island in huge drifts, consuming her forests and lakes. The Land Cruiser, making its way from one of the many inland lakes to the exterior of the island. Opposite: The weather can change in an instant on K’gari and often does. Just 15 minutes before this picture was taken, we had been enjoying the sunshine on the beach.

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TROUBLE IN PARADISE I awoke to the dull roar of rain on the tent and listened as yet another storm rolled over the island. Grabbing for my watch, I realized it was nearly one in the morning, and every muscle in my body screamed to go back to bed. I knew I couldn’t. We had left our awning up outside to keep things dry while we cooked dinner, but based on the splashing sounds, it was rapidly becoming an aboveground pool. Something had

ABOUT HALFWAY DOWN THE RUNGS, MEMORIES OF THE RED-BELLIED BLACK SNAKE FLASHED IN MY MIND, AND I DECIDED IT WOULD BE PRUDENT TO TAKE A LIGHT. I REACHED INTO THE TENT, GRABBED A HEADLAMP, AND TURNED IT ON. THERE, ABOUT 2 FEET BELOW MY SANDALS AND EXACTLY WHERE I WAS GOING TO STEP, A BROWN SNAKE WAS COILED AROUND THE LADDER.

to be done to prevent it from breaking altogether, so I grabbed my shoes, unzipped the tent, and began to descend the ladder. About halfway down, memories of the red-bellied black snake flashed in my mind, and I decided it would be prudent to take a light. I reached into the tent, grabbed a headlamp, and turned it on. There, about 2 feet below my sandals and exactly where I was going to step, a brown snake was coiled around the ladder. I stood watching as the creature uncurled its body and made its way toward the forest, clearly annoyed at being disturbed during its big night out.

After several minutes, I overcame my newfound paranoia, hopped off the ladder, folded up the awning, and jumped back into the safety of the tent. I lay there listening to the rain for hours, thinking about the death I had narrowly avoided. For all of its beauty, this island certainly wasn’t without risks.

The dangers of K’gari span far beyond snakes. Jellyfish fill the coastal waters, some of which are Irukandji, tiny and nearly invisible specimens that will often take your life. These can even wash up on the beach and inflict the same fate long after their passing. Sharks provide further reason to stay on the shore, though numerous insects and reptiles will be there waiting. Then there

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Clockwise from top left: Many of the roads we encountered were well traveled, but a few required careful driving and a bit of spotting. On main tracks, like this one into the island’s largest resort, metal tracks are sometimes used to reinforce the road after too many vehicles become stuck. Looking through the rusted portholes, you begin to wonder what passengers may have seen from those same windows when the Maheno still sailed. After hacking our way down a trail with saws and machetes, a downed tree blocked our way. We used the winch to move it, but further blockages forced us to turn back. These rotting beams and planks are all that remains of a pier from which early island passengers would disembark.

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are the dingos; though cute, they can be aggressive under the wrong circumstances. Like many parts of Australia, Fraser is a breathtaking destination awaiting exploration, but caution and a level head are always required, and a bit of good luck doesn’t hurt either. We’d be counting on all three for the next day, as our plan was to cross the island on trails with unknown conditions.

Eventually, as the faint glow of dawn illuminated the horizon, I drifted back to sleep, wondering what the day would hold.

BEFORE LONG, OUR FRIENDLY TWO-TRACK WAS NARROW, OFF-CAMBER, AND FULL OF WASHOUTS. ROOTS PROTRUDED FROM THE SAND LIKE GREAT BLOCKADES, AND CLUSTERS OF BRANCHES AND FERNS STRETCHED OUT TO BAR OUR WAY.

SANDS OF TIME We departed just a few hours later and tracked down one of the main trails to the town of Eurong, the island’s largest hub.

Of course, that’s not saying much since K’gari has a whopping population of 194 people, but there is fuel, food, and a mean cup of coffee, which I desperately needed after the previous night’s events. We took advantage of the town’s cell service by making calls back home, checking in with our offices, and giving the caffeine time to do its work—then it was time to load up.

The thrum of the diesel Land Cruisers resumed, and the team turned back toward the interior, the shoreline sinking into our rear views.

At first, the trail seemed fairly well maintained, its sandy surface reinforced with various wooden beams, mats, and sheets of steel, but the farther we pushed into the green abyss, the more conditions deteriorated. Before long, our friendly two-track was narrow, off-camber, and full of washouts. Roots protruded from the sand like great blockades, and clusters of branches and ferns stretched out to bar our way. Hour after hour passed by, consumed by a low-range ballet of drivers carefully weaving through the undergrowth, passengers bending back branches, and everyone cutting away debris.

It’s amazing when you think about it. In the grand scheme of time, this road we were traveling was quite new, yet it was already fading back into the jungle. For all our might, we can never truly tame nature. It will reclaim its territory, and our roads, bridges, and buildings will crumble back to the dust from which they came. Driving across Fraser is a constant reminder of this. With each mile, you’re engulfed by the encroaching flora, then every so often the island lifts its green veil, revealing some dilapidated image of our fleeting efforts. On the coast, we spotted the decaying form of a dock with great wooden pylons rotting beneath it. The pier hung eerily in the air, awaiting a ship that would never come, and passengers who would never depart.

Here and there, old boat ramps and buildings were slowly being consumed, and we quickly discovered that not even our Land Cruisers were immune. The island seemed to reach out and grab them with vegetation, while roots and rocks beat on their tires trying to slow the pace. Eventually, they succeeded, cracking a rear wheel, and forcing us to replace it in the stagnant heat of the tropical climate. It would seem that for every ounce of beauty, this place has an equal amount of brutality. Nowhere is that more clear than on Fraser’s eastern shore, where the ghostly form of the SS Maheno comes into view.

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Once a glorious ocean liner hailing from New Zealand, the Maheno is now a rusting hulk, slowly disappearing into the sands with the tide. When constructed in a Scottish port in 1905, the ship spanned 400 feet from tip to stern and regularly carried passengers in opulent luxury around Australia, New Zealand, and even across to Canada. Of course, that all changed when WWI began. In order to support the Allies, it was modified to become a floating hospital, serving all over the world until her eventual conversion back to a commercial liner in 1918. By 1935, the Maheno was nearing the end of its life and was sold to a new owner in Osaka, Japan, a sale that would lead to her demise.

On July 7, the Maheno was being towed when the cable snapped in the midst of a cyclone, breaking free from the other ship with eight men stuck aboard. It drifted into the storm and was lost from sight until an aircraft spotted the craft beached on the shores of Fraser Island three days later. Salvage efforts began, but after several failed attempts to refloat the vessel, the crew and owner surrendered to the island, and the Maheno was left to rot on K’gari’s shores.

Today, its only passengers are the mussels that cling to the heavily oxidized hull, and the fish that dart in and out of the shattered portholes.

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A HIDDEN TREASURE Our final camp wasn’t far off, a sandy cove tucked behind the crests of windblown dunes. We made our way to this sheltered spot in the failing light, and then hiked to the top of a hill to watch as the sun rolled beneath the waves. Looking down the beach at the Maheno’s shadowy relief, it suddenly occurred to me that this could be the last time I visit this island. I took a moment to soak in every detail, the rumbling crash of the distant surf, the lights of four-wheel drives flashing over the beach, and the caws of tropical birds overhead. I thought of the misty creeks we had crossed, the impenetrable jungles filled with a cacophony of birds and insects, and, of course, the clarity and majesty of the freshwater lakes. For some, this place will always be just a beach, a place to rip around in their trucks and drink beer on the weekends. Little by little though, others are beginning to see K’gari for what it is—a tropical wonderland, a place to be treasured, and as the aboriginal people always knew, a paradise.

The Hema team, rolling down the beach, heading for our final ferry departure.

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Straight to the Point Some of the best clip-secured pocketknives for field use.

By Bryon Bass 45

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KNIFE CARRY AND THE LAW

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The informed traveler should research knife carry laws before arriving at their destination. Regulations can be complex and might vary within a country by city, county, or state. They are usually fraught with technical minutia and legalese that address fixed blades, folding pocketknives, locking folding pocketknives, switchblades (automatics), and concealed versus open carry. Below are a few highly summarized instances that would pertain to our review blades.

The locking pocketknives in this review can be opened with one hand, via thumb pressure applied exclusively to the blade or a thumb stud, and all have some sort of mechanism that provides resistance that must be overcome to open the blade. So in California, you could carry them—in the folded position. Even then, they could be restricted in specific locations (like courtrooms) or circumstances.

In the UK, it is generally illegal to carry a knife in public, except for a non-locking folding pocketknife with a blade measuring no more than 3 inches. So, all of our review locking pocketknives would be illegal there unless you have a reasonable excuse, which would need to correspond to camping, hiking, or some similar pursuits (and you’d need to be in a location doing those activities, not in a London pub planning your trip). Some components of a multi-tool can be prohibited in the UK, even if other tools on the same apparatus might require no explanation (e.g., bottle opener). In the UK, the possessor must prove that there was sound rationale for carry.

In Australia, you need a lawful rationale for carrying a concealed pocketknife, such as a specific vocation or activity that would require one. Again, you may have troubles with a locking pocketknife clipped in pocket if you’re not doing an activity that the knife supports.

The bottom line: conduct the diligence in advance, and obtain current information from reliable, vetted sources.

he archaeological record indicates that some humans were favoring stone blades—essentially any tool with two parallel edges longer than its width— by the Upper Palaeolithic period. Human culture evolved, as did blade and knife technology, and eventually transitioned in most instances from lithics to metallurgy.

We can generally define a knife as a blade with handles. The etymology of knife suggests linguistic usage in early northwest European written sources from at least 1,000 years ago. Knives remain important for everything from mundane tasks and menial chores to procuring and preparing food to defensive and offensive combative tools. There is no denying, knives still matter to modern humans.

We selected five Best of Breed pocketknives that secure, usually into a trouser pocket, with an integrated clip. We specifically chose knives with proven track records (and one maker with substantial credentials). We identified variants that are not too flashy if, for example, you had to display your pocket contents while crossing a land border. We also selected knives that cost under $500. We respect that budgets, usage, and gear procurement philosophies vary. Knives do get lost, confiscated, stolen, or ditched, so we stayed within a reasonable price range. Naturally, one should always be ready to lose a $120 knife, or even a $450 one.

The last criteria are not frequently discussed in Overland Journal, but are realities that exist, no matter how one philosophizes. We comment on a few gripping techniques that address a wide array of locking pocketknife applications. You also may wish to avoid inadvertently exhibiting an item with intrinsic value. You might travel through locales where, for legal, cultural, or other reasons, knife carry is prohibited or restricted. Therefore, we briefly note printing, or the extent to which each knife is visible through a covering garment—in this case, the front right pocket of a pair of Bolid’ster jeans.

47 Opening page: Knives, left to right: Emerson Knives A-100, Chris Reeve Sebenza 21, Benchmade 550HG Griptilian, Winkler Knives II WK F3 Folding Knife, Spyderco Endura 4 Lightweight.

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EMERSON KNIVES A-100

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A timeless design, the Emerson A-100 is a forerunner to many modern tactical knife designs. Slightly rough and unapologetic, this classic still holds its own.

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rom humble knife-making beginnings, Ernest Emerson brought combative experience and innovation to his designs.

An early configuration is his A-100. It’s reminiscent of a proof-ofconcept, possibly intended to evolve into something else. The knife exudes simplicity, and except for a few minor revisions, it hasn’t changed. A recessed, knurled disk on the blade spine serves as an ambidextrous thumb stud. The lanyard attachment comprises a hole drilled through the G-10 composite handle and the underlying locking and fixed interior liners (titanium and stainless steel, respectively). The liner lock is solid and has good resistance upon closure.

The 3.6-inch drop point blade is made of proven 154CM stainless steel. The spine, from the thumb stud aft, has jimping to promote a saber grip. The blade has a common V grind, yet with a simple chisel edge. Essentially, one side of the cutting edge is beveled, but the other side is not ground. Examine traditional sushi chef knives. Usually, they are somewhere between a zero grind and a V. Honed only on one side (traditionally the right), they are incredibly sharp, strong, and easy to sharpen. This enduring edge convention is not typical in Western knife-making and has flummoxed some Emerson owners.

The A-100’s overall fit and finish are functional yet lackluster.

Like other knives reviewed here, don’t expect to slice steak paper thin with this blade. It’s intended to be a working, if unapologetically combative, knife. The stonewashed blade (black Cerakote can be ordered) and glass fiber resin laminate handles are not presumptuous. The handles don’t necessarily look tactical, but they’re black.

The thumb stud doesn’t hang on pockets, and most users should be able to manipulate the blade via thumb rotation, without flicking the wrist for inertial assistance. The A-100 clips into pocket tip up and can be ordered drilled and tapped for left-side carry. The blade can also be specified with a partially serrated edge. The G-10 handle is highly tactile and can abrade less-durable fabrics. When seated into pocket, the knife rides high relative to the clip’s attachment point on the handle, and the angular shape and thickness do make a more obvious print.

I liken the A-100 to a Land Rover Defender 110. It’s a timeless, workhorse design with legitimate credentials. Along with its pragmatic finish and angular lines, as analogous with the Land Rover, you’ll eventually need to do some field repairs. This is an aspect of Emerson ownership, and reverently, it’s not for everyone. For those who appreciate the idiosyncrasy that certain personal kit develops through use, and the co-reliance this fosters between owner and a maintained tool, you will grow fond of the A-100.

And yes, this influential knife design did evolve. For many modern tactical folding knives, including the entire Emerson line, it is a genesis model from which many others developed. It’s made in the USA, with a sharpening service and lifetime warranty that doesn’t cover damage from use outside intended applications. $205 | EMERSONKNIVES.COM

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BENCHMADE 550 HG Griptilian

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The Benchmade 550HG Griptilian with sheepsfoot blade and simple, ambidextrous thumbhole deployment is a lightweight, no-frills workhorse.

y father gave me a butterfly knife in the late 1970s, made by a little-known firm called Bali-Song. He knew the owner, Les de Asis, and let me specify the blade and handle design. That business is now part of Benchmade Knife Company, an American mainstay manufacturer of quality folding knives, automatics, fixed blades, and special application knives, including the original Bali-Song.

Benchmade also incorporates patented features and designs into their production line by occasionally teaming with custom knife makers. This aspect is often overlooked and usually noted in small etching somewhere on the blade. But, it allows for unique knife designs and features to enter the pockets of everyday users who don’t want to purchase expensive, custommade blades. The Griptilian 550HG emanates from such collaborations.

Designed by famed maker Mel Pardue, the 550HG has everything you need and nothing you don’t, and the fit and finish are clean. The handle is made of glass-filled nylon and isn’t going to get a refinement award with its molded jimping and meat tenderizer-like texturing, but it gets the job done. The lanyard hole is located below the top of the pocket clip. If you use this feature with the blade clipped in pocket, the attachment will tend to stow below the exposed portion of the knife. The review example has the utilitarian 3.45-inch, sheepsfoot-style, satin-finish blade from 154CM stainless steel. This is a generalpurpose design and is ideal for many light camp and field duties. The minimalist deployment thumbhole design in the blade works well, even when wearing light- to medium-weight gloves.

The pocket clip secures the knife tip up and can be reversed for left-side carry. Clipped in, the knife rides fairly low, and because the handles have a slight domed contour, the Griptilian has a subtle print. The blade opens easily, with a slight resistance at about 1/3 open that is only noticeable during a slow, deliberate thumb deployment. Their Axis locking mechanism is ambidextrous, solid, and easy to manipulate. If only one of the thumb studs is gripped and pulled rearward as the knife blade is also withdrawn from a resistant medium, this motion could inadvertently unlock the blade.

Beyond the reviewed variant, what really shines with the Benchmade Griptilian line are all the production-level options, including blade types, grip textures, materials, and colors. For those who want to jump to the next level, customized selections are also available including laser marking on the handle and blade. Benchmade products are made in the USA and have a limited lifetime warranty, and their LifeSharp program is handy for maintaining a sharp blade. $120 | BENCHMADE.COM OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

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WINKLER KNIVES II WK F3 Folding Knife

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Master Smith Daniel Winkler’s entry into the folding knife scene hits the mark. Ergonomic design nuances, superior 80CRV2 steel, and ambidextrous deployment make the WK F3 a versatile carry blade.

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aster Bladesmith Daniel Winkler specializes in handforged knives and axes. We reviewed various WKII pieces made from the stock removal technique in the Summer 2014, Winter 2017, and Spring 2018 issues. The WK F3 represents Winkler’s second incursion into the locking pocketknife arena.

It’s not yet an old standby, but given Winkler’s knife-making experience, the real-world scrapes his other gear encounters, and that he sends a review kit with a “put it to hard use” attitude, we felt the F3 newcomer worthy for evaluation.

The fit and finish are akin to a custom product, yet this knife also has the outward appearance of being issued. Edges are beveled with no unnecessary abrasive surfaces. The F3 has a very ergonomic feel, especially with a saber-type grip. The review knife came with tan Micarta scales that fit flush with the titanium liners. Machine cut from hard-wearing 80CRV2 steel, the 3.25-inch blade is a very slight trailing point design and comes with a non-glare black oxide finish. With full bevels terminating at a very sharp edge, it’s intended to be used.

Winkler went with a flipper-type action rolling on a ball-bearing pivot and a traditional liner lock. To open, stroke rearward with an index finger on a wedge-shaped protuberance that is machined into the back of the blade, extending above the liners. This cycles the blade to the lock position. There is just one prominence for a finger (no left or right side, per se), making it fully ambidextrous.

This flipper feature is integral with the blade, so there’s also one less part to fail. The thumb rise cut into the blade spine promotes a firm saber grip, and hammer and reverse ice pick grips feel comfortable too. The opening mechanism initially took a few dozen iterations to master, as presented from pocket, since I’m more accustomed to using a thumb to release locking folder blades. Winkler also adds a lanyard hole below the pocket clip attachment points, so your rigging can tuck inside the pocket if preferred.

The knife positions tip up when clipped into pocket, and the user can switch the clip over for left-side carry. It secures higher than expected, given that the mounting screws are close to the handle edge. This is because the clip is almost flush with the scale well before the attachment points, limiting space for the trouser pocket’s leading edge to seat deeper. It’s not the narrowest knife in the review, but the F3’s fluid lines minimize the pocket print.

The clip and large pivot screw are also titanium, which makes it light. The pivot screw head appeared proprietary, potentially requiring a special tool that would never materialize in the field.

Upon closer inspection, it’s actually a cap head Torx sporting a machined tri-star type pattern. Geländewagen aficionados take heed. Currently, the only options are tan or black Micarta scales or Curly Maple. WK F3 knives are made in the USA and come with a lifetime repair or replacement warranty. $450 | WINKLERKNIVES.COM

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SPYDERCO

Endura 4 Lightweight

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Spyderco Endura 4 Lightweight. This low-profile workhorse from Spyderco excels. Lightweight and thin, with ambidextrous deployment and excellent ergonomics, it remains a classic carry knife.

he original Spyderco Endura burst onto the locking pocketknife scene almost 30 years ago. A buddy with a 1973 FJ40 back then bought one, and it immediately featured in nearly every vehicle repair we had. It could cut fuel line, hotwire the Landcruiser, and then reappear on a beach near K-38 in Baja, Mexico. It tightened the Toyota’s throttle cable screw and cut through a battery cable. In this last venture, tequila materialized, followed by federales. Back at our university flat in San Diego, that sand-encrusted Endura cut pizza. The details are now blurry, especially the Rosarito police station part, but I fully recollect how that knife was pressed into service.

The iconic Endura, made in Japan, is now in its fourth iteration.

The reviewed variant sports a rugged 3.75-inch drop point blade in VG-10 stainless steel, with an amalgamated straight and serrated edge (in Spyderco parlance, CombinationEdge) and a black titanium carbonitride coating. The blade’s thumb rise is jimped and makes for a solid saber grip. A reverse ice pick clutch feels right at home. The hammer grip is stable but may feel unwieldy in some hands due to the knife’s narrow profile. The ambidextrous locking system is based on the tried-and-true back lock, with the unlocking lever located at the handle midpoint. Spyderco uses a nuance designed by custom knifemaker David Boye, whereby the locking bar has a slight dent, or scallop, removed from the metal; this makes the lever harder to inadvertently release and makes the lock easy to locate with fingers, especially in low light. However, it can be difficult to depress while wearing thicker gloves.

The skeletonized stainless steel liners keep it light, and the fiberglass-reinforced nylon scales have a surface Spyderco developed called Bi-Directional Texturing. It’s very tactile, becomes more perceptible as the grip tightens, but doesn’t remove the epidermis during aggressive use. The blade is opened via that familiar thumbhole, yet another feature patented by Spyderco (the same licensed to Benchmade). The Spyderco H1 Salt Series I carry for waterborne work has a slightly larger thumbhole to accommodate easier deployment with gloves. This feature would be welcome on the Endura.

The fit and finish on the Spyderco are similar to that of the Benchmade Griptilian. The pocket clip can be switched from left to right or for tip-up or tip-down carry, yet another functional Endura attribute. Overall, the multiple drilled and tapped attachment points give it a more practical look. It seats lower when configured tip down—not the preferred carry orientation for many people (it also reverses the lanyard hole deep in pocket). Regardless of clip position, the knife secures with some protrusion. The Endura is very thin and has a negligible print in most trousers with deep pockets. It is available with various handle materials, blade/edge configurations, and finishes. Spyderco offers a lifetime warranty if the product is used within its intended function. $120 | SPYDERCO.COM OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

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CHRIS REEVE KNIVES Sebenza 21

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The current iteration of Chris Reeve’s enduring Sebenza 21 design. Titanium handles and a pocket clip, easy disassembly for cleaning, an excellent multi-purpose drop point blade, and its understated appearance make for a superior daily carry blade.

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his knife derives its name from the Zulu word for work.

Launched during the 21st year of its production (hence the number), the review model replaced its immediate predecessor known as the Sebenza Classic. Over the years, just when aficionados thought this knife design probably reached its zenith, a consecutive model would be released with slight refinements. The Classic Sebenza begat other variants too, like the discontinued Sebenza 25, which then morphed into the Inkosi.

However, the model reviewed here is the pinnacle of Reeve’s original design.

The Sebenza 21’s elegant appearance reflects a custom blade, but it’s not. The CPM S35VN stainless steel drop point, hollow ground blade holds a keen edge. Reeve developed this superlative alloy with an American steel producer, and it is now used throughout the industry. Thumb rise jimping facilitates a secure saber grip, and the hammer grip feels solid. The ice pick grasp is fine, although the ergonomics aren’t fully optimal. The frame lock (known as the Reeve Integral Lock) is simple yet robust. The Sebenza is unique in that the titanium frame lock and same-side handle are integral, while the non-locking side is merely a titanium handle. The clip has an extra ridge to maximize contact with the pocket. Mounted on the same side as the locking bar handle, the clip seats the knife low with minimal print. For lanyard attachment, Reeve uses a pin that spans the front and back handles. This keeps the knife profile narrow and lets users tuck the lanyard into pocket.

The right-handed Sebenza 21 comes with a single thumb stud on the left side of the blade (for deploying with right thumb), but can also be ordered with dual thumb studs. This doesn’t make the knife fully ambidextrous, but it does allow another contact point to assist blade opening. Pay attention 007: there is no allocation to shift the pocket clip to the opposite handle, so if you’d like to carry the knife in the left pocket, you should choose the left-handed model, which has the locking bar, clip, and thumb cut-out oriented for that carry. This doesn’t preclude clipping a right-handed 21 on your left side, but without the dual-sided thumb stud, there will be no convenient contact point for your left thumb to release the blade. Most people carry the knife on the same side as the deploying hand, so this would be a non-issue under nearly all circumstances.

The Sebenza 21 is reliable and field serviceable, with a very low profile appearance. It’s available in large or small versions, left- or right-handed, with insingo (Wharncliffe) and tanto blades, Damascus options, and various handle inserts and engravings. Made in the USA with a lifetime warranty if the knife is used as envisioned by the maker. $450 | CHRISREEVE.COM

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CONCLUSIONS

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t is significant that many of these companies hold highly regarded patents used by others. These cross-pollinations speak volumes for the makers and reflect steeped pedigrees, and many of them have a re-sharpening program or policy.

However, always be prepared to maintain a working edge in the field. These knives use modern steels developed for edged tools.

Users comfortable with keeping up their blades shouldn’t fret over non-stainless materials like 80CRV2 which has superior edge retention qualities.

The Benchmade Griptilian, Spyderco Endura, and Winkler WK F3 are ambidextrous, no matter where the pocket clip is mounted (with tip up), based on their blade deployment devices. Ambidextrous opening capability shouldn’t be overlooked. The hand EDUCATE intended to manipulate the knife may YOURSELF be injured or covered in motor oil. The It is a good idea for travelers to educate A-100 does have a circular stud that themselves and can be manipulated by the opposite be familiar with side thumb; it simply lacks the scale current knife carry and liner recess on the opposite side regulations across to assist with that operation. The Seall trip destinations. benza 21 can be opened with the opposite hand, but it’s difficult without the optional double-sided thumb stud.

Concern for print is not just for people who work in a clandestine service function. Discreet carry of a pocketknife is usually favored over a blatant display. An item could print in one pair of trousers, and be nearly invisible in another, so scrutinize your wardrobe. A covering garment, like an untucked shirt or a jacket, can mitigate telltale indicators. Naturally, travelers should be familiar with current knife carry regulations across all trip destinations The Emerson A-100 prints more than the rest of this group and protrudes slightly further out of pocket. The rough surface of the handles can abrade some fabrics. These aspects do not bother me. The Sebenza slides easily over most fabrics, seats deeper than the others, and has an extra ridge in the clip for security. It prints about the same as the Endura. The Sebenza can be slippery if wet, or when covered in dry, powdery soils. The Spyderco doesn’t catch on the jeans, and even though it’s thin, the longer handles (of this model) do print down in pocket. The Benchmade’s domed handle creates light print, and it doesn’t snag. The Winkler blade has a slight print and slides over textiles, and the clip profile seats the knife somewhat high.

We prefer the low-profile appearances of these knives for travel and fieldwork. All can be user serviced in the field to

varying extents as there are no proprietary fittings. These blades allow for varied grips and diverse hand sizes. The handle contours and textures vary, and some can be ordered to suit personal preference. If a higher price tag alters your view on using or carrying a specific blade, you can always change your perspective or go with a more affordable knife. Discriminating users should determine the best features and ergonomics for their specific intended range of use and purchase accordingly.

FULL DISCLOSURE: Among others, I have carried two Sebenzas, a small leftie and a large rightie, on six continents. An Emerson A-100 once graced my pocket full time—it’s now the backup blade in an overseas field bag. A discontinued Benchmade design, licensed from Emerson, was my first everyday carry, locking pocketknife. I use a Spyderco H1 on public safety diving operations, and one of Winkler’s fixed blades usually accompanies any fieldwork.

SPECIAL THANKS Special thanks to Dan Combs and Dave Harvey of Nordic Knives for unlimited access to their vast custom and production knives, reference literature, and technical input.

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RESOURCES Nordic Knives, nordicknives.com American Knife and Tool Institute, akti.org

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Congo to Congo On ensemble—we are together.

By Dan Grec Photography by Dan Grec and Dietmar Zepf

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Pushing the stricken Landcruiser so the Jeep can squeeze past on the tight jungle track. Opening page: We use the only tree in sight to anchor the Jeep.

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y thumbs-up is answered with two honks, so I gently ease off the clutch. The slack goes out of the tow rope, and I barely notice the additional dead weight the Jeep is hauling, such is low range first gear in the Rubicon. I’m towing a pickup—loaded with food sacks and locals—that has broken down in the worst possible place. We’re on a narrow, slippery clay hill with dense jungle encroaching all around. We have stamped out of the first Congo, but are still crawling through the large no-man’s-land and are technically in no country on Earth.

Slowly but surely I climb, with the Toyota and its many passengers always looming large in my mirrors. I can’t help but smile as we crawl across the dotted line on the GPS indicating the international border between the two Congos. A Jeep Wrangler is towing a stricken Toyota Land Cruiser from one Congo to the next. I’m certain the hundreds of people who told me to sell the Jeep and buy a Toyota didn’t see that coming.

DEEPEST, DARKEST AFRICA At over 905,000 square miles, the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), formerly known as Zaire, is the stuff African legends are made of. Countless epic tales such as Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness are based there. And Africa was often referred to as the Dark Continent because so much of it, including Zaire, was unknown since it hadn’t yet been explored, represented by enormous solid black areas on old maps. Modern-day DRC is widely believed to hold the richest mineral reserves of any nation on Earth; trillions of dollars of diamonds, gold, and rare metals lie undiscovered, and it’s estimated to contain over five billion barrels of oil. Despite this immense wealth, or possibly because of it, the DRC is one of the most dangerous and least functioning countries.

King Leopold of Belgium first enslaved the region in 1884, setting the scene for a long line of destructive figures who pillaged and exploited in any way they could. The infamous President Mobutu ruled with a brutal iron fist for over 30 years and is estimated to have embezzled up to $15 billion. While his family flew on Concorde for weekend getaways in Paris, millions of his countrymen suffered and died as a direct result of his cruelty.

In 1997, Mobutu fled the country, leaving behind “a feral state of lawlessness and brutality,” famously described by author Tim Butcher.

The capital of Kinshasa rates among the top 10 most dangerous places on the planet. Citizens are protesting the lack of a promised presidential election. Knowing he will be voted out, President Kabila is indefinitely pushing back the election. Demonstrations in Kinshasa can quickly turn violent and typically means burning cars, shooting, and rioting in the streets.

While the DRC is not the safest place to explore, it contains vast swaths of the most remote and least-explored regions on the planet. For this reason, I have long felt drawn to the Congo, and I’m approaching it with a mixture of awe, respect, and fascination.

TO CROSS THE DRC There is no getting around it—traversing the West Coast of Africa requires crossing the DRC. My challenge is to find a safe way to do so. Usually, a river as big as the Congo would be the international border between two countries, though this is not the case with the Congo River. Downstream of Brazzaville and Kinshasa, the river is wholly contained within the DRC, so even if I can successfully cross to the southern bank, I will still have many hundreds of miles to travel.

After scouring maps and planning for months, I focus on a seldom-used route that I’m well aware is at the upper limit of my capabilities—and that of my Jeep. Leaving Dolisie in the Republic of Congo I will move south to Londéla-Kayes to exit the first Congo. From there I will attempt to drive the smallest tracks to a border crossing that may or may not function before hundreds of miles on virtually nonexistent and muddy roads to the mighty river. I hope to use a ramshackle ferry to cross, followed by another hundred miles to reach the Angolan border.

If it rains, all bets are off as it is entirely possible that zero vehicles will be able to get through during the months of heavy rain. The dangers are real, and the chance of recovering the Jeep if

it gets seriously stuck is for all intents and purposes nil. This is a heavy decision; the DRC is no joke.

In Dolisie, I again team up with my German friends Dani and Didi, who are also looking to cross safely. We very much enjoy each other’s company and make a great team—always using our heads rather than being the proverbial bull at a gate. Like my Rubicon, their beefy Sportsmobile is equipped with a winch and front and rear lockers. Given what lies ahead, the 37-inch mud terrains look very appealing. As we load up on supplies, fully expecting to be alone for up to a week, I’m relieved to have friends with me for the biggest challenge of my life.

ON THE BRINK OF DISASTER Knowing we’re driving into the worst conditions we have ever encountered, Didi and I think it wise to put the lighter Jeep in front. If I get into trouble, at least he can winch me backwards.

If the tables were turned, however, After we bid farewell, I feel we both fear the Jeep would have butterflies in my stomach no chance of winching the heavy as we dive deeper into noSportsmobile to safety. man’s-land. I have been We head out of the Repubdreaming of the DRC for lic of Congo before camping the years, and I feel a sense night in front of the police station of excitement and also in Londéla-Kayes. In the morning, trepidation to be all-in. the road quickly deteriorates into a slippery mess, and it’s not long before we encounter a stricken Land Cruiser blocking the way. After we struggle to push the Land Cruiser forward, I squeeze by in the Jeep, and we rope the two vehicles together. After towing the vehicle over the crest of a hill, we glide downhill; when the driver pops the clutch, the engine rumbles to life. Evidently, it runs, it just doesn’t have a starter motor. After we bid farewell, I feel butterflies in my stomach as we dive deeper into no-man’s-land. I have been dreaming of the DRC for years, and I feel a sense of excitement and also trepidation to be all-in. We don’t have a double entry visa for the previous Congo, so there is no turning back.

For a few miles, I pick the way through grass taller than the Jeep before we discover what might be a road and slowly creep through muddy gullies, always aiming south. In one such gully, I gingerly crawl up a steep and slick incline. With its narrow track and no wheelspin, the Jeep is able to skirt a major washout in the centre of the road.

Didi, however, is not so lucky. The combination of a wider path and increased weight proves his undoing. The immense torque of the big diesel causes the tires to break loose, resulting in the rear sliding sideways into the washout. Watching in my mirror, I’m relieved to see the Sportsmobile wedge into the washout on a 45-degree angle rather than flopping right over.

After calming our nerves and a quick team meeting, we make a plan and get to work. Using my winch, we secure the Jeep to a small tree—the only one in sight—and Didi secures his winch to the rear of the Jeep. We use all of our combined six traction mats in an attempt to bridge the washout and create a level surface the Sportsmobile will have to climb through. We are soon pouring sweat in the scorching sun, and each of us is thankful for the OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

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Left column: The heavy Sportsmobile in the deep washout. The only gas station in Londéla-Kayes is long abandoned. Every traction mat in our arsenal is used to build a bridge. Right column: Smiling and curious faces leave a lasting impression. The Sportsmobile threatens to roll over backward. Immigration in Londéla-Kayes is a simple and formal affair.

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endless supply of cold water we have stockpiled in our fridges.

A small crowd gathers to watch the show, all smiling and waving happily.

When we’re all set, I take a moment to evaluate our situation. Legally, we are in no country. We are way off the map and GPS, somewhere between the two Congos. I am stomping on the brake pedal so hard my leg is cramping, and the cooling fan in the Jeep has not cycled off once, so hot is the engine even at idle. Behind and below, the 12,000-pound Sportsmobile is winching off the back of the Jeep, causing it to buck and squat under me. I watch anxiously in the mirror as a front tire rises dangerously high into the air, and I begin to worry the Jeep will slide backwards.

Slowly and surely, the monster van inches forward, while Didi keeps a close eye on progress. Unbeknownst to him, the far rear tire is exceptionally close to sliding back into the washout, dangerously approaching disaster. One very observant local man shouts “Stop,” to our great thanks.

I knew the DRC was going to be an immense challenge, but this is ridiculous. We’re not even there yet. When the van is finally free, and we’re putting away equipment, the Samaritan comes forward to introduce himself. We’re grateful for his timely intervention, to which he replies, “On ensemble.”

INTO THE DRC After successfully extracting the Sportsmobile and treading carefully through more deep mud pits, we arrive at a sizeable mud-hut village. At the edge of town, we stop at a large stick across the road, apparently the immigration post. Soon a crowd of smiling children and adults forms, and after looking around, I sense the DRC is different than anything I have experienced in Africa. Children and adults alike openly display glee and joy, barely able to contain themselves. Their openness and welcoming manner radiates from them as a kind of unspoilt innocence.

Even the village feels different—the main street is wide and airy, and all buildings are well maintained and spotlessly clean.

Most strikingly of all, and for the first time in West Africa, I cannot see a single piece of trash.

A smiling man steps forward to declare himself the immigration representative, eager to welcome us to his country. The slender man is nervous and shy, and I sense he is concerned about the long and detailed immigration form he hands each of us. He spends a painfully long time explaining how and where I should complete my form, but after seeing his confusion and watching him point to the wrong line on multiple occasions, I realize this man cannot read or write. Though he is the official and it’s clear he needs the forms to be completed correctly, he cannot do so himself. I now understand his worry and repeatedly assure him we are following his instructions to the letter.

After many false starts and three identical and time-consuming explanations, he is eventually satisfied and grants permission for us to enter the country. Although he proudly carries a small stamp, he is unwilling to mark our passports, explaining we can get entry stamps farther down the road.

Deeply concerned about bribery in the DRC, we have no intention of entering without the correct stamps. The alwaysprepared Germans produce an ink pad, and with the help of the

gathered crowd, we are able to sway the opinion of the now very helpful man. As I have come to learn in West Africa, once you can convince a couple of bystanders of your point of view, they will go on to enlist the gathered onlookers, and finally the person in charge.

The crowd insists we will find an actual road and so we forge ahead, completely ignoring the GPS. Five minutes later, still hotly pursued by a group of playful children, we stop to write the date across the fresh stamp. It’s not every day you get to write in your own passport.

BIGGER TRACKS We continue south on a severely overgrown motorbike track through the jungle. Mile after mile both vehicles tear and scrape through the tangle on both sides, and when I snag a guard flare on an unseen tree stump, it tears in half, almost completely coming off. I repeatedly ask villagers on foot if this is the correct way, and a young boy of 15 climbs aboard for a ride into the bigger town. He assures me we are on an actual road, but I have never seen a road anywhere on earth as small as this.

When we finally reach the east–west road, children again surround the vehicles, smiling, cheering, and jumping around as if they might burst with joy at any moI watch anxiously in ment. My passenger spots his sisters the mirror as a front tire in the crowd, and they are clearly imrises dangerously high pressed he is riding in a 4WD instead into the air, and I begin of walking today. to worry the Jeep will Again the town is immaculate; this slide backwards. must be because here you cannot actually purchase anything that would make trash. There is no store, there are no Cokes or plastic bags for sale, and I doubt anyone has money for them anyway. For the first time in my life, I am so remote there is no possibility for trash.

It’s apparent this road sees more traffic, though I quickly realise more traffic means deeper ruts and longer, churned-up mud pits. The ruts are extremely deep and wider than the track of the Jeep, leading me to suspect only the largest 4WD trucks pass this way. Progress is slow as we bump along the severely washed-out path, through deep mud and the occasional river crossing that laps at the hood of the Jeep. The sun beats relentlessly down long into the afternoon. After a full 14-hour day, we have not yet seen another vehicle, We turn onto a small spur and make camp in a clearing a few hundred metres in. In less than 10 minutes, a crowd of bystanders materialises from nowhere to set up a fierce staring ritual. The 30-odd children and adults stand a few yards away and fix on our every move with intense curiosity. They giggle and squirm with excitement when I answer their questions and ask questions in return, though it’s clear there is no way to satisfy their fascination in us and our vehicles. Not a single person takes their eyes off us until it is pitch black—more than an hour later.

It’s still staggeringly hot and humid when I climb into bed and search for sleep, my first night officially in the DRC. I am utterly exhausted after the biggest and most difficult day of expedition in my life, though I briefly manage a broad grin before fatigue penetrates to my bones and wins over.

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STUCK IN THE MUD We’re on the move soon after sunrise, eager to beat the heat of the day, and before our curious neighbours can return. The main east–west road picks up where it left off; it’s occasionally a decent gravel road, occasionally a series of deep washouts to be carefully navigated, and occasionally a mud pit hundreds of yards long. Thankfully, none of the water crossings prove too deep, and with both front and rear lockers neither vehicle has any difficulty maintaining forward momentum.

Late in the afternoon, I am encouraged to see a truck on the side of the road and take that to mean the road from here is passable, and also that if there are any bridges, they can support our weight. Didi correctly points out that the truck is abandoned and it is impossible to know how long it has sat there.

Enormous storm clouds had been building in the near distance since midday, and the first huge spots of rain hit the windscreen, just as we come upon a battered old pickup truck stuck in the mud blocking our path forward. Around 20 people were riding in the back, and now they all mill around, eager to get underway. I walk through

the knee-deep muck to the driver who explains that the pickup runs okay, though it does not have a starter and is stalled in the thick mud.

Quickly, we form a plan, and the driver almost shakes my arm off with his enthusiasm. We will winch the pickup backward and squeeze past before pull-starting it onto the dry road beyond.

As soon as we unspool the winch cable, men dive into the mud to search for a suitable attachment point, apparently unfazed about getting completely covered in the muck. The gathered crowd is obviously entertained with our antics, and while we work, entire families travelling on small motorbikes sneak past, their riders showing expert skill in the slick mud.

Clockwise from top left: It’s all hands on deck to spool out the winch line.

The road is littered with mud holes that threaten to swallow the small Jeep.

Motorbikes are the local transport of choice—even for entire families. Tire placement is critical on makeshift bridges with loose planks. Opposite: Men dive into the mud in search of an anchor point.

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When the pickup is running on dry ground, each and every person is overflowing with thanks, all repeating the mantra on ensemble.

I watch as the pickup dives full speed into the next mud pit and can’t help wondering how long it will be before we run into them again.

Afternoon has turned to early evening, and so soon after, we pull off behind a couple of large brick buildings hoping to make camp before the light fades completely. The buildings have a familiar feeling I can’t quite place, though somehow it doesn’t seem very important just then with the weather bearing down. As I finish cooking dinner, the skies let loose a downpour of monumental proportions. I bail inside the Jeep to escape and soon feel comfortable and relaxed. I’m extremely happy with my Jeep-house setup and the modest interior living space it affords. Escaping the weather at times like this maintains a small measure of sanity, and I happily move around inside eating dinner and reading a book, perfectly dry and mosquito free.

FORCE OF IMMIGRATION I wake multiple times in the night to the sound of thunder and heavy rain pounding on the fibreglass roof, and I wonder about our friends in the pickup. In the morning, I finally understand the nature of the buildings we’re camping behind when children in uniforms arrive—they stare in silent fascination as I make coffee and move around. Soon a man I take to be the teacher wanders over and is very OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

happy to welcome us before assuring me repeatedly it is no problem that we camped in the schoolyard.

When I first dreamed of driving West Africa almost 10 years ago, one small town stuck in my mind, and I have thought of it often since. Lwozi is perched on the high banks of the Congo River and is famous in overlanding circles for having one of the only functional ferries to cross the river. I can’t help but grin like mad as I bounce along the potholed and muddy main street. It’s hard to believe I have actually driven my Jeep to the Congo River.

Not long after we pull into town, a very large man wearing an immaculate military uniform says in no uncertain terms we must go with him to immigration. He is not making a request, but rather a command. He is at least 6 feet, 5 inches tall, barrel-chested, and speaks in such a way that ensures his orders are followed like gospel.

With his appearance, stern manner, and deep scowl, he embodies the Nasty African Warlord character from a B movie. He does not smile.

Across town, we are forced to wait while the big man yells at his partner and assistant before storming around the immigration building making his presence felt. Something feels off to me, and I sense it’s a big show for our benefit. My French has improved leaps and bounds, though I don’t let on, and we all pretend to speak only English. When finally calm, he begins with a meticulous examination of every single page of our passports. Finally, he questions Dani for her

details before writing them at a painfully slow pace onto a familiar immigration form.

Finally done questioning Dani, he rocks back in his chair with a triumphant grin. Clutching her passport and the newly completed form, he says an entrance stamp will cost $10 USD each. Proud to have the upper hand, he leans back further and grins wider. In English, I very politely explain we already have entrance stamps, and therefore do not require his services today.

A flicker of shock passes over his face, and I see him hesitate, unsure how to proceed.

In an attempt to regain control, Didi reaches across the table and takes his passport, instantly offending the man. Calmly, and without raising his voice, the official demands the passport be returned before lecturing us that all passports are under his control. We will get them back only if and when he says so, and not a minute sooner. West Africa runs on authority and respect, and we have not satisfied his need for it today.

When all three immigration forms are complete, the big man yet again demands we pay. Now very accustomed to this game, all three of us smile and sit back in our chairs without saying a word to each other or our friend. We make it abundantly clear we have all the time in the world, and we’re perfectly happy to spend it crowded in his small office. Left with no choice, the big man hands over the passports before dismissing us with a wave of his hand.

TO CROSS THE MIGHTY CONGO RIVER Back in town, I wander the small market, hoping to buy basic food supplies. The money changer is easy to spot, and we strike up a conversation as I change $20 into Congolese francs. When I ask where I can buy bread, the man drops his giant wad of cash before walking through the market with me. He has walked a full block away from what is easily $10,000 in cash lying in the open but is not concerned in the least. Theft is not a thing here, he explains. Everyone knows everyone, and they are all in this life together. On ensemble.

A stone’s throw from town, the river itself is staggeringly big, more like a lake in appearance. From a distance, it looks beautiful and clean, though up close it flows quickly and smells like a sewer. Men wash motorbikes on the muddy banks while fishermen repeatedly pull up nets with nothing but plastic as a reward for their efforts.

From the second the ferry lands on the shore, a furious scramble begins with people, motorbikes, food sacks, chicken cages, and even a dog moving off and then onto the craft. The massive Sportsmobile is first, and I’m relieved to drive up the steep loading ramp to find just enough length for the Jeep. Nobody asks or seems to care about our combined weight.

The instant our two vehicles are on board, the ferry begins to move, with last-minute foot passengers and motorbikes scrambling aboard however they can. The ferry is nothing more than two pontoons welded together with scrap steel and a big diesel engine belching clouds of thick smoke. I purchase a ticket for the 20-minute crossing from a talkative guy who happily writes out a receipt—only $14 for both the Jeep and me and not a hint of bribery or price inflation.

The big diesel engine screams, and I soon find myself chatting to the foot passengers, crew, and even the captain who is proud I want to climb up onto the bridge to talk with him. Colossal storm clouds brew on the horizon, and I see the odd bolt of lightning hit land. The wind in our faces swings from stiflingly hot to pleasantly cool, a sure sign of the storm we are quickly approaching.

I take a long look The friendly ferry crew deposits us around and savour my position on the globe. in a severely dilapidated shantytown on the southern banks of the Congo River.

I take a long look around and savour my position on the globe.

I’m not out of the jungle yet, though it feels great to know nothing significant stands between myself and Cape Town at the southern tip of the continent. After a few hundred yards, the town ends, and we’re once again crawling forward on a severely pot-holed and muddy track. We know with certainty we’re on the right track—it’s the only one.

TRUCK IN THE MUD The days begin to blur as we crawl through mud pits, dodge washouts as big as the Jeep, and find small side tracks to camp each evening. We manage to sidestep the biggest of the immense thunderstorms, though they are always visible on the horizon, boiling and churning from midday onwards.

Vehicles are very few and far between, and the ones we do encounter are literally falling apart and severely overloaded with food sacks and people hanging on anywhere they can. Early one morning, we find a heavily-laden transport truck stuck on the uphill side of a small mud hole. We’re able to pass by before stopping to ask if they need any help. The driver explains the truck runs just fine, but again it does not have a starter, and he stalled on the short uphill. It’s so heavy and the mud hole so steep that the 10 men travelling on it have not been able to push start it.

They have been lying in the shade for three days, hoping help would arrive.

Didi and I both suspect the truck is too heavy, though we decide to spool out the winch cable and try anyway. ImmediThe tentative loading process on the Congo River Ferry in low range 4WD. Opposite: Locals squeeze around the Jeep on the Congo River ferry.

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ately the men rush from the shade to help and offer encouragement, excited at the prospect of rescue. As Didi winds up the big PowerPlant, we hear all kinds of nasty noises before the truck has so much as twitched. Unfortunately, we’re out-gunned on this one, and I feel terrible explaining to the driver and assembled men that we are unable to help.

Not upset in the least, every man takes the time to shake hands individually and convey their thanks to us. It’s clear how much they appreciate the effort, and again I feel certain they would have helped if the tables were turned. Although they return to the shade looking dejected, each man was sincere with his thanks for our efforts. On ensemble.

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WE ARE ONE As my time here comes to an end, I can’t help wondering if all of Africa was once like the DRC is now: outrageously happy and kind people looking out So kind and gentle for one another and working together are the people here, to achieve shared goals in possibly the I continually had the toughest conditions on Earth. They do feeling they wanted me this day in and day out, against all odds. to ask for help, simply Their tidy mud-hut villages have virtuso they could give it. ally no infrastructure or development of any kind, which does not appear to bother them in the least.

So kind and gentle are they, I continually had the feeling they wanted me to ask for help, simply so they could give it.

I planned our crossing of the infamous DRC under the assumption we would be utterly alone. I anticipated days slogging through the mud, entirely relying on our wits, determination, and supplies to see us through. I thought our only two options in the event of a serious problem would have been to solve it completely on our own or to stare failure in the face.

While I was right about the mud, I was completely wrong about having only ourselves to rely on. We were rarely far from warm and generous helpers who were all too happy to chip in and give assistance whenever possible. It was a pleasure to lend a hand in the small ways we could, and I have no doubt the favour would have been returned if we had needed it. The Congolese know they always have each other to rely on, and this gives them the courage and determination to tackle each gruelling day.

I hope we, as overlanders, can learn from this approach. We don’t all need to bring everything we can imagine when we set off into the unknown. As a community—and with the help of a few friendly locals—we can work together to achieve shared goals, just as Dani, Didi, and I did to successfully cross the DRC. After only a small taste, I am thoroughly engrossed with the most mighty of African nations.

An early morning mist over the green rolling hills of the DRC. OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

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Cartography by David Medeiros (mapbliss.com)

North American Overland

The domestic SUV in your driveway might be the off-pavement truck you’ve been looking for.

By Chris Cordes

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Photo by Brett Siegel

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t one point or another, we’ve all asked it. That one question that never fails to stir up a fight on four-wheeldrive forums and social pages the world over, What is the ultimate overland vehicle? Plenty of people have voiced their opinions, but from Jimnys to Unimogs, their responses couldn’t be more diverse. Some might say that the best choice is whatever you have already, but I’d argue that’s not always the case.

In my opinion, the best overland vehicle isn’t necessarily what you own now, but whatever suits your needs best. For some, it really could be that old Land Cruiser or 2-door Range Rover, but for many families in North America, a domestic full-size vehicle is probably a better fit. I know, it’s heresy to suggest that the truck or SUV in your driveway might be your perfect choice, but it’s true. They have huge payload capacities, are relatively affordable, comfortable for long trips, can tow easily, and have a wide support base with readily available parts. With all of these factors in their favor, we decided to go full size with a 2000 Ford Excursion.

While it may look enormous, the Excursion is only a 3/4 inch longer than a longbed Tacoma, allowing it to pass easily on most trails. Opening page: Searching for camp on a snowy Colorado slope.

CHECKING ALL THE BOXES At first glance, this long and low-slung SUV may seem like an odd choice for overlanding, but take a look at its credentials, and things begin to make sense. You see, the Excursion was released in 1999 as a direct competitor to the Chevrolet Suburban, the

segment’s reigning platform since the mid1930s. At the time, gas prices were low, SUV sales were continuously rising, and it seemed that bigger was indeed better to new car buyers, so Ford went huge by basing their new SUV on the existing F-250. Many niceties were added, of course, including additional sound deadening, longer passenger doors for more leg room, and a softer spring package, but underneath all the fluff was the heart and soul of a work truck. That lineage grants the Excursion some pretty unique features for North American SUVs. It’s a body-on-frame design running solid axles underneath, specifically, a Dana 50 up front, and a Sterling 10.5 in the rear. It can tow 10,000 pounds, has a payload capacity of over 1,500 pounds, and the interior is large enough to accommodate a stack of 4by 8-foot sheets of plywood without removing the seats. The real selling point though was the available 7.3L turbo-diesel motor from Navistar International. This engine has proven to be one of the most reliable models ever used by Ford, and while its 250 horsepower may not make the Excursion fast, the 525 pound-feet of torque gives it enough grunt to climb over or through anything in its path. Of course, I expected as much from a diesel truck, but the motor’s respectable fuel economy surprised me—between 16 and 20 mpg stock on the highway. When combined with the factory 44-gallon tank, that grants the Excursion a range between 700 and 880 miles. All of that in a package the same length as a double-cab Tacoma.

By the numbers, it’s one of the most attractive overland platforms around; the only thing it lacks is the cachet of a flannel-wearing fan club posting sepia-toned photos on Instagram. Fortunately, my goal wasn’t to build the most popular truck around. It was to build a vehicle that my girlfriend, Paige, and I could comfortably sleep inside of, take on long unsupported adventures, use to tow our 27-foot Airstream, and still hit the trails on the weekends. A tall order to be sure, but one the Excursion was born to fill.

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MOST PEOPLE BUILD VEHICLES TOWARD ONE END, BE IT TECHNICAL TRAIL CAPABILITY, HIGHSPEED, OFF-ROAD TRAVEL, OR LIVING SPACE, BUT I WANTED THE EXCURSION TO STRIKE A BALANCE INSTEAD. I LOVE THAT I CAN SLEEP COMFORTABLY INSIDE IT REGARDLESS OF THE WEATHER, DRIVE IT THROUGH ROCK GARDENS OR DOWN BRUSH-LINED TWO TRACKS, LOAD IT UP WITH CARGO, AND AT THE END OF THE DAY STILL CRUISE ON THE HIGHWAY OR TOW 10,000 POUNDS. IT MAY NOT BE THE BEST AT ANYTHING, BUT IT IS PRETTY DARN GOOD AT EVERYTHING.

PERFORMANCE AND PROTECTION The first challenge was making the Excursion more capable on the trail, which all started with suspension. From the factory, the Excursion was nearly 2 inches lower than an F-250, and a few trips through the desert made it abundantly clear that wouldn’t do. High-performance options from Carli and Icon were considered, but in the end, we went with an Old Man Emu kit. Sure, it doesn’t ride as well as those alternatives, but its durable spring packs are well suited to our carrying weight and towing needs, along with the speeds we usually drive. Plus, it’s half the price of the other systems, a fact my wallet couldn’t ignore. We selected their heavy springs all around, and since the kit was designed for the F-250, installed an add-a-leaf in the rear to offset the Excursion’s larger fuel tank and additional body weight. Finally, a set of Firestone airbags were added to augment the rear springs while towing; paired with Daystar cradles, they allow the bags to lift free of the frame preventing tearing under heavy articulation.

This system netted about 4 inches of total lift over the original sagging springs.

That gave us plenty of room to clear a set of E-Rated 315/75/R16 Falken mud terrains, and later a set of Cooper STT Pros

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on Method Standards. I’m not a big fan of faux beadlocks, but these wheels enabled us to turn to the stops without rubbing, and met the tire’s minimum width requirements, solving two issues with the factory wheels. The larger tires, on the other hand, have been nothing but good. They granted us additional ground clearance, plus a huge improvement in off-pavement handling.

I’ve been especially impressed by the Cooper’s durability and handling while towing.

After 10,000 miles, more than half of which we’ve been pulling a trailer, they are wearing evenly and still feel solid on the road.

Unfortunately, their larger diameters prevented them from fitting in the factory spare location inside the vehicle. I considered several ways of addressing this but ended up choosing a dual swing-out rear bumper from Buckstop Truckware. Unlike many aluminum alternatives, the heavy-duty steel construction is able to take a beating on the trail, and the design improved my departure angle while retaining a 10,000-pound towing capacity. It included space for two LED backup lights, the factory reverse sensors, and a 120-liter Alu-Box that serves as a sort of overland junk drawer, home to all the things I don’t want in my vehicle such as

1.

4.

6.

5.

7.

2.

3.

8.

1. The fridge doubles as a workstation, allowing me to write and edit photos wherever I find myself roaming. 2. Scheel-Mann’s Vario F XXL seats completely transformed the driving experience of the Excursion, enabling me to travel pain-free. 3. Staying connected in the backcountry can be a challenge, but weBoost’s Drive 4G-X can pick up any existing cell coverage and amplify it to usable levels. 4. The Goose Gear platform keeps my equipment organized and secure, while simultaneously providing a comfortable place to sleep without rearranging the interior. 5. The deck not only keeps equipment out of sight from thieves but prevents heavy items like recovery equipment from breaking free in an accident. 6. Rhino-Rack’s Batwing awning gives us all of the exterior living space we could want, even in bad weather. 7. The 7.3L Excursion had a measly 250 horsepower when new, so regearing to 4.56-1 Nitro gears gave it a muchneeded boost. 8. The low gearing and 500 pound-feet of torque are huge assets on the trail, especially mountainous terrain. Opposite: I was certainly thankful for the Espar diesel heater in the -16°F conditions on the shoreline of a frozen lake.

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THE WEBOOST CELL BOOSTER CAN PICK UP EVEN THE SMALLEST TRACES OF EXISTING CELL SERVICE IN THE AREA. THIS HAS ENABLED ME TO BROWSE THE WEB AND LOG INTO THE OFFICE IN PLACES WHERE I USUALLY DON’T EVEN REGISTER A SINGLE BAR.

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There are only a handful of vehicles capable of comfortably towing a 27-foot Airstream in the morning, then exploring surrounding trails in the afternoon; only one of them is an SUV—the Excursion.

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firewood, fluids, and a myriad of spare bits and bobs.

When it came time to choose a front bumper, I didn’t need to think for long. I knew I wanted something designed to keep the vehicle running and the occupants safe during an accident. Preferably something crash tested and airbag compatible. Both Buckstop and ARB had attractive options, but over the years I’ve experienced several impacts from deer and kangaroo on ARBs without damage, and thus made a decision to stick with what I know and trust. I picked up an ARB bumper designed for the F-250, and since the Excursion’s underpinnings are almost identical, it bolted right on.

Inside the bumper, we mounted Warn’s strongest winch, a 16.5ti-S to match the Excursion’s soon to be 9,000-pound load weight. The 16.5 stands for, you guessed it, 16,500 pounds, while the S denotes the 80 feet of Spydura Pro synthetic rope that the previous generation wasn’t approved for. It boasts a 4.6 horsepower motor turning a 315:1 planetary gear set, a powerful cone brake, and robust weather sealing. Redundant safeties like an integrated diagnostics system and LED thermometric indicator also help prevent damage during strenuous use, leading to greater reliability and overall longevity.

Other additions to the ARB include a set of IPF Xtreme LED Sport lights, and a

Wits’ End combination air chuck and powerpoint. The air chuck is plumbed directly to the Excursion’s Extreme Outback air compressor and tank, which pumps out an impressive 2.6 CFM at 100 psi, and 6 CFM during free flow. More importantly, it does so reliably, thanks to high-end internal components, sealed bearings, and a serious airfiltration system that can cope with trail use.

The final performance upgrades focused on making the truck run more efficiently. It came with 3.73:1 gears and a limited slip from the factory, which was alright for just the truck, but when the transmission spewed fluid on an extremely steep low-speed grade in British Columbia, it was evident changes needed to be made. I called the folks down at Just Differentials in Cashmere, Washington, and ordered a fresh set of 4.56:1 Nitro gears.

These were the best choice for the 37s that I will eventually transition to, and they immediately made a huge difference in the Excursion’s performance. The fuel economy, which had dropped to around 13 mpg, shot back up to 15-18 mpg. I found my transmission running significantly cooler on long grades, and the truck felt alive again when you hit the throttle. When combined with a much larger aftermarket transmission cooler, the vehicle was running like new.

CAMPING AND LIVING It has been a long and winding road to where the camping setup on our Ford is today. It began as an effort to showcase the versatility of domestic SUVs, so I started the build with a stock interior and took advantage of the Excursion’s massive 4- by 8-foot flat sleeping space. In this configuration, the truck could easily transport five people and their gear into the backcountry for an adventure. Then two people could fold the seats down and sleep inside, while the other two or three could sleep in a roof tent up top or a ground tent.

The key to making that system livable was Rhino-Rack’s Pioneer platform and Batwing 270 awning. The self-contained awning deployed quickly and easily thanks to the integrated legs and gave us a covered place to hang out, cook, and escape the sun on hot days and rain on stormy nights. The rack provides a place to mount a tent when needed, or to transport paddle boards, kayaks, bikes, or other gear on our various ad-

ventures, leaving plenty of room to sleep inside the vehicle.

That setup was ideal for daily driving and short adventures, but I wanted something more organized, comfortable, and efficient when I decided to go on the road full time.

I reworked the Excursion 2.0 concept in my head for months, sketching and resketching layouts while mocking up systems from cardboard. Eventually, I knew what I wanted, and it started with what was arguably the most important change for me: seats.

I had been driving the Excursion for some time, but thanks to my second spinal injury, long trips were becoming impossible.

After a short period in the factory captain’s chairs, my back would begin to ache, and before long the sciatic pain would be unbearable. The solution was to install ScheelMann Vario F XXL seats. These orthopedic slices of heaven can be adjusted 10 ways to fit every aspect of your body and gave me the support I desperately needed to continue traveling. Instead of arriving hunched over and exhausted, I was able to hop out of the truck and enjoy my destination, a sensation that I can honestly say is priceless.

Once the seats were in, I had to make the truck livable, which for me meant being comfortable in all weather conditions, including freezing cold. The Excursion needed a heater, but I didn’t want to tote propane around with me, so I picked up an Espar D2 at Main Line Overland. It pumps diesel fuel from the factory tank into a small burner and forces air across the heating elements which is then pumped into the cabin.

It can be controlled by a simple thermostat near my head when sleeping and can keep the interior toasty even in a blinding snowstorm. Best of all, it only burns 0.02 gallons of diesel per hour.

Then it was finally time to hand the truck over to Brian at Goose Gear. He took my original designs and improved them tenfold, creating a sleeping platform that stretches from the front seats to the very rear of the truck. Coated in a durable and easy to clean bullet liner, the flat deck houses four lockable storage compartments for clothes, gear, and valuables—plus an enormous quick access space for boxes of recovery gear, emergency equipment, cameras, and drones. Although some of the compartments are primarily accessed from the side or via slide-out draw-

ers, they all feature flush-top hatches so that you can grab whatever you need without opening the truck. This way, you don’t have to get out in a rainstorm to open a drawer of clean clothes. Just roll off your bed, pop open a lid, and grab what you need.

The interior also features a 13-gallon, stainless steel baffled water tank and Whale pump hidden beneath the deck, four quickcharge USB points in the rear for phones, a mudroom for shoes, and an array of charging ports by the workstation for laptops and cameras. In the workspace, you can place a computer on the fridge and catch up on emails, edit a few photos, or even stream a movie over the weBoost cell booster installed next to the desk. It can pick up even the smallest traces of existing cell service in the area with its large antennas and make them stronger and faster using a routerlike box hidden inside the truck. This has enabled me to browse the web and log into the office in places where I usually don’t even register a single bar.

Finally, to keep the fridge cold and charge laptops and cameras when parked, we upgraded the stock batteries to two AGMs with a Flexopower Atacama 79-watt solar package. The new batteries hold up to the constant charging and discharging better than your standard automotive units, and the Atacama can keep the system topped off indefinitely with good sun. It has even survived being run over by a truck and chewed on by an animal with no loss of efficiency—a sufficient test for me.

CONCLUSIONS The Excursion is not perfect—it has quirks and flaws, and at the end of the day is still an 18-year-old truck. Yet, with 160,000 miles, it drives like a dream, answers every call to adventure, and on many occasions tows our Airstream along for the ride. It is capable enough to tackle remote trails and comfortable enough to stay a while once we get there. After two years of use all over North America, I can say that this groceryfetching, soccer-practice-conquering, family SUV is one heck of a good overland truck and exceeded all of my initial expectations. I’m sure that there’s another vehicle out there that could replace it, but I haven’t found it yet.

SPECIFICATIONS

2000 Ford Excursion Limited POWER 7.3L turbo-diesel engine 4R100 4-speed automatic transmission SUSPENSION AND DRIVE 4.56-1 Nitro gears Open front differential Limited slip rear differential Old Man Emu heavy suspension with rear add-a-leaf Firestone airbags with Daystar cradles WHEELS AND TIRES Method The Standard 16 x 8-inch wheels Cooper STT Pro 315/75/R16 RECOVERY AND ARMOR ARB front bumper with bull bar Warn 16.5ti-S winch Buckstop dual-swingout rear bumper TJM snorkel Warn heavy-duty Epic recovery kit Treaty-Oak Offroad kinetic rope and soft shackles Maxtrax recovery tracks ACCESSORIES IPF Xtreme LED Sport lights Extreme Outback Magnum air compressor Scheel-Mann Vario F XXL seats Goose Gear sleeping platform and storage deck Custom 13-gallon, stainless steel, baffled water tank Whale water pump Blue Sea switch panels and charging ports Engel MT45 fridge Rhino-Rack 84-inch Pioneer platform Rhino-Rack Batwing awning Ravelco anti-theft system Flexopower Atacama 79-watt panel weBoost Drive 4G-X cell booster Alu-Box 120-liter rear storage box Espar D2 diesel cab heater Hema Explorer app on iPad with Ram mount Edge monitor SCT tuner Mishimoto 6.0-liter transmission cooler

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RESOURCES Main Line Overland, mainlineoverland.com, 844-656-7626 Just Differentials, justdifferentials.com, 866-349-6801 PSP Diesel, pspdiesel.com, 713-941-1135 AT Overland, adventuretrailers.com, 877-661-8097 OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

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Where the Mountains Meet the Desert Exploring Morocco’s High Atlas and AntiAtlas peaks on the new BMW G310GS.

By Chris Scott

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The road winds delightfully from Assaragh. Opening spread: Winding our way into the Anti-Atlas.

t’s springtime in Morocco’s High Atlas mountains.

The wildflowers are out, birds cheep, and there’s a soft warmth in the air. My flying visit here is capping off a satisfying bout of winter travel in North Africa.

A few weeks prior, I’d joined a French trekking group and TV crew exploring Mauritania’s Adrar Plateau. An unseasonal heat wave had seen our caravan on the move before dawn and then sitting out the midday chaleur for up to six hours. And a month earlier I’d returned to the Algerian Sahara for a fortnight of epic desert biking through the winding canyons and pristine sand sheets of Tassili n’Ajjer National Park.

But today it was only Morocco, the sort of place you can visit at short notice with just hand baggage. Joining me were Simon, an experienced overland driver, trials protégé, and mechanic with whom I’d just ridden in Algeria, and Karim, an old acquaintance who’d ridden and rallied big XTs and XRs right across North Africa, from Mauritania to Libya and Egypt.

Both Karim and I had enjoyed the golden era of independent adventuring in the Sahara when you could roam the sands as far as you dared. One time in Mauritania, Karim pushed his luck a little too far, setting off to ride the desolate 500-mile Dahr Tîchît piste alone. It was an adventure from which he’d barely escaped with his life. Since that time, an unfinished wave of insurgencies, failed revolutions, and associated lawlessness has swept across much of the Sahara and desert travel as we knew it has collapsed.

Only Morocco has escaped disruption, and for the past few seasons, I’ve been running small-group, fly-in tours in the south, using a Marrakech rental agency’s resilient Honda XR 250 Tornados. After seven hard years, many have clocked over 50,000 miles—and that’s African rental miles which work like dog years out there. No longer produced, the agency had just replaced them with BMW’s new G310GS. Our mission was to assess this bike along with an old XR while logging new routes in the High Atlas, then nip down through the adjacent Anti-Atlas range to the edge of the Sahara, not far from the Algerian border.

The only large-scale paper mapping for Morocco is now a half-century old, and today, more than anywhere else in North Africa, improved or new roads and huge dams have rendered these maps obsolete. Of course, today’s free, high-resolution online aerial imagery has accelerated that obsolescence and works particularly well in the cloud-free fringes of the Sahara when plotting obscure backcountry routes. But you still can’t beat a paper map in hand to give you the big picture, so at home, I roughly transposed the relevant network

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The interior of Tinmal Mosque. Simon and Karim at the 12th-century Tinmal Mosque.

Opposite: We pause to study the day’s route over breakfast at an auberge.

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of trails from Google Maps onto a sheet of wrapping paper. As I’ve found before, just the act of doing this helps clarify what lies ahead.

With the paperwork done, we left hot and muggy Marrakech around lunchtime, me astride a pristine 310 fresh out of the crate. New though they were, the agency had thoughtfully made some pre-emptive off-road modifications: sump guard, crash bars, and hand guards to protect their new fleet. They’d even gone to the effort of fitting spoked wheels from a G650GS which meant reverting to innertubes, the latter being a retrograde step in my opinion. The benefits of supposedly lighter and “repairable” wire wheels over cast rims are long outdated for anything short of rallying, while easily plugged tubeless tires are a no-brainer on a travel bike.

To the south, an icing of snow lay across the crest of the distant Atlas Mountains. An 80-mile ride led to the 6,860-foot Tizi-n-Test Pass, the less busy and more impressive of the two roads which cross the High Atlas. Soon we found ourselves swinging from left to right above the glittering teal surface of the lake behind Ouirgane Dam, now brimming with winter’s rains.

At around 4,000 feet, just past the village of Ijoukak, a fertile basin spread across the upper valley below the final haul to the pass. Here villagers cultivate the terraces and orchards from whose midst rose the 12th-century ruins of Tinmal Mosque, one of the oldest in the land. A millennium ago, the Berber Almohad dynasty had formed in this very valley, going on to briefly wrest the new city of Marrakech and Andalusian Spain from declining Arab caliphates and other rivals, themselves harangued by the legendary mercenary El Cid. In Morocco, if not all of North Africa, this distinction between Arabs and the indigenous Berbers (or Amazigh) is not something most casual tourists notice, but is as significant as say, an Englishman in Ireland or Scotland. In the larger towns and cities of the north the difference isn’t apparent, blurred by centuries of intermarriage, as it is anywhere in the urban world. But in more traditional rural regions, especially the villages of the Atlas Mountains, there’s been a revival of Berber identity, struggling

IN SOUTHERN MOROCCO, THERE ARE MANY MORE INEXPENSIVE LODGINGS THAN PEOPLE TO FILL THEM. GIVE YOUR HOSTS A COUPLE OF HOURS, AND THEY’LL HAPPILY LAY ON A STEAMING CHICKEN TAJINE STEW, WITH ALL THE INGREDIENTS SOURCED FROM AN ADJACENT GARDEN.

against centuries of discrimination from the still-dominant Arab occupiers. Saint Augustine and at least three early popes were Berbers from Numidia, as North Africa was then known.

As we’d all been up since 4:00 a.m., these finer points of Moroccan ethnography were far from our weary minds. Just up the road, I pulled in at the Dar El Mouahidines, one of my regular overnight stops whose name proudly evokes their illustrious medieval forebears. Unfortunately, Mohammed and his son were refurbishing but recommended another family-run place back down the road.

In southern Morocco, there are many more inexpensive lodgings than people to fill them. Give your hosts a couple of hours, and they’ll happily lay on a steaming chicken tajine stew, with all the ingredients sourced from an adjacent garden, instead of flown in from the other side of the continent.

“Today is going to be a good day,” I confided to Karim’s handheld GoPro the following morning. And so it would prove to be. Our plan was to leave the Tizi-nTest road before the pass and locate a parallel but little-used trail that also crested the High Atlas. Unsure of how things might pan out, and with the BMWs’ fuel range as yet unknown, we topped up in the village then set off southeast up a side valley lit by the streaming morning sun. Presently, the road dipped down to cross a stream, and alongside a promising sign a rocky track spun off steeply up the hillside.

In the mountains of Morocco, you’ll find two types of tracks: those still regularly used by locals, and many others which, for whatever reason, have been abandoned and are slowly merging back into the dirt. Without foreknowledge you never really

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Ruined stone dwellings provide a fascinating backdrop in an Anti-Atlas village. Climbing back up to the Tizi-n-Test Pass. Opposite: “Fast-fiving” is a new village fad—it can hurt.

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know what you’ll get: it could be glistening new tarmac or a storm-trashed trail of babyheads, landslides, and ditches. Researching routes on a Yamaha WR250R for my Morocco Overland guidebook last year, I’d encountered plenty of the latter, some manageable on the agile steed, while on others it was safer to turn back unless I wanted to go full Rubicon.

With the untried and portly BMWs, I was hoping for the former, but to be on the safe side, excused myself onto the agile XR with the lame pretext that I needed to get good shots of the other two fellows getting gnarly on the 310s. I’ve done hundreds of miles off-pavement on these Brazilian-built Tornados, a lightweight synthesis of aircooled 1980’s technology that makes an ideal African rental hack. That is until you reach 6,000 feet, at which point the ageing XR’s carb can’t decide if it’s choking or surging.

Meanwhile, with cooling fans whirring away, the injected 310s climbed steadily from rock to rut. As we approached the 7,200-foot Tizin-Oulaoun Pass, a couple of locals bounced past on a Chinese 125cc motorbike, and just over the crest, a village minivan trundled by, confirming that even this high route was still in the game.

So far, my Google-guesstimated navigation was going to plan, and down in the valley, we joined a newly built road from which they were still brushing away the loose gravel. We passed another cluster of villages spread across a rim-rocked basin, and at a landmark, I memorised an odometer reading for an upcoming turn-off back onto the dirt.

Once there, I checked with a villager that the unlikely looking trail did indeed lead somewhere useful, then we crossed a stream bed and bashed our way up the valley, eventually reaching a terrace perched high above the valley floor. But as is often the case riding bikes, the only chance to appreciate the majestic panorama below was when we pulled over for a breather. At any other time, even the nimble XR required steady hand–eye coordination to steer clear of the thought-provoking abyss.

An hour or two later with the new route logged, we were back on the main highway, gunning our way east for a quick lunch stop at Assâki. Unlike touristy Taliouîne just up the road, Assâki is just a regular town where you can walk around unnoticed. Even then, many tourists would have passed on the random

GEOLOGICALLY OLDER THAN THE HIGH ATLAS, THE ANTI-ATLAS IS A DRAMATIC SERIES OF CRUMPLED ESCARPMENTS AND ARID PLATEAUS THAT DROP LIKE FALLEN DOMINOES TO THE SAHARAN PENEPLAIN.

streetside café we chose, but the bill here for a good feed and coffee came in at just $3 a head. As in many such places around the world, it underlines the dependable benefits of shunning the tourist trail. Those places will always prosper, but take a chance elsewhere, and you’ll find normal prices and a genuine welcome.

After lunch, we fuelled up on the far side of Taliouîne. The new BMWs were returning a comfortable 73 mpg, some 20 percent better than the battleweary XR. With no fuel until we came back this way tomorrow, 140 miles later, it looked like the XR might have to coast the last few hills. The 310’s mileage sounds impressive until you realise we were riding them well below 60 mph. I bet my Yamaha XSR700 would be nearly as frugal at the same speed. Modest power is, of course, the compromise when travelling on small motorcycles, except they don’t usually weigh 370 pounds. But just as with the full-size R1200GS, once on the move, this GS feels lighter than it is.

We were now following one of my set tour routes to the oasis of Assaragh, tucked above a dry waterfall at the head of a palm-filled canyon deep in the Anti-Atlas. The small groups I bring here are routinely enchanted by the stunning setting of our convivial Berber homestay—not least because some first-time off-roaders find the 20-mile trail into Assaragh a bit of a shock. Recognising that fact, this was one piste I needed to evaluate on a GS for myself, so Karim bombed off on the XR while Simon and I pushed along at the limits of the 310’s suspension.

Geologically older than the High Atlas, the Anti-Atlas is a dramatic series of crumpled escarpments and arid plateaus that drop like fallen dominoes to

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Clockwise from top left: Looking back over the Aguinan Oasis towards the dry tufa cascade below Assaragh. Descending towards Timdrart in the Anti-Atlas. The road to Marrakech. A Berber shepherdess tends her flock.

The precipitous descent from Assaragh. Every evening at Aguinan Oasis, the women bring in huge bundles of overnight feed for the animals.

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WE SET OFF EARLY AND HEADLONG INTO ONE OF THE HIGHLIGHTS OF THIS RIDE: A SPECTACULAR, VERTIGO-INDUCING DESCENT COILING DOWN ALONGSIDE A DRY TUFA CASCADE.

the Saharan peneplain. Whether exploring it along a serpentine road or a rock-strewn trail, it’s exhilarating to descend from the cool evergreen mountain pines to the rustling palm groves of the desert. As in California, in just a few hours you can pass from sub-alpine snows to baking desert salt flats.

The three of us rattled up over scrawny watersheds and down through dusty hamlets seemingly populated by only kids and old folk. With daylight to spare, we pulled in at the Assaragh lodge, checked over the BMWs for anything loose or broken, then kicked back on the terrace overlooking the canyon and discussed our verdicts over tea, biscuits, and dates. We agreed the GS was pretty good for what it was, but the dual sport Tornado was more our kind of bike.

The next morning, with just 12 hours to return to Marrakech and catch our plane, we set off early and headlong into one of the highlights of this ride: a spectacular, vertigo-inducing descent coiling down alongside a dry tufa cascade. We passed a new bitumen road creeping towards the remote outpost of Assaragh, but for the moment, the only way to get there was either the way we’d come from Taliouîne, or up this clutch-frying climb. As the track levelled off down below, it skipped over a ford where women kneaded laundry in soapy rockpools, before burrowing through a dense palm grove and emerging into a broad gorge, passing the derelict mud-brick ksars of adjacent ancient villages. For me, it embodies the essence of southern Morocco: enigmatic medieval ruins where the mountains meet the desert.

Now out on the desert plain, we stopped for a tea break at Akka Ighern, the last town before the heavily patrolled Algerian border. As in other places, local kids and grown men gathered round the flashy GSs, ignoring the humble XR donkey. Out of Akka, a herd of camels was being led out in search of grazing while we swung back north into the ranges, me now nursing the XR’s throttle to avoid time-consuming delays if it ran dry. We made Taliouîne with just a cup or two in the Honda’s tank, wolfed down another $3 lunch, then got stuck in the countless bends leading up to the Tizi-n-Test from the south side. A saddle-sore finale brought us back to Marrakech with a sweaty dash to the airport, capping off a couple of action-packed days exploring the wonders of southern Morocco.

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LIFE ON THE ROAD BILL DRAGOO

SAVE THE SEALS Wheel bearing maintenance can save you in the long run.

Wheel bearings are critical yet often neglected components in a motorcycle. They are usually composed of an inner and outer race, which is a smooth, steel track for hardened steel balls or rollers to move within. A softer metal cage holds the assembly together.

Grease must be maintained not only to reduce friction, but also to help prevent rust. One of the advantages of changing your own tires is that you can check and grease these bearings with minimal effort.

Most motorcycle wheel bearings, although technically “sealed,” can still be serviced, often without the need for removal. An exception is the inner bearing on bikes with stacked bearings in the rear wheel.

The inner bearing is hidden, not only from service but destructive elements, and ordinarily needs less attention.

REMOVE THE SEALS Consider inspecting the wheels on your bike when you remove them to change a tire. Pull the spacer from the outer dust seal, and you will find another seal embedded in the bearing. This inner grease seal looks permanent but is, in fact, easy to remove. To access the grease seal, use a wide-bladed lever (a dull tire iron works perfectly) to pry out the dust seal. Be gentle, and watch out for the round, ladder-like tone ring if you have ABS as it can be dented in the process.

CLEAN THE AREA Next, clean the area with a dry cloth. Then carefully wedge the flat blade of a tiny screwdriver into the space between the seal’s outer diameter and the race. Give it a cautious twist and lift. It doesn’t hurt to practice on an old bearing if available before operating on a live patient. Some bearings, especially the rear ones, are secured by a snap ring, which must be removed before tackling the seal. An attempt to squeeze the seal past this snap ring will ruin it, and your effort to extend the life of your bearings could have the opposite effect.

INSPECT Once the seal is out, inspect the bearing for signs of rust and rotate the inner race with your finger, taking note of any roughness. If it doesn’t feel right, remove the bearing for a thorough cleaning or plan to replace it soon. Ignoring a rough bearing is a recipe for an untimely breakdown.

REGREASE Obvious signs of rust or severe grit should be dealt with, but deep cleaning the bearing in place can have mixed results. A solvent can wash debris into the inner bearing if so equipped, and it makes the

process more laborious. But if serviced regularly, a bearing’s life can be significantly extended by simply wiping off the surface crud and forcing in a little new grease at every tire change—a process that only takes a few minutes. Use the pad of your finger to press a good quality, water-dispersing grease into the bearing. Keep at it until you are confident that enough has been added to fill most of the voids. Wipe down the seal and push it back into place with your fingers. Reinstall the snap ring if applicable, and then press the dust seal back in place before installing the wheel assembly.

DEEP CLEAN IF NECESSARY If your bearings are rough, rusty, or visibly dirty, remove them for a proper cleaning or replacement. It’s a good idea to use a bearing removal tool such as the Tusk bearing Ignoring a rough remover to prevent destroying a serviceabearing is a recipe ble bearing. Pop out the seals, clean the for an untimely bearing with solvent and hot water, then dry breakdown. with compressed air before inspecting and packing. Do not spin the bearing with compressed air as it can fly apart. If the bearing remains rough or shows signs of pitting, replace it. Use a bearing installer or carefully tap the good bearing back in place with an old race or socket that just fits the outer race.

Rotate the inner race when done to ensure it turns smoothly.

TIP

The peace and confidence of knowing your bearings are in good shape are well worth the minor work it takes to maintain them and makes for a good night’s rest. It’s also a good exercise to clarify what specialty tools and skills may be required to field-service this system of the motorcycle.

Clockwise from top left: A dull motorcycle tire iron works well here.

Use caution not to damage the ABS tone ring. Wipe away any loose dirt or surface rust before removing the grease seal. A calculated twist and lift with a small flat screwdriver should pop the seal right out. A proper bearing tool should be used if removal is required.

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SHOWER POUCH

Everyday Essentials Products that make your life easier.

By Rachelle Croft

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recently had the privilege of leading an amazing group of women from Montana to Idaho on our very first all-ladies overland trip for XOverland. The seven of us all had different experience levels, and it was a great opportunity to plan, film, and execute this adventure on our own.

With this trip came the chance to use some of my beloved items I don’t leave home without and a few new ones I’ve been waiting to get my hands on. And Idaho was the perfect place to test them out.

I love sand dunes and the desert. Maybe even more than mountains, which sounds sacrilegious, being born and raised in Montana. Ever since my first race in Morocco, I was captivated, yet terrified of the endless sand dunes I was expected to traverse without dying. I failed miserably, but with a determination to conquer them one day. It was a big lesson in understanding personal limits, respecting nature, and realizing we can surmount failure.

Fast forward six years and four rallies; I couldn’t wait to introduce the dunes in Idaho to my dear friends, along with a few tools and skills on how to begin to conquer them. My perfectionism and lack of patience can make it hard to give myself permission to make mistakes, so my goal was to provide a safe place for us to have that freedom.

Do you know what happens when a group teams up and agrees to fail and learn together? It’s pretty incredible to witness because after the failing comes the growing. At the end of our short weekend, we all held our heads a little higher. The following products made life a little easier along the way.

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I love trying new things, maybe to a fault (no, I don’t use QVC).

So, if there is a new item that could potentially save me time and change my life for the better, I’m ready to sign up. When the creators of Shower Pouch sent the team at XOverland a few packages of their full-body wipes to try on our trips this year, I was eager to see how they performed and packed them for our Idaho trip. Made in Los Angeles, California, and designed to remove body odors, sweat, and make your skin feel fresh and moistened without feeling sticky, the wipes have a vegan, hypoallergenic, and pH-balanced formula without parabens, dyes, or sulfates.

We decided to save these for the last day of our trip to get the full effect of how useful the product was. After three and a half days of rain, mud, sand dunes, heat, bug spray, and everything else that comes along with living outside, to say we smelled a little is an understatement. The seven of us tried one wipe each (they measure 2 feet by 1 foot), and the results were impressive. It felt a little shocking and cold at first, but quickly dried and left our skin clean and smelling great with no stickiness whatsoever.

A lot of attention went to our feet, as many of us wore sandals, and we couldn’t believe the positive results. We were all in agreement that this would be a must-have item on our next adventure. $40/PACK OF 10 | THESHOWERPOUCH.COM

JELT This is a piece of kit I have not traveled without since my second Morocco Rally in 2014. This awesome little belt is very affordable, and I use it every day without fail. These “better belts” are elastic with no metal parts and a no-show plastic buckle made from recycled water bottles; they are also packaged on 100-percentrecycled cardboard. The Jelt has the perfect amount of tightness around your waist without the bulkiness of the usual belt, it can be worn through airport security, and it is invisible under fitted shirts. Available in several colors and sizes, this little gem has never let me down, despite my best efforts to destroy it. Another bonus is that the Jelt is compact and lightweight and easily packs in carry-on bags.

This company has received their B Corporation certification. This process requires rigorous standards of social and environmental performance, accountability, and transparency. In addition, the owner moved production from China back to Montana and employs women through the Montana Correctional Enterprises (MCE) program at the Montana Women’s Prison. Workers are accepted through an application and interview process and then learn the skills and confidence needed to take them forward in life. With that in mind, I think I need one in every color.

The company describes their USA-made product as “a female accessory that allows women to urinate discreetly while standing up,” with the promise of eliminating squatting and the need to partially disrobe. It was created by a group of women in Northwest Montana who were tired of the endless bathroom search on their adventures, so they decided to solve the problem.

Since the bulk of my time is spent traveling in third-world countries, I couldn’t wait to give it a spin. They sent each of us a unit with a carrying pouch and asked us to report back on our experience. Some of the group were a little skeptical at first, but all were willing to give it a shot. Being as it is anatomically designed for women, most of us found it very user-friendly on the first try, with the second try being a solid win for everyone. The freedom and ease the Tinkle Belle provides allow the user to focus on the adventure at hand. I even noticed the team as a whole increasing water intake because the usual bathroom issue was, well, no longer an issue. The product is foldable, and there are no leaks or collapsing issues even when you’re in a hurry. What sealed the deal was the convenience of not needing toilet paper or wipes due to the curvature of the device and hydrophobic and antimicrobial materials used.

The Tinkle Belle has legitimately changed my travel, overlanding, and rallying experience for the better. So bring on the water, coffee, and drinks around the campfire; this is a #gamechanger, and I’m never going back. $28 | THETINKLEBELLE.COM

$32 | JELTBELT.COM

TINKLE BELLE I understand that even though bathroom talk is not the most fun thing to address, it’s a factor that we have to deal with when in the backcountry. The most common question I get asked is, “What do you do when you have to go to the bathroom?” I even know of many women that are unwilling to try overlanding or camping due to the anxiety they have around this issue. My usual answer is, “Find a tree, a bush, car door, or any place that makes you feel comfortable, then take care of your business.” I’m gladly going to change my answer.

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From Scratch How we came to terms with our everyday lives when the adventure ended.

By Heather Lea

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t might seem strange, but one of the things Dave and I missed most while traveling around the world on motorcycles were our pillows. Okay, strange.

But the pillows were symbolic of more than just memory foam.

If we had our pillows, it meant we would have a bed, which meant we’d have a place. That place would have a fridge with more items than just three starches and chicken (never travel if you don’t like chicken); inside, the drinks would be cold and of a wide selection.

Having a place would mean we’d have a bathroom with a shower, where we could control water temperature to be as hot or cold as desired. We could use a toilet that wasn’t a rank, dark hole in the floorboards under a shack in Mongolia, or a porcelain squat-pit in Africa with a water bucket and toilet brush to slosh down your contents.

These thoughts teased me while riding across the Namib Desert or tossing uncomfortably beside Dave in yet another foreign bed that folded us into each other like a soft taco.

We weren’t supposed to want this stuff. Not anymore. We were supposed to be enlightened minimalists. But just because Dave and I rode our bikes through shanty towns in Africa and lived OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

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in the same clothes for two years didn’t mean we’d become any less materialistic. We still wanted our stuff. In fact, we wanted it more. The trouble was most of that “stuff ” was gone.

Before we left, Dave and I sold nearly everything we had: Dave’s house, my business, our vehicles, bikes, gear, and anything else we could convince friends and strangers to buy from us—all so we could afford our adventure and not come home to mutating credit card bills.

Although it all made sense at the time to stack up the bank account, we now had little else to come home to other than boxes in storage. This was causing some anxiety as we swallowed up the miles toward our last day of freedom and the first day of Real Life back home.

And where was home now? Dave and I were essentially starting from scratch, albeit debt free. Before rolling into the first miles of our adventure in the fall of 2015, I was living in Vancouver, Canada, remotely running an arts and culture magazine I’d founded 10 years earlier in Revelstoke. Dave lived in Bellingham, Washington, and ran his own contracting business, specializing in kitchen and bath remodels. We were very happy with our lives before leaving and certainly didn’t see this trip as OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

a way of escaping any issues we had with day-to-day life (except the frustrating commute over an international border to see each other). Which is why we felt we would just merge back into life when we returned, even without a house, jobs, or cars. We could acquire those things again when we came back. It was just stuff.

The decision to do a trip like this came during an ideal time for both Dave and I to segue out of one phase of life into another.

We’d been dating long-distance for just over a year when we began the trip’s planning stages. I loved being a writer and business owner, but my modest magazine was a decade into its life and needed the sort of change I wasn’t ready to take on. I was looking for a chance to humbly and respectfully extract myself from something dear to my heart that I no longer had the energy for.

Dave was divorced and living in the same house he’d shared with his then-wife, who’d moved out and left him as the owner.

He and his dad had spent significant hours and energy remodeling the home over the years, and Dave’s dad could not see the reasoning in selling a house when he was coming back, eventually. It was a tough call, but one Dave was sure of after deciding he didn’t feel carefree enough to rent it out for two years and not worry about its welfare. Another reason to sell was if we returned

together, which we hoped would be the case after spending over 700 days side-by-side, we wanted a place that was ours.

Besides, we were going into the unknown—why would we want familiar stresses tying us down?

But how would we feel about these decisions when we came back to North America, wanting to feel grounded? On August 26, 2017, Dave and I reached our final destination in Magadan, Russia, and couldn’t avoid the returning home process any longer.

Dave flew to Seattle from Moscow a few days later and was able to move into his dad’s house in Arlington, Washington. As great as free rent sounds, it did mean Dave had to commute almost two hours a day to work in Bellingham or the Seattle area and would need a vehicle as soon as he landed. Just like that, financing was now plopped onto the après trip table, and a Toyota Tundra appeared on the scene.

I, on the other hand, was in denial and delayed returning to Vancouver by a month, stopping in eastern Canada to see one of my best friends and sister, then on to Radium Hot Springs, British Columbia, to see the new place my parents had moved into while I was away. Although there was a lot of appeal in coming back to the comfort zone and having everything I wanted and needed in a privileged, first-world minute, finding a job and a place wasn’t something I looked forward to.

A friend’s apartment became temporarily available in Vancouver. I paid her rent while she traveled for six weeks. The irony wasn’t lost on me. A week later, I had a job: a low-paying, backwrenching, labor job delivering overloaded bins of organic groceries to homes and businesses. I’d wanted something active and screenless, so all of my free time, minus weekends, could be spent at a computer writing a book about our trip. The delivery job’s perks were working outside with no boss hanging over my shoulder all day, listening to music or podcasts while getting paid to sit in traffic jams. After three months, I’d be eligible for extended health care benefits, too, something I’d never had in my adult life.

However, all of that was like putting lipstick on a pig in comparison to what I’d recently achieved: 708 days through 40 countries covering 58,248 miles. Returning from all that excitement to a job I didn’t really like did little to bolster my spirits during the dreary West Coast winter.

Dave and I were also starting from scratch with our bank accounts, having spent all the money we’d personally and separately saved and invested over the years on motorcycles, motorcycle gear, motorcycle modifications, and a motorcycle trip. It was like being bankrupt. Now back in Vancouver, I was getting paid a dollar per hour over minimum wage, which was hardly going to rebuild my nest egg anytime soon.

But I’d learned not to quit when something didn’t suit me: the result of nearly two years of getting tossed around on a big-ass motorcycle, all while keeping the end goal in sight. And that’s what I continued doing at home. I kept my job because it was the responsible thing to do, and focused on the daily goal of writing my book.

When I had to leave my friend’s Vancouver apartment, I found a high-priced basement suite in Burnaby, a neighboring

city far away from the beach and friends and closer to work, which seemed decidedly backward. It’s true that Vancouver’s appeal had diminished a bit for me—the traffic and sheer quantity of people were taxing. My biggest new hate-on though was for public transit. I’d had my own car for over 20 years and couldn’t reconcile having sold my transportation.

I’d also just come from being able to hop on two wheels and go around the world. The fact that I could barely get to a friend’s place for a dinner party without three bus transfers and being wedged like a doorstop between someone with halitosis and someone else with the flu meant I hardly left my basement abode.

I couldn’t ride my F800GS because it was stored in Arlington alongside Dave’s bike after a six-week My life had changed, Pacific ocean cruise from Vladivostok or at least what I back to Seattle. It’s an American bike wanted from life had. anyway, and I’d have to import it if I wanted to ride while living in Canada.

Having no freedom in the form of wheels left me feeling trapped and hermit-like. There was little in weekday-life that excited me, and I spent Monday to Friday looking forward to Saturday and Sunday, just like most of the working world. I wasn’t comfortable being filed into the weekend warrior category.

Dave took to returning home like a hot, panting dog finding shade. We had both been travel weary by the time we reached Magadan. He loved his job, had projects lined up, and was looking forward to the upcoming ski season. He settled in fine but maintained an aura about him that sought adventure. He would talk to me on the phone at night about future trips we could do together: a multi-month road trip through the ’Stans, ski trips to Patagonia, a summit attempt on Mount Elbrus. He also pined for his old house. Dave wanted to buy back into a market that had gone up considerably after we left. Not only would his old house have sold for more money now, but he also wasn’t finding much affordable in the area.

Meanwhile, my situation was becoming my worst nightmare, at least at first. The last time I remember not liking my job was over two decades ago when I was 19 and moved to Banff, Alberta, to work as a housekeeper. After that, I always got jobs I loved— chef ’s assistant at a heli-skiing lodge (which meant free heliskiing), personal cook for backcountry ski groups, whitewater rafting guide, writer, publisher, business owner. Now, I was just like every other sucker who lived to work so they could afford rent. Commuting to a job on public transit in a city I needed to break up with but couldn’t seemed not only like valuable time wasted, but totally not me. What was happening? Surely this Clockwise from top left: Heather’s F800GS made friends with a giraffe in the Namib Desert. Moments after Dave proposed to Heather on the summit of Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, Africa. Dave starts a ride down one of Northern Peru’s stunning roller-coaster roads. Happy-sad, arriving in Magadan, Russia, at the very end of a long two-year journey. Dave, riding another set of two wheels in Cumberland on Vancouver Island, British Columbia. Opening page: Dave, looking back toward El Chaltén in Patagonia, Argentina, while hiking to Fitz Roy.

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wasn’t all a result of giving up my belongings so I could journey around the world. Or was it?

My life had changed, or at least what I wanted from life had.

The city I once loved for its proximity to mountains and colorful chaos was now just a series of confined buildings where zombies lived and worked on auto-pilot. I only saw its negative side. My friends either dropped off never to Experience costs money. be seen again or were difficult to visit Can you really place a because I lived far from them and monetary value on finding had no car. a superb restaurant by I reminded myself that all of accident after getting lost this—the expensive basement suite, in Bogotá, or watching a low-paying job, and crammed public giraffe keep pace with transit—was temporary. I didn’t like your motorcycle on a dirt it, but I didn’t need to. Falling back in road in Namibia? love with my previous city life would make what lay ahead a lot more difficult.

Maybe you’re wondering why Dave and I didn’t come home and move in together. That was the initial plan, after all, and we’d just succeeded at an enormous goal together.

We are even engaged after an unforgettable proposal on the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro, which we climbed in April 2017 as a side trip while riding through Africa. Before our trip, we talked about restarting our life together in Bellingham. The plan was to get married, build a house, and enjoy acquiring stuff again.

But it wasn’t that easy. No one can simply move to another country without jumping through hoops. Upon our return, we hired an immigration lawyer and applied for a K-1 visa, which is an unromantic term for a fiancé visa, and are now awaiting approval for my entry into the U.S., which can be anywhere from six months to a year. They don’t give out tracking numbers for this sort of thing.

The wait and process are unnerving at best, but for now, Dave and I contend with weekend visits and long-distance communication, just as though we’ve gone back in time to our first year of dating. It feels odd to be taking a step back in our relationship while working toward our future together at the same time.

Our world travels were stressful and exhausting at times. By the end of it all, Dave and I were stark raving mad to return to some sense of stability after so much time spent negotiating utter randomness. Lucky for us, stability, although askew for us at the moment, was in abundance in North America. Within a few months of returning home, I began to settle into acceptance of my situation. Though transitory, this was still my life for the meantime. I began to appreciate my job more: the perks, the flexibility of its schedule, the regularity of a paycheck every two weeks.

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was about to learn how adventuring for a consistent length of time had changed me. Stability was nice. My basement suite was comfortable, my landlords upstairs were great, and I had a clean bathroom, a functioning kitchen, and places to store my things, which still consisted mostly of what Dave could bring across the border, or what I had strapped to my bike for the past two years.

Everything else we owned was still in boxes and inaccessible behind bed frames and an ugly couch Dave insisted on keeping.

Dave also accepted how our life was unfolding. Although he loathed driving so much for work and coming across the border most Friday nights and back again Monday mornings, our weekends were a chance to adventure together again when we headed to the mountains for a backcountry ski or mountain bike trip.

We had a pop-up tent on the Tundra, bikes or skis stowed under the canopy, duty-free Scotch, and our favorite flavors of kettle chips. This was how we envisioned our life would be after coming home. The only thing missing was living in the same country.

Do we regret liquidating possessions that took years to acquire, just for 24 months of travel? In hindsight, Dave would have probably kept his house, but otherwise, no. Experience costs money. We are still young enough to start again. Our financial nest egg is more like a wee embryo now, but can you really place a monetary value on finding a superb restaurant by accident after getting lost in Bogotá, or watching a giraffe keep pace with your motorcycle on a dirt road in Namibia? How about a secluded free camping spot along the Baja coastline on Christmas Eve, or a mountain-top marriage proposal in Tanzania?

Our day-to-day lives today are a far cry from the epic adventure of the past two years, but the more you appreciate returning home, the better that journey outside the comfort zone must have been.

Although Dave and I continue to live somewhat unpredictably, this has little to do with letting go of material things in order to travel and everything to do with where life took us after the trip. Despite a deep urge for some sort of permanency for awhile, we have acquiesced. There’s always comfort in Coming Home, even if home isn’t as you left it or expected it to be. After all, you can make a home anywhere.

But one thing’s for sure: when Dave packs his duffel bag yet again and leaves his dad’s house to come and see me on the weekend, he gets really pissed off if he forgets to bring his pillow.

EDITOR’S NOTE: As of October 2018, Heather was granted her K-1 visa and is now happily living in Washington with Dave.

Back to reality. Heather, among the hundreds of pounds of groceries needing delivery by the end of the day.

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HISTORIC OVERLAND JOURNEYS TENA OVERACKER PHOTOGRAPHY COURTESY OF ALOHAWANDERWELL.COM

BEAUTY, BRAINS, AND BREECHES Meet Aloha Wanderwell, the first woman to drive around the world.

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T

he year was 1922, and the casualties of WWI were still fresh in everyone’s minds, contributing to a nothing more to lose attitude of the public at large.

The women’s suffrage movement had just succeeded in 1920 of obtaining the right to vote, and if you were a woman, your job opportunities, aside from motherhood, were limited to the likes of being a secretary, social worker, librarian, nurse, or perhaps working in a textile factory. Sixteen-yearold, multinational expat Idris Galcia Hall happened across a want ad on a scrap of the Nice, France, newspaper found tucked into a romantic novelette at the convent school she attended. Or so the story goes. It read Beauty, Brains, and Breeches—World Tour Offer for Lucky Young Woman…

Idris had grown up reading her father’s boyhood books, and though Herbert Hall was killed in action at Ypres in 1917 when a British Reservist, this legacy managed to inspire in her the beginnings of a proper adventurer. From her unpublished memoirs, “Imagination blended rash dreams with

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extravagant fantasies of daring-do.” With thoughts of exotic locales and “the ravishing thrill” stoking her imagination, Idris hightailed it to the theater where the potential employer was presenting, the dashing Captain “Cap” Walter Wanderwell and his Wanderwell Expedition (WE). These film lectures were the project’s lifeblood; funds were raised from the performances to finance the journey. The young woman applied in person after the show when she met Cap and persuaded him to take her on as secretary, a job which included a great many tasks: driver, translator, actress, photographer, filmmaker, seamstress, cook, mechanic, editor, and so forth. She then had to gain her mother’s permission, which was just barely managed.

The account in Call to Adventure, our subject’s autobiography written in 1939, maintains that Idris’ mother appointed Cap as her guardian and insisted that she not use the family name. Thus, Aloha Wanderwell was born, and Idris, the teenage schoolgirl, laid to rest. Richard Diamond, Aloha’s grandson, contends that Aloha’s mother’s only request

was that a chaperone, sister Meg (aka Miki) come along for the ride, though it is unclear as to how much of the journey she was actually on.

The Million Dollar Wager or Wanderwell Endurance Race, as Cap first called it, began in Detroit, Michigan, where he met with Henry Ford to discuss the project and gained the motor company’s support, along with that of Shell, Dunlop Tires, and Remington, to name a few. (In 1929, Henry Ford obtained Aloha’s car #2 and had it on display in his museum.) Cap set out from the States with a crew of four, driving Model Ts which had been converted to speedsters by the use of a duralim body on a touring car chassis with metal distal tractor wheels and other modifications. They were the perfect vehicles for the job: lightweight, able to be raised by their occupants, with good clearance, and simple to repair with a worldwide parts network. (Later on, Aloha dubbed them “wee iron maidens” and continued to drive Fords throughout her life.) The cars were numbered race car style and decorated with auto badges, acquired as the journey progressed, to garner attention.

It was indeed a race, as fly-by-night explorers were breaking out of the woodwork every day. As the planet began to shrink, becoming more accessible by both automobile and airplane, there was a deliberate rush to seek the places in the corners of the globe that were still shrouded in mystery.

A Polish national, Cap (Valerian Johannes Piecynski) was a member of the Volunteers of America and the World International Police; aside from promoting these organizations, he followed the League of Nations’ agenda of disarmament and peace, ideas presumably well represented in the WE’s lecture presentations. Richard referred to them as “goodwill ambassadors, with a yearning to shoot the wonders of the world and to go where no Westerner had ever been.”

Cap had already been to England before picking up Aloha in France, and as they started out, the idea became to have her be the first female to “girdle the globe.” Aloha was up for the task and always drove her own car, #2. For the sake of continuity and to promote the cause, she also became the primary face of the WE, and it is her im-

age that is seen more than any other in the 35mm footage and photographs the group produced.

And what an image it was. Far from being the girl next door, Aloha had a statuesque beauty: the head atop her six-foot, one-inch frame held a crown of wavy golden locks, luminous, large gray-blue eyes, dimples, and red Cupid’s bow lips. Her traveling attire included breeches, a white shirt (sometimes referenced as her father’s tunic), leather jerkin and uniform cap, and a leather flying helmet which was pulled into service when needed. On film, she has a commanding presence that comes across as playful at times, yet always alert, intently tuned into her surroundings and interactions. With the looks of a movie star, it is surprising to find that Aloha had Victorian sensibilities rather than those of her flapper contemporaries. In Call to Adventure, Aloha declared how “jazz and jitter leave me cold,” and how she had no time for cigarettes or wine.

Fueled by the spirits of recklessness and bravado that only youth can conjure, Aloha took up with the expedition. After a promising first year in Italy, France, Spain, Portugal, Switzerland, Holland, Germany, and Poland, her ambition suffered a blow when the caravan became snowbound in the Carpathian Mountains. Suffering from the extreme conditions, exhaustion, and fallout after a disagreement with Cap, Aloha pulled out and went home in December of 1923.

Aloha’s journal excerpt, December 10, 1923 [Car] #3’s radiator froze, #2 pulled up behind and stalled. Drifting white flakes settled as we five worked like demons. Nothing in the engines moved, and the cars rapidly became white mounds in the vast white landscape. We were snowbound in the Carpathians!

The now 17-year-old Aloha realized her misstep, and with the plucky determination that she became known for, wired Cap to ask to rejoin the party in Egypt. Though her role may have been recognized as being crucial to the expedition’s success, there’s a good chance that Cap was already in love with Aloha as forgiveness came quickly.

Cap was reportedly difficult at times, a hard worker who expected no less of his compatriots, and certainly required that his team

The dashing young Cap, in a uniform of his own design. Egypt provided many opportunities for “great sport.” Narrow wheels crossing narrow bridges make for narrow escapes. Opposite: Aloha’s car, #2. Opening page: Aloha, drumming up publicity for a film lecture.

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IN GWALIOR, A MAHARAJAH BECAME ENTRANCED WITH ALOHA, GIFTING HER ONE OF HIS ELEPHANTS, DELIVERED TO HER HOTEL DOOR. THE GESTURE WAS POLITELY REFUSED FOR REASONS OF PRACTICALITY.

members be capable of taking care of themselves. She was instructed to get to Egypt of her own accord.

Aloha had just enough money to book a fourth-class ticket in steerage from Marseilles to Egypt in March of 1924. After arriving at the shipping office, she was met by a clerk who told her that no white woman could travel in this manner on any ship, especially a young woman. The adamant Aloha argued her way onto the boat, only to find upon boarding that steerage was also to be occupied by 250 French Colonial troops with whom she would be bunking. Not to be swayed, she kept her chin up, but was accosted in the middle of the night by a naked man demanding affection—after fending him off with blows and screams, a sergeant finally heard the scuffle and took the attacker away in irons; the rest of the trip ensued without further trauma.

While the outcome of this episode seemed to be at least partially determined by a bit of luck, Richard described to me how Aloha had a knack for escaping trouble. “She was courageous, a leader, but she never got stuck in a problem. She knew how to lower her head and eyes and move

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forward or back, depending on the situation. She had an aura, a presence—she was real. It’s what kept her alive all around the world.” This skill set served her well in the years to come.

After eventually reconnecting with Cap, the ensemble traveled to the Valley of the Kings, setting up camp on the back of the Sphinx as Howard Carter worked fervently on excavating Tutankhamun’s tomb a mere 100 miles away. The affair was seen as “great sport” by Aloha. A local newspaper, read by the hazy light of Cairo, indicated that a group of five American flyers from the US Army Air Service was attempting to circumnavigate the world for the first time to prove the safety of the modern airplane and were making a stop in Calcutta, India.

Aloha insisted to Cap that although it was 3,000 miles out of their way, they should go to Calcutta to meet them. After all, she was to be the first woman to drive around the world and a rendezvous only seemed fitting.

The timing was tight as the entourage hurried their way to India. Along the way, Aloha managed the unthinkable and snuck into Mecca disguised as a man, much to Cap’s chagrin. Her stunt put the whole ven-

ture as well as their lives at risk, causing Cap to ask, “Do you ever think of anyone but yourself?” Aloha was decidedly unapologetic, and her “bumptiousness” was buoyed by ignorance, the “wonderful asset for extreme youth.” Her independent spirit and sense of living in the moment never wavered to the end.

Then came Yemen and Bombay where the troupe received a first-rate reception before motoring into central India and the magnificent Taj Mahal. A clean bed was always a welcome respite from the constant bouts with bedbugs. Fine company in the way of headmen, dignitaries, and royalty made up for the long distances covered in solitude. Her firm grip, which Aloha surmised came from the constant grasping of the steering wheel, was put to good use on many an occasion.

June 1924, Bombay I was off to maelstrom Bombay—my first time alone at the wheel ever! In and out between bullock carts, missing buffalo by the skin of my teeth. Alexandra was by then dotted with staggered pyramids of Hankow’s cargo—silver bullion! At Red-Gate dock exit, a dozen dark hands rose to halt me. Sapristi! What now?! I put a stern glare, saluted, and drove out.

June 1924, Nasik Village Fourth day, we were unable to cross a broad river. Without a word of English, news spread that we needed help. Eager to earn a few annas, peasants hitched three pairs of oxen to #2.

In Gwalior, a maharajah became entranced with Aloha, first gifting her one of his elephants, delivered to her hotel door.

When the gesture was politely refused for reasons of practicality, he settled on giving her his monkey, which Aloha called Chango. Chango was to become her favorite, near-constant traveling companion, chattering away during the long miles, overseeing the many tribulations and successes of the venture.

Aloha drove the infamous Khyber Pass, and remembered a signpost devoid of writing, instead picturing “an automobile on one wing and a camel on the other…[which] made everything clear as to traffic rules.” At 2,000 feet, the group stopped to cool the en-

gines and heard an unusual melody dancing on the wind: tribesmen leading a 200-count camel train, their chanting interrupted only by the “thud of pack-camel pads and the shrill cries of the drivers.” After completing the pass, the Afghanistan frontier was found blocked with barbed wire and a sign forbidding entry without the proper permits. A soldier explained there was no way that a white woman would be allowed to traverse the road, and so reentered a recurrent theme. Aloha had to settle with the fact that she had finished the Khyber.

Benares and Bengal proved particularly challenging, punctuated by exhilarating experiences such as witnessing Mahatma Gandhi speaking to the masses and visiting temples in Benares thought particularly sacred since locals believed it to be “the first land to rise from the waters of Creation.”

In juxtaposition, Aloha recalled the bubonic plague warnings in Benares, where she saw “a black rat, the size of a small cat, running in the gutter.”

June 1924, Benares Weaving our way through town, several people stopped us to warn about the bubonic plague. They recognized our cars, our probable ignorance.“If you see a crew of Untouchables whitewashing a ring encircling a dead body on the street, that is bubonic. Good luck.” Below us, the cremation terrace, greasy blue smoke rising from funeral pyres. Other shrouded corpses lashed to pole stretchers lying ready on ghats.

The stench was foul.

June 1924, Bengal Final forty-eight hours of driving, no sleep, no dry rags. I ached with wracking shivers; fingers were seized to the wood steering. Bengal at last! Dense jungle, improbably green timber bamboo, its heavy foliage bridging the sky.

Cap ahead, stopped in the bamboo, came back to parley, “Calcutta tonight—can you hang on? Only about sixty miles, I figure.” The shakes were so severe I couldn’t open my mouth. With teeth clenched I shook my head up-down. We pulled out.

Aloha made friends everywhere she went. A meet and greet with the American flyers in Calcutta.

There was always time to spread the messages of peace and goodwill. Opposite top: Soaking up the local culture in front of the Taj Mahal, one of Aloha’s favorite places. Opposite left: The camera went everywhere the expedition did.

Disaster strikes.

Finally, Calcutta, and just in time.

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Yanks who were flying around the world with those that were dedicated to the task by land. After driving in 110- to 120degree temperatures through India, Aloha was quoted in the Los Angeles Times much later in life that afterward, she “couldn’t get out of bed for a night and a day.” In the meantime, two of the Flyers’ planes landed and were displayed next to the WE cars.

Aloha awoke and captured the historic meeting on film after greeting one of the handsome young men in “grease-sodden overalls” who was plainly pleased to encounter such a bold and beautiful girl in this unexpected place and time.

Prior to departing by ship for Penang, Malaysia, India held one last unpleasant surprise. An insect bite on Aloha’s foot, acquired at a masquerade ball the night before the expedition was to sail, nearly cost Aloha her leg. A doctor on board the boat the next day took a look at the bite, dabbed a little salve on it, and advised her not to worry.

As she limped off the boat after docking in Penang, the center of the sore was an angry green. She stayed with a local family who nursed her back to health after the wound was lanced with a razor blade. Not to be kept down for long, and with China calling, Aloha kept moving.

Aloha spoke fondly of Cambodia’s Angkor Thom and Angkor Wat and the stalwart stone bridges they trundled over that had withstood hundreds of years of abuse and still stood strong. Despite the “angry poisonous reptiles,” her desire was to linger longer, but their pace was anything but leisurely. It’s true that Aloha’s passion for adventure kept her in motion; the knowledge that something new was always waiting for her over the next hill. The world and its secrets were always at the ready.

Civil wars were rampant in China, roads were often blocked, and the dangers omnipresent. Aloha went so far as to visit a temple in Peiping to pay homage to a marble god of war because she “thought I ought to.”

The goal was to reach the Manchu capital of Mukden en route to Vladivostok.

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week’s bloody war zone. Corpses lay half covered, some bolt upright in ditches, hideous flyblown limbs scattered by explosions. Sometimes we heard the boom of artillery.

The expedition was delayed over and over by soldiers demanding to know what right the foreigners had to be traversing their land. They were routinely chased by troopers with guns but always managed to elude capture. Until that is, soldiers in a small mud hut village planted rusty nails on the path to thwart their progress. The man in charge accused the group of being spies and locked Aloha and another woman named Olga into a squalid mud hut racked with filth and a foul odor while he questioned the others. Cap made no progress in talking their way out of the situation, and it appeared as if the fate of the organization lay in Aloha’s hands. As she approached the officer with photographs and newspaper clippings in hand, he grabbed her wrists and began to shake violently. He then reeled and fell, presumably dead. As the other soldiers dispersed in confusion, Aloha and company raced for the cars, spewing mud I’m sure, as they rode to temporary safety.

Temporary, as they still had to drive through the combat zone to reach Mukden, amidst the alarming rattle of machine gun fire and decomposing bodies strewn on the ground. After making it through no-man’sland, uninvited escorts showed up and politely insisted on taking them to a Europeanstyle house, where they were introduced to a man that turned out to be General F. A. “One Arm” Sutton. After learning of the group’s exploits, he promised his protection for as long as they were in the area. By this time, the Wanderwell Expedition had grown to five automobiles, two motorcycles, and one bicycle with over 100 active members en route on five continents, and their accomplishments were many.

Aloha celebrated her 18th birthday in Vladivostok in October, as well as the fact that she was in her 39th country since taking up with Cap. There were constant comings and going in her hotel room by various persons, but when three Soviet military men burst in, one of them barking commands while pointing to his watch as Aloha was forcefully removed from her room, uncer-

THREE SOVIET MILITARY MEN BURST IN, ONE OF THEM BARKING COMMANDS AS ALOHA WAS FORCEFULLY REMOVED FROM HER ROOM. SHE DISCERNED THAT THE ORDERS WERE FOR HER TO FOLLOW THEM AND REPORT TO THE PARADE GROUND IMMEDIATELY. THIS WAS CAUSE FOR CONCERN SINCE THIS IS WHERE EXECUTIONS TOOK PLACE.

tainty entered Aloha’s mind. With an only rudimentary grasp of the Russian language at the time, she discerned that the orders were for her to follow them and report to the parade ground immediately. This was cause for concern since this is where executions took place. As Aloha wondered if she was to be court-martialed and shot, the soldiers led her to a presentation room at the hotel where two special auto badges from the Russian Auto Workers’ Union were displayed on a white marble altar. The big smiles on the soldiers’ faces now revealed that they were fans. In the next few moments, she realized she was being complimented for being the first woman to drive an automobile to Siberia. Instead of death, at the parade ground, Aloha received the honorary title of colonel in a formal ceremony amidst a regiment of soldiers. This title was to get the expedition into trouble later on in Africa when Rhodesian authorities refused to give the WE, clearly “communist propagandists,” entry into the country.

Japan was the next major stop, where the expedition was mortified to learn that a competing theater in Tokyo had arranged to have a man publicly commit hari-kari

while the WE presented at another venue, all in the spirit of competition. According to Richard, the Japanese loved Aloha. The lectures were well attended and standing room only, and they even received formal recognition from the Emperor of Japan by way of a smile and a bow. In Kyoto, the center of Japan’s film industry, they were permitted the use of a studio for their film work, a blessing since preserving the nitrate film on the route was an arduous task in and of itself. By now, Aloha was a big part of the editing process and screenwriting, a budding cinematographer in her own right.

The company’s sights were now turned to America, the place they all considered home. The Wanderwells always flew the flags of whatever country they were traveling in, and despite Old Glory flapping in the breeze on the back of every vehicle, they arrived to a lackluster reception back in the States. Lackluster is putting it kindly.

Disbelief and skepticism were the prevailing attitudes, and after being welcomed for the most part all over the rest of the world, Aloha observed that “We seemed at the moment to be very much prophets in our own country.” It is also ironic to note that

Clockwise: Nothing is impossible. Honorary colonel Aloha Wanderwell. The wonders of Japan.

Opposite: The power couple. Getting the perfect shot. Aloha gives her car a helping hand.

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RESOURCES Call to Adventure, by Aloha Wanderwell alohawanderwell.com facebook.com/alohawanderwell twitter.com/alohawanderwell

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Aloha found the manicured streets of the US to be the hardest to navigate, compared to all of the other roads she had traveled.

By January of 1925, Cap and Aloha were in San Francisco and would later move on to Los Angeles to continue their film work. In the course of a few months, Aloha’s Sam Browne belt got her into trouble when she was arrested for impersonating a military officer by wearing a uniform (not a US uniform, rather the company one designed

by Cap, inspired by those of the Boy Scouts) and fined. Another account relayed that Aloha was arrested yet again while giving a presentation in Pasadena with the charge of working underage. Though she was 18 at the time, Richard joked that Aloha put a different birthdate on every important document—sometimes 1906, other times 1908; this may have lent confusion as to her actual age. Richard also shared that she always put 5 feet 9 inches down instead of her true height.

In April 1925, Cap returned from Florida where he had bought property in Miami for their future home. One story has the Wanderwells attempting to cross the California border and being threatened by authorities with the Mann Act since Aloha was not yet 21 years of age, prompting a speedy proposal from Cap. Aloha recounted that Cap professed that he had always loved her, and had proposed immediately upon his return from Florida. Perhaps both stories hold true; they were married posthaste in Riverside, California.

A whirlwind lecture tour of the States ensued, and car #6 was added to the fleet.

Cap created a club for fans, instructing those that could not join the WE on the road to bring their cars, add the company’s insignias, and spread the message of pacifism. Car jamborees were planned in Miami, and membership dues collected.

Daughter Valri was born prematurely to the couple in December of 1925, and

by January 31, 1926, the pair were off to Havana, Cuba, en route to Africa. In December of 1926, the family arrived in Cape Town, South Africa, and Aloha was pregnant again with Nile (Richard’s father) who was born in Durban in April of 1927. Nile was barely three weeks old when Aloha sent the children to her mother in Adelaide,

Australia, before hitting the road once again. Aloha was just 21 years old at this point, and her call to adventure unsatiated.

Still, there has been criticism that Aloha abandoned her children to chase wild, remote lands. The fact that she was a woman is what seemed to startle most naysayers; men left their children behind all the time, including Cap. Aloha was perplexed at how to deal with the situation and the job of caring for the children primarily fell to her mother, Margaret Hall. Aloha had long considered herself the man of the family after her father passed, so this likely seemed a logical choice.

The Guinness Book of World Records officially recognized Aloha as the first woman to travel around the world and after four years of research, they listed the dates for this feat as 1922 to 1927. According to Aloha, it was 43 countries, four continents, and 380,000 miles, with the initial trek concluding in 1929 (after the race officially ended in 1927 back in Detroit), documented in the Wanderwell’s film Car and Camera Round the World, later shortened to Car and Camera. But this was just the beginning.

The Africa segment began after Aloha’s children were born, and sister Miki joined up, driving car #3. When the WE’s hired projectionist was shot in South Africa, leaving them without a means of income, the group started a jazz orchestra in Jo’burg, and Miki and Aloha went and dug for diamonds. The girls had reportedly amassed a small fortune when they forgot about the stones in their pockets as they laundered their shirts in the stream. Alas, easy come, easy go.

Some of the other trials in Africa included an elephant stampede, where abandoned village huts were set fire to in an attempt to steer the elephants in another direction; unfortunately, the snakes that poured out of the empty dwellings presented another problem altogether. Malaria also hit the WE hard, and Aloha very nearly died. The Cape Town to Cairo route was attempted, but not completed, partly because Rhodesia would not let the “communist” company in. Water was also hard to come by, and the risks and suffering due to the lack thereof became so great that it was taken wherever it could be found. Aloha describes lapping

“slimy, putridly saline liquid” as their lives depended on it.

In the early 1930s, Aloha became an aviatrix. After mastering the art of flying, she devised a plan to fly around the world with a car caravan below her, while spreading the message of peace and advocating for women’s rights. The plan was to distribute a petition that would be signed by women only. Her plane was the Gypsy Moth, designed so that the wings could be folded back to allow it on a steamship. After a sixmonth trial in the US, it was decided that the cost was too exorbitant and therefore unrealistic.

Aloha’s flying skills were put to the test when a rescue mission was planned in the Amazon to search for the lost British explorer Colonel Percival Harrison Fawcett.

Into Mato Grosso and uncharted territory they flew, where Aloha completed another major achievement as the first woman to ever fly into the region. She ran out of gas while trying to find a suitable place to land—there were none. The plane crashed in the domain of the Bororo, and Aloha spent six weeks with the tribe while Cap went by boat in search of parts and gas. There is a fascinating Wanderwell film titled The River of Death that chronicles their experiences.

By the end of her stay, Aloha, always one to pick up languages quickly (she was fluent in 11), had learned Bororo. The footage shows her participating in local customs and dances as she probes for information on the lost explorer. Aloha determined that Fawcett was dead, and when Cap returned with the supplies, they successfully repaired the plane and flew their way out of the Amazon.

Back in Long Beach in December of 1932, Cap was unexpectedly shot and killed by an unknown assailant while aboard his 120-foot schooner. The mystery was never solved, although there were plenty of suspects.

In 1933, Aloha met Walter Baker in Laramie, Wyoming, while on tour, and the pair married later that year in Louisiana.

In 1936, Aloha and Walter began another, more intermittent expedition, this time driving Model As, traveling to Aloha’s favorite spots from her earlier journeys; Egypt and India were particularly close to her heart.

New countries were also explored including Thailand, Australia, and New Zealand. The

couple wrapped up their travels in 1947.

Walter Baker became a successful developer in California and the two eventually settled on Lido Island in 1948 in a house that he built. Aloha continued her work as a cinematographer and anthropologist, presenting motion picture presentations and lectures at the Bowers Museum in Orange County, California, and at various clubs.

Other collaborative projects for the Bakers included a Technicolor film called Explorers of the Purple Sage which took place in Wyoming featuring the state’s wild horses.

It was the only body of work to ever capture the famous palomino Desert Dust on film.

The last 10 years of Aloha’s life were spent organizing her collection and completing her memoirs. No mean feat to be sure. With the vehicles and gear that overlanders use today, it is almost inconceivable to think of the modest Model T and Model A Fords accomplishing the tasks they did for the Wanderwell Expedition.

Not to mention the fortitude that was required by the drivers as they pushed into hazardous conditions without the modern conveniences we require, such as a heater, air conditioning, water filter, or winch. This account from Call to Adventure showcases the ingenuity employed in a tight spot in Africa: “I used crushed bananas in the differential,” said Eric Owen [a WE member], “that’s that smell. I had elephant oil and olive oil as lubricants, and they’re not too good for any car, even an auto like this.”

Richard has fond memories of Aloha’s last film lecture, given at the National History Museum of Los Angeles in 1986 for a gathering of 150 close friends and family. Dressed in her original costume, Aloha walked onto the stage as Car and Camera played for the last time. “She never missed a line,” Richard proudly professed. “She knew what it takes. When you met her, you never forgot her.” By the end of her life, the tally had reached 500,000 miles, 75 countries, and six continents. She was quoted as saying, “Somebody once said to me that you never really live unless you live dangerously, and while it may not be true of everybody, it certainly is true of me.” Aloha Wanderwell was the Queen of Adventure.

THE GUINNESS BOOK OF WORLD RECORDS OFFICIALLY RECOGNIZED ALOHA AS THE FIRST WOMAN TO TRAVEL AROUND THE WORLD.

Work always came first for Aloha. Opposite: Attention followed Aloha everywhere. An eager crowd.

Sometimes it takes a village.

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Built to Conquer the Globe A family converts their trusty Land Rover Defender from a standard but proven double cab 130 into a bespoke camper—with their own hands.

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By Graeme Bell

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e loved our Howling Moon rooftop tent—it was massive, the largest option on the market in 2011 when we first installed it, and the 2.4- by 2.4-meter sleeping area was the perfect accommodation for me, my wife, and two young children. Fast forward to 2016, and though we still loved the tent, we realised that it was time for a change if we were to continue travelling the planet in our Land Rover Defender 130. We had been living out of that tent permanently since we had shipped from South Africa to Uruguay in 2012, camping an average of 330 days of every year, cooking off the tailgate of the Landy and living outdoors.

In 2015, we had driven up to Alaska and were returning south along the West Coast when we were invited to a gathering of Defenders in Oregon’s Alvord Desert. It was there we met Good Guy Steve, a tall, handsome, rock-climbing UC Berkeley professor who headed a paediatrics cancer research team. You all should clone him. He had converted his Defender into a live-in camper by grafting on a Marshall ambulance body from a Series 3 109. A sandstorm assaulted us after sunset and Steve’s camper was the only refuge from the melee; the insulated walls housed nine dusty people that evening, and he later slept like a baby while the tented herd stuffed their ears with cotton wool and prayed for morning. Good Guy Steve gave us a tour of the rig once the dust settled and the sun rose. He had a single box bed which converted into a double bed, a small kitchen area, a fridge, a safe, and low-level storage. It was ideal for two people and with some modifications (specifically a pop-top) could comfortably accommodate four.

A seed had been planted. We had three options: Sell the Landy on the black market in the USA for a pile of greenbacks, then buy another Land Rover in South Africa and rebuild it; or we could convert our Defender. Breaking the law is not usually an option for us, and we could not bear the thought of part-

ing with the Landy. The third option was to continue travelling with the roof tent, but we were seduced by the freedom and comfort of a camper. We knew that a build would not be cheap and we were on a first book sales budget; somehow we had to earn enough to not only build the camper but also ship the modified Landy to Europe.

We had worked hard on a Kickstarter campaign for our second book, Travel the Planet Overland, and decided to invest the profits in the build of a camper which could transport us around the world for at least the next decade.

The cost of the camper would eventually be recouped as we would no longer have to rely on campsites and could work and live comfortably, thus becoming more productive.

It took almost a year of hard work, planning, and design before I finally gave the project the green light.

This was to be no ordinary camper—it had to be light and strong, able to go where Defenders should while accommodating four adults comfortably. My son, Keelan, had grown to be a bull, and the back seat of a Defender was designed for hobbits, not largeboned Africans. The decision was made to remove everything from the front doors back and to build a pod with seating for the kids. To do this, we would need a large walk-through opening between the cab and the pod which would allow us to travel normally without locking the kids in a sealed box. We would then be able to access the front seat while camping, important if we needed to escape hostile situations or potential threats. The walk-through was an engineering challenge, as we had to calculate the flex along the length of the chassis and design and build a partially suspended subframe, rigid yet flexible, with a bulkhead which would mate the pod to the cab. A miscalculation could ultimately destroy the camper if the flexibility of the chassis under full articulation was not dispersed sufficiently through the subframe.

The interior would be modular (allowing for modifications as our needs changed) and lightweight, built on a frame of aluminum. We would have to work while travelling and needed a solar panel kit, which we sourced from Flexopower, complemented by a dual battery with a split charging system and a trickle charge option from shore power. I wrote our third book, Overlanding the Americas: La Lucha, sitting in the camper as snow fell on our campsite in Italy, and I am writing this article while camping on a Black Sea beach in Turkey—the pod is our home and office. For the kitchen, we sourced an outstanding fridge/freezer The Pyrenees, Northern Spain. The camper was put to the test and excelled. Opening page: Cappadocia, Turkey. We awoke one morning to the sight of hundreds of hot air balloons.

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unit from SnoMaster, the 60-litre BD/C-60 Classic with lowvoltage cut-off and a solar-powered remote control, a dual gas burner stove paired with a Coleman collapsible oven, and a basin mated to 100 liters of house water. Each occupant also needed a regular-size bed to sleep in; the solution was to build a bunk bed within a security frame, the lower bunk formed by the joining of the two rear seats, and the top bunk available when the roof was lifted horizontally. A large storage box along the one wall would double as a bed, and the back cushions would become a bed in the walkway. My daughter, Jessica, and wife, Luisa, would share a bed if we were unable to lift the roof while free camping in a city or questionable area.

To increase the living space and reduce body roll we decided to have no storage cupboards above window height and install five large windows for maximum light and air flow. A rear door would open horizontally and allow us to extend our living area to the outdoors. When camping in cities, we could lock down the vehicle and sleep inside discreetly and inconspicuously, but when we were on the beach or in the mountains, we could pop the top, open all the windows and doors, and have a panoramic view of our surroundings.

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BLOOD, SWEAT, TEARS, AND GLORY In December 2016, we stood in Southern Florida and watched as a new friend piloted a forklift and removed a large wooden box from the back of an 18-wheeler. A German-owned company, Total Composites, had agreed to supply us with the camper panels, windows, glues, and sundries in exchange for exposure since they had just established a North American branch.

They are ecstatic with the outcome as the rebuild video has had almost half a million views.

Time was of the essence though as the panels arrived a month behind schedule, and Luisa had already booked the flights to the United Kingdom and the shipping of the Landy from Miami to Southampton. We had 42 days to complete the entire build, about 142 days short of the time I needed, regardless of if the panels had been delivered on time.

Deconstructing our beloved Defender was heartbreaking; she had faithfully transported us across three continents, and we adored every inch of her. We began by removing the rear doors and seat box, then the roof and the rear tub, all of which were cleaned and prepared for a buyer Luisa had found on the Internet—the parts sold for $8,000 which was $4,000 less than the purchase price of the entire vehicle back in 2009, and covered almost half of the rebuild budget. We now had a bare chassis up to the B pillar and to achieve that we only had to cut the two 2-inch-wide sills. Defenders really are the Meccano of the automotive world.

Our friend and host Ron taught Keelan and I to weld while we were waiting for the panels to arrive from China; with the chassis exposed we could now begin manufacturing the subframe. The work area was not a fully equipped workshop, but it had a level concrete floor, a plastic-covered frame, and Ron had any tool we might need. A large industrial fan helped us to beat the heat of a Floridian winter, and a Yeti cooler full of ice kept us refreshed during the 15-hour workdays. At the end of each day, OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

my new friend Pepper (who had bitten me when we first met) and I sat and shared a few beers as the sun set, planning the next days’ work. I was in bed by 10:00 p.m., exhausted and up at 5:00 a.m., working as the sun rose over the orange plantations. Luisa toiled night and day, sourcing materials and parts while designing the horizontally lifting roof and water and electrical layout, taking care of all logistics and book sales to boot. Keelan was my back, doing the heavy lifting and the maths, helping with the on-the-spot decisions, designs, and fabrication.

Shane, an Australian whose red 130 had been proclaimed by Outside magazine to be the “most well-built” Defender they’d ever seen, offered his help and advice The parts we removed and found himself wiring the camper. sold for $8,000 which He also provided eight boxes of nuts was $4,000 less than and bolts, and a few boxes of odds, the purchase price of sods, and tools that he used to build the entire vehicle back his own vehicles. Ah, the simple pleain 2009, and covered sure of a metric measuring tape. And almost half of the Jesús, the general manager of Ron’s rebuild budget. business, was always there when we needed a tool, extra hand, or good idea. Often Jesús would force us to stop working to join his family for cold Modelos and a few plates of delicious food.

We used 1- by 2-inch steel for the subframe since 2- by 2-inch steel would have been very heavy and too rigid, allowing no flex at all. Keelan and I cut the steel to lengths and began to weld on top of a large metal table in one of Ron’s massive greenhouses, sweat dripping down our backs. With the frame welded and structural gussets added for extra strength, we took an angle grinder to the uglier welds, scrubbed the frame with a metal brush, and painted the clean frame with four coats of rust inhibitive primer and four coats of rust inhibitive top coat in gloss black. We used the same steel to weld a safety cage which would surround the rear seating and provide a base for a bunk bed.

The bulkhead which mated the pod to the cab came next. I had stumbled across a German build on the Internet while researching build options a year earlier. It had a pod very similar to what ours became, but there were a few significant differences: our roof is a horizontal pop-up, and we have a large rear door and windows. The other had a small side door and windows, with a welded aluminum frame for the walls of the camper, while we used panels joined with extrusions. I learned two things from Mario, the German builder: first, that you can build an overland camper in your driveway; and second, there was a way to connect the pod to the cab using brackets and a mating surface made of marine ply. He also very kindly provided detailed photographs and advice when I asked for clarification.

I started working on the cab/pod coupling surface a day after we installed the new roof, an old Defender part which Ron had lying in the yard and kindly donated to our cause. The roof was cut with a jigsaw and installed, and using a large piece of plywood from the Total Composites shipping crate, we made a template which was meticulously cut and sanded until it fit perfectly inside the arch of the roof and into the 1-centimetre depression of the B pillar. Once the template was complete, we then cut the final mating piece of marine plywood which was planed and

Clockwise from top left: A donor roof from an ancient 110 gets another chance at glory. We built supports to ensure that the camper box glued square.

Wild camping in the shadow of Mount Erciyes in Turkey. A Melvill and Moon duffel and seat covers add a touch of class. All a man needs to travel the planet overland. The subframe skeleton—moderately flexible and strong enough for Africa. A maintenanceobsessed driver is an overland vehicle’s best friend.

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sanded until it too fit perfectly. With the subframe and mating piece in place, we were then able to finish the subframe floor and begin mounting the panels. We fabricated wheel arches and restored our old jerry cans and roof rack, measuring the composite panels five times but only cutting once. (Total Composites can cut the panels you need to your exact requirements.)

With D-Day approaching rapidly, we realised that we would not be able to complete the interior. Well, Keelan and I understood this, but Luisa insisted that she could finish the interior in one week. We begged her not to try and to instead help us finish the structure; it had to be roadworthy so that we could drive it 70 miles to the shipping agent. Luisa then spent the next week walking in circles, stealing the tools we were using, and moving pieces of wood around; she was waiting on the delivery of parts to be able to finish the roof which she completed the day before we were to head to the shipping agent.

With the clock ticking, we resprayed the front of the Defender, including the new roof, and with the help of Ron, Shayne, and Jesús, installed the roof. Luisa packed our belongings into the Landy while I finished the fabrication of the rear door. Without the luxury of a test drive, we drove the Defender out onto the rural roads, and, confident that the pod was not going to fly away, drove rapidly to the port, our hearts in our throats. The camper drove beautifully, and we made it to the shipping agent with only a minute to spare; leaving it safely parked in a warehouse surrounded by Italian supercars, we took one last photo before walking away. The next day we would take a train from Florida to Washington, D.C. and be able to relax for the first time in months.

In March 2017, the Land Rover arrived in the United Kingdom, and we completed the interior, electrical systems, roof, and storage boxes. We then drove her down through central Europe to Portugal and across to Turkey. In sublime Northern Spain, we chartered a course through the Pyrenees to Andorra where we would enter the tiny mountain state The dimensions of the through the Smugglers’ Route. In the camper are optimal, mountains, we were to test the camper’s compact enough to off-pavement ability and our construcexplore small Italian tion, nervously achieving full articulation villages and tight trails as we followed mountain trails known by but large enough to few. The camper performed excellently, offer a comfortable showing no signs of structural stress or home for the four of us. fatigue. The subframe construction and suspension system dispersed the flex of the chassis, and the cab/pod coupling remained rigid. We have since driven highways, byways, mud, beaches, and mountains; the dimensions of the camper are optimal, compact enough to explore small Italian villages and tight trails but large enough to offer a comfortable home for the four of us. We did find the suspension was too soft with the camper, and installed a set of rear Air Lift air bags which cancelled the low-speed body roll and second bounce on speed bumps. Future modifications will include an extended roof rack, perhaps a Webasto heater, sand ladders, and raised suspension. When the faithful Td5 eventually succumbs to many hundreds of thousands of miles, we will invest in a Cummins 2.8 turbo-diesel engine.

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Parked next to the crystal clear Mediterranean, I sipped a cold drink and gazed past my sandy feet to my family swimming. Smoke rose from the barbecue, and a breeze blew through the camper.

Through blood, sweat, and tears (and about $20,000 of cold, hard cash) we had made our dream come true. Perhaps a circumnavigation of Africa will be a true test of the new super camper.

SPECIFICATIONS

2003 Land Rover Defender Td5 130 POWER 15P, 2.5-litre Td5 turbo-diesel R380 5-speed transmission LT230 transfer box SUSPENSION AND DRIVE Centre differential lock Bearmach heavy-duty coil springs Air Lift 1000 rear air suspension Boss shock absorbers custom-made by Cibex Spain WHEELS AND TIRES Bearmach 15-by 10-inch modular steel wheels Bearmach wheel arches Falken Wildpeak 33/12.5R15 mud-terrain tires RECOVERY AND ARMOR Front Runner wraparound bull bar Bearmach front bumper with LED driving lights Bearmach rear tow step bumper Ramsey REP 9,000-pound winch Safari snorkel ARB recovery kit (tow strap, snatch strap, tree protector, etcetera) Front Runner aluminum hood and sill protectors Front Runner steering guard Bearmach differential protector Recovery spade Gränfors Bruk Scandinavian forest axe Melvill and Moon spare wheel cover ACCESSORIES Innovative Auto Little Black Box EMS IV engine management system Nanocom Evolution diagnostics tool Flexopower Atacama 79-watt solar power panel kit Flexopower Tacoma 120-watt flexible solar panel (as used by NASA) Erayak 1,500-watt power inverter Front Runner cubby safe Pelican storage box (large, external) Kermit camping tables Bearmach LED headlights and flasher lights Bearmach silicone turbo hose kit Explorer LED spotlights Ironman compressor Front Runner hood mount spare Melvill and Moon custom seat covers Melvill and Moon Campaign chairs Melvill and Moon travel luggage Jerry cans (one water, two diesel) Snomaster 60-liter fridge/freezer (BD/C-60) Front Runner 50-liter auxiliary fuel tank GlobeRoamer seed net and radiator blanket

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OVERLAND MEDICINE DR. JON S. SOLBERG, MD, FAWM

Learn Your ABCs— Airway, Breathing, and Circulation Attend to the sucking chest wound, infections, asthma and allergic reactions, and perturbations which affect the drive to breathe.

PART 2: BREATHING DISORDERS

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hether working a shift in my local emergency and trauma center, responding to an overhead page for a doctor on an airplane, or assisting with a medical crisis in the backcountry, I initially evaluate every medical emergency in the standard order: airway, breathing, and circulation. You can apply the same principals in an emergency, which will help you remain calm and useful until professional help arrives.

In the last installment of Overland Medicine, we discussed the airway. Now, we’ll develop an approach to disorders of breathing.

THE SUCKING CHEST WOUND

The act of breathing is generally taken for granted, but it is quite complex. The diaphragm muscle (a flat, broad muscle which separates your chest cavity from that of the abdomen) moves downward and sucks air into the chest cavity just like the downstroke of a piston sucks air into an engine. Any compromise in the integrity of the chest wall will result in air sucking in through that wound, where it then accumulates in the pleural space between the chest wall and the lung itself.

This condition causes the lung to deflate like an emptying balloon and leaves it worthless; it’s called a pneumothorax, Latin for air inside the thorax. Any wilderness injury (puncture, gunshot wound, broken rib, etcetera) which compromises the chest wall, especially a bloody wound with bubbles or one

that makes sucking and gurgling noises, should be covered immediately. Use either a commercially available Asherman or Halo brand chest seal ($15 on Amazon), or a homemade dressing which allows air to escape the chest wall but not enter it. A dressing like this can be fashioned by covering the wound with something like a flattened ziplock baggie or piece of a plastic trash bag taped to the chest on three sides of the wound (duct tape works well). This will function as a “flutter valve” and will be sucked flat against the chest when the victim draws in a breath, but if there is air inside the chest cavity in the pleural space, it can easily escape out the valve when the victim exhales. This is a temporary fix, and the patient will need immediate evacuation to a hospital.

INFECTIONS

Respiratory infections come in many shapes and sizes, but the easiest way to classify them is into either upper (nose, throat, windpipe) or lower (the lung itself, called a pneumonia). While both are technically infections, upper respiratory infections (URIs) are generally caused by viruses and accompanied by a runny nose, sneezing, sore throat, and hoarse voice; they are contagious, and unfortunately, they do not improve with antibiotic treatment. Do your tentmate a favor if you have a URI and wear a mask or bandanna if coughing or sneezing, and wash your hands often to prevent transmisOVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

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sion to others. Pneumonias, on the other hand, are frequently caused by bacteria, are not usually contagious, and can be lifethreatening because they affect the little membranes deep within the lung which serve to transport oxygen into the bloodstream. Pneumonia typically causes fever, shortness of breath, coughing up blood, and chest pain.

In a medical office, an X-ray of the chest is used to diagnose a pneumonia, however, in the wilderness setting, that’s not possible. Thankfully, pneumonia can also be diagnosed without an X-ray by identifying abnormalities in the vital signs: heart rate, respiratory rate, body temperature, and oxygen saturation (a number which represents the percentage of blood that is carrying oxygen). You needn’t memorize any specific numbers, but you can check these values in the sick person and compare them to values in other, healthy group members. An abnormally fast heart rate, a fever, fast respiratory rate, or a low-oxygen saturation together all suggest pneumonia as the cause. Adding a digital thermometer and a pulse oximeter ($10-20 each on Amazon) to your med kit is a good idea before traveling remotely. I prefer intraoral thermometers that you stick under the tongue, as skin and ear temperatures can be inaccurate in wet, windy, or cold environments. For convenience, choose one which shares a battery size with your headlamp. If you suspect a pneumonia, then start treatment with antibiotics such as Augmentin or a Zpak which can be obtained in advance from your doctor for the purposes of a wilderness med kit.

ASTHMA AND ALLERGIC REACTIONS

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These disorders cause inflammation and constriction of the airways in the lungs. As air moves down into the lungs, it flows through ever-narrowing airways. In the throat and the first portion of the airway inside the chest, the airways are surrounded with rigid cartilage, and the diameter is a fixed measurement. Deep within the lungs, the airways become so small that there is no longer room for cartilage, and they are surrounded and held open by a thin circumferential layer of muscle. Generally, this anatomical strategy serves the body well, but during an asthma attack or in serious allergic reactions, these airway muscles can spasm and make the airways so narrow that they don’t allow enough airflow. When air moves through these narrow airways, it makes a wheezing sound that can be heard through the chest wall with a stethoscope. Asthma and allergic reactions can all cause patients to suffer shortness of breath, but the key to the diagnosis is usually in the history. Asthmatics and those with severe allergies are typically quite knowledgeable on their disease and treatment. They will usually carry specific medications wherever they travel. Asthma attacks can be triggered by dust and smoke, and are frequently manifested as wheezing, coughing, and chest tightness. Allergic reactions typically occur suddenly and can be accompanied by an itchy rash, swelling around the mouth, vomiting or diarrhea, and chest tightness with wheezing. Common culprits are bee and wasp stings, OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

food allergies like peanuts and shellfish, and oral antibiotics.

Treating these conditions will usually require an inhaler, and you should know how to assist a sick person in using their inhaler. Shake before use, insert it into the patient’s mouth, and ask the person to inhale while you’re depressing the aerosol canister to dispense a fine mist into the mouth. Two or three SAVE A LIFE puffs/inhalations is typically one Consider adding a chest treatment, but you needn’t worry seal to your first aid kit, about administering a few more especially if you recreate treatments if required. Asthma with firearms. And add a pulse oximeter and and allergic reactions are also thermometer to your kit treated with steroids, typically, so you can obtain a full oral prednisone. Individuals with set of vital signs.

These these conditions should carry a inexpensive items short course of prednisone pills can save a life. when traveling into the backcountry and have a written plan about when to administer them. Individuals with life-threatening allergic reactions also typically carry diphenhydramine (Benadryl) and adrenaline in the form of an EpiPen, discussed in the airway installment of this series.

DISORDERED DRIVE TO BREATHE

When it’s working properly, our brain tells our body when to breathe. Sometimes, conditions can lead to such a depressed mental function that the brain forgets to send the message, leaving a person with shallow and slow respirations. This condition, called apnea, leads to decreased levels of oxygen in the body. The most common causes of apnea are typically a drug or alcohol overdose, seizure, head trauma, or a stroke of the brain. Most of these conditions also impair the body’s muscle tone around the mouth and airway and can lead to snoring sounds. Vomit and secretions can pool in the mouth and leak down into the lungs.

When someone has shallow or very slow respirations, don’t forget to also check for a pulse, and if absent, begin chest compressions. Current treatment for non-medical persons has done away with rescue breaths, as high-quality chest compressions have been found to move air into and out of the chest cavity adequately. If a pulse is present, you can try to deliver a rescue breath into the mouth and nose, or roll the person into the recovery position on their side, supporting their head with the arm which is on the bottom. This way, any vomit or secretions will drain from the mouth.

Consider adding a chest seal to your first aid kit, especially if you recreate with firearms. And add a pulse oximeter and thermometer to your kit so you can obtain a full set of vital signs. These inexpensive items can save a life. Doctor’s orders!

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Photo by Steve Thunder

PHOTOGRAPHY BRUCE DORN

Adventures in Video Filmmaking Tooling up for the Task

Another super-secret pre-release shoot, this time with my favorite action sports model, Coda. We were supposed to be testing the new EF 400mm and 600mm super-telephotos, but all she could think about was lunch. I wanted fast food; Coda wanted rabbit. We had rabbit. A win-win, I guess.

Coda was courtesy of Arizonaʼs Raptor Experience.

I

believe that any story worth telling is worth telling well.

And that’s why I love filmmaking. Media posturing, video journaling, postcard producing, or politically acting, I like them all. We’re wired to share our experiences, and video is a megaphone.

Video capture is arguably the most powerful medium in modern history and we, like the well-known explorers who precede us, love to share our stories. Passing a smartphone full of photos around a campfire will certainly get the job done, but a properly produced video can mesmerize a substantially larger audience.

Video can engage, entertain, educate, and maybe even make the world a better place. If you apply your nose to the grindstone with sufficient pressure over adequate time, you too could become a master of the craft, and assuming the stars align, maybe even profit from the effort. Unlike with the storytelling medium of writing—something that can be just as effectively accomplished with either the nub of a dull pencil or the latest fully loaded laptop—filmmaking is a machine-based medium which benefits from the proper application of the appropriate tools. If you do decide to become a video storyteller, it’s important to identify your genre so that you can build a proper toolkit.

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To begin, let’s figure out what best describes you as a budding filmmaker. There are subsets of each of these categories and subsets of the subsets but let’s focus on these four basic types.

THE ASPIRING INFLUENCER Are you ready for your close-up? Ready to be an internet video star? Perhaps you’re not quite well-known enough to truly influence anybody, though you secretly have your sights set on being the next big social media superstar—the one the industry biggies actually want to sponsor, or even better, pay for adventure content production. We can dream, right?

If this sounds like you, you’ll need to produce a certain kind of video content to fulfill your destiny. You’ll need a proper kit and, of course, a plan.

MANDATORY ITEMS

SMARTPHONE And a social media account on YouTwitFace.

ONE LONGISH ARM Writers might benefit from shorthand, but

social media requires videographers with long, selfie-ready arms.

HANDHELD GYROSCOPIC STABILIZER To make smooth moves with your smartphone or action cam.

POCKET DRONE Be sure to get one with the narcissistic Follow mode.

LAVALIER MICROPHONE/RECORDER This will assure good sound even if you stray away from a close-up distance.

ACTION SIDEKICK Pooch, cat, squirrel, Lego character, or Barbie doll—it doesn’t matter as long as they never question your choices.

MANY GROOMING PRODUCTS We may be glorified car campers, but we’re not animals. We’re not! But we’re also not good enough.

Like Dad always said.

That should do it. Go forth, wander, and shoot concise 20to 60-second clips. We’ll see you on the Interwebs.

Wait, what? You say that pimping parts and endorsing action-wear isn’t your style? You don’t care one nanoparticle about InstaFame, but you do want a killer chronicle of your bucket list bustin’ adventures? Then read on.

goodies procured through the outlay of your hard-earned dough.

SHOT LIST This must include you airing down tires, standing on your roof rack, gazing wistfully into the distance, dangling your feet over the abyss, prodding a campfire, considering coffee, grilling mysterious meats, clinging to a rock, fording an impressive puddle, and, most importantly, waking up in a tent.

All while subtly praising the merits of the above-mentioned truck, tires, cooler, rack, katana, traction boards, and tactical spork. Tried-and-true photo reference abounds online so exercise your powers of Google-Fu promiscuously.

RAISON D’ÊTRE Something action-packed. Focus on climbing things, crossing things, catching things, shooting things, cooking things, and discovering things—anything will do as long as it’s crystal clear that you’re passionate about doing something to something.

ON-CAMERA UNIFORM See above. This can range from tactical chic to lumber allure; from bikini and waders to sombrero and shants—depending upon your passion, gender, and/or selfidentification. Going the furies-frolicking-in-the-forest route might be ill-advised, but who am I to judge?

BUDDY, SPOUSE, OR SIGNIFICANT OTHER You need this person to record your awesomeness from distances greater than arm’s length. This person must never be acknowledged or appear onscreen lest your availability be thrown into doubt and in the process, goon your brand.

OPTIONAL (STRONGLY SUGGESTED)

GORILLA POD A clingy little plastic tripod thingie, the Gorilla

Pod is very useful.

SELFIE STICK Rumored to have been invented by T. Rex, the selfie stick is wildly popular in the arm-length-challenged community.

WATER-RESISTANT ACTION CAM For when the environment’s moist and the action’s hot. You heard me, I said moist.

Photo by Steve Thunder

MUCH-LOVED VEHICLE Preferably one bristling with aftermarket

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If a smartphone is your video camera of choice, there’s a motorized gimbal for that, too. This is a DJI Osmo Mobile.

This little guy shoots 4K video or 12MP stills and can perform all manner of tricks. When the DJI Mavic Air’s rotors are deployed, your smartphone is docked, and communications are established, you’re ready to get some amazing aerial angles.

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THE VIDEO DIARIST As an independent producer of Technicolor memories, you choose to share your adventures through the modern equivalent of a 16mm documentary film or a Kodak Carousel tray full of Kodachrome slides. You seek to share a cinematic recollection of your experiences through a series of well-edited shorts accompanied by appropriate music and insightful narration.

MANDATORY ITEMS

COMPACT MIRRORLESS OR HDSLR CAMERA Because image quality

matters.

INTERCHANGEABLE LENSES Lenses are the filmmaker’s

paintbrushes, so go ahead, indulge.

DIGITAL AUDIO RECORDER Useful for high-quality atmospheric

sound and voiceovers.

VIDEO TRIPOD An essential tool for smooth action tracking and time-lapse work.

CAMERA SLIDER A compact solution to approximate languid and leisurely dolly shots.

CAMERA STABILIZER The best solution for smooth camera movement on rough terrain.

GOOD TRAVEL BUDGET You can’t buy time, but you can rent it.

OPTIONAL

HIGHER-SPEC DRONE Perfect for capturing epic aerials. Be sure to get one with first-person view capability so you can safely navigate the skies.

THE TREASURE HUNTER Viewing nature and wildlife through a selective lens, the treasure hunter usually frames out evidence of human intrusion into the lives and habitats of charismatic wildlife.

Show lions, and tigers, and bears? Oh my, yes. Show eight zillion safari cars clustered around said characters? Not so much.

Whether captured on a canned safari or discovered through your own self-guided trek, the Treasure Hunter celebrates the gems of the wild. And why not? Seeing great imagery of wild things in wonderful places can inspire people to care about the planet’s well-being.

While you aren’t likely to receive an offer to become an explorer-in-residence with National Geographic or the Explorers Club, you could capture a once-in-a-lifetime moment.

I recall that a few years ago, in South Africa’s Kruger National Park, a cheap camcorder-toting tourist captured a blurry clip of a Cape buffalo calf caught in an epic three-way tug of war between a lion, a crocodile, and the calf ’s protective herd. It was touch-and-go there for a while, but the calf eventually got away.

The grainy, lo-fi footage was almost unwatchable, yet the clip still went viral. National Geographic subsequently acquired the rights and expanded the story into a one-hour special.

While the story of this life-and-death struggle was not diminished by being recorded on a crappy standard definition camcorder, the image would have been much better had it been captured on a better camera, preferably one with 4K ultra-high definition capability. If you’re working hard to put yourself in position to be blessed with such a spectacular natural event, why not be prepared to make it cinematically glorious? Quality matters.

MANDATORY ITEMS

Full disclosure: I’m a dedicated Canon shooter (and proud to have been a Canon Explorer of Light for 14 years), so this list of suggestions is entirely brand-specific. I’m not familiar with the offerings from other brands, but I imagine you can search out something similar if you wish.

VIDEO TRIPOD As stated above, this is an essential tool for action

tracking.

MECHANICAL GIMBAL If

swinging on swifts or panning with predators is your thing, consider a nodal-pivot lens gimbal from tripod accessory manufacturers such as Really Right Stuff and Wimberley. These specialized telephoto lens supports allow the smooth and accurate tracking of all manner of fast-moving critters.

WEATHER-SEALED PRO-LEVEL CAMCORDER, CINEMA CAMERA, HDSLR,

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OR COMPACT MIRRORLESS CAMERA There are many options, and I

The DJI Ronin-S can carry serious weight, and its onboard batteries will run for hours. Gimbal stabilized cameras allow you to get very smooth video footage even while you scramble—or drive—over very rough terrain. Shown here with the 5D Mark IV and the EF 24-70mm f/4L IS. OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

choose, according to need, between the compact Cinema EOS XC15 4K camcorder, the EOS C200 video camera, the 4K EOS-1D X Mark II HDSLR, and the new generation EOS R mirrorless body. This last one features 4K and a pivoting rear LCD control screen. The Cinema EOS cameras use smaller sensors—1 inch and APS-C (18x24mm)—while the 1D X Mark II and EOS R offer full frame (24x36mm). That’s a pretty broad spectrum of choices and price points. Given a choice, I’ll always take two inexpensive and lower-spec bodies over one expensive and higher-spec body for the simple reason of redundancy.

A GOOD SELECTION OF WEATHERIZED ZOOM LENSES I prefer to carry two camera bodies, and usually put an EF 28-300mm f/4-5.6L

IS zoom on one body and outfit a second body with something really long—almost always the EF 200-400mm f/4L IS with its built-in 1.4x extender. This lens gives me a range from 200560mm for versatility and reach. I also carry a short zoom for tighter work, something in the 11-24mm range for my APS-C sensor HD cameras and cropped full-frame 4K shooting. When the size and weight of my kit must be kept small and versatile, I’ll most likely opt for the new mirrorless EOS R with a twolens combo consisting of the RF 24-105mm f/4L IS or the EF 17-40mm f/4L IS mounted via the Control Ring Mount EFEOS R adapter. I’d use that same adapter for the EF 100400mm f/4.5-5.6L IS to have something long. I’d add the RF to GIVEN A CHOICE EOS adapter that accepts drop-in I’ll always take two ND filters; it is a tremendous money inexpensive and lowersaver when you need to reduce light spec bodies over one for a wide variety of lenses. If that expensive and higherspec body for the simple last bit sounded like number and reason of redundancy. alphabet soup to your beginner’s ears, I’d suggest the simplicity of the fixed-lens XC15. This compact 4K cine camera features a fixed zoom with a focal length range equivalent of approximately 27273mm.

FIXED FOCAL LENGTH TELEPHOTO If you’re a fan of the compressed look that only a super-telephoto can deliver, take a look at fast glass in the 400-800mm range. My friend Coda and I recently beta-tested the EF 400mm f/2.8L IS III and EF 600mm f/4L III, and these featherweight bazookas are impressive. We weren’t impressed—we were blown away.

THE SOCIAL ACTIVIST Documentary filmmaking can be used to fight for a cause and shape social policy. If the pen is mightier than the sword, and a picture is worth a thousand words, cranking out even a modest 24 well-conceived frames per second makes you a formidable champion indeed.

Maybe you think it important to keep some places genuinely wild, or to be an advocate for threatened species. You can wield your sword for that. Maybe you want to defend right-ofway for mechanized backcountry travel. You can fight for that too. The trick is to have something worthwhile to say and to say it with eloquence. The moving picture is a powerful tool. It can communicate with the intimacy of a whisper or the insistence of a bullhorn.

A social activist’s camera is only as powerful as its operator’s passion, and the camera’s bit rate isn’t nearly as important as the operator’s pulse rate when fighting the good fight. A social media activist’s video kit can be quite modest.

MANDATORY ITEMS

UNOBTRUSIVE, LOW-LIGHT CAMERA People react to cameras. That’s

a fact. When I was a working photojournalist, I saw it firsthand.

I did a story in the 1970s about the resurgence of the Ku Klux Klan in Middle America. At first, the Klansmen reacted with

The highly weatherized 1D X Mark II is big, but it shoots 60fps 4K and is extremely durable. They’ll pry this proven cannon from my cold dead fingers.

If you want a tough little HD camcorder (1080p) with advanced audio, autofocus, and a built-in 20x optical zoom, look at something like this XA15. It’s handy when dust is a big problem and I don’t want the risk of interchangeable lenses.

The Cinema EOS C200 is the least expensive Canon professional video camera and is still a full-blown cinema camera. It’s small but offers a larger APS-C sensor, dual XLR sound inputs, and features dual-pixel autofocus. I used its predecessor, the C100, for much of Expeditions 7. It is shown here with the versatile EF 28-300mm f/4.5-5.6L zoom.

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Photo by Steve Thunder

outright hostility to my cameras; over time, they adapted and began to work the camera coverage to their advantage. A fellow photojournalist, while casually questioning local fishermen about the decimation of their coral reefs through the unregulated collecting of aquarium fish, was physically threatened. A visible camera can be a wild card of unpredictable consequences, so a low-profile approach to documentary capture is a wise choice. I suggest a small, touristy-looking camera WILD CARD with a positionable rear LCD screen for A visible camera waist-level shooting. Choose something can be a wild card with a large aperture and clean, high ISO of unpredictable performance. I like the Canon M series consequences, so a of pocket-sized cameras. They look like low-profile approach any point and shoot but have HD video to documentary capabilities and are all-around great capture is a performers. When coupled with Canon’s wise choice.

Camera Connect app, I can wirelessly move files from my camera to my smart device for instant uploading. The app also allows remote viewing and camera control through my smartphone, two features I find to be invaluable when a remotely-placed camera is the best solution.

ADOPT THE LOCAL COLOR Choose attire that helps you blend in and be aware of local customs and mannerisms.

SACRIFICIAL DATA CARD If threatened and faced with a demand to surrender the pictures, this can save your bacon.

DATA BACKUP DEVICE WITH CLOUD CONNECTIVITY If you choose to champion wild creatures or wild places, you are very likely to cross paths with hostile people who do not want you there. Back up your data. Using the cloud will help assure that your data survives all threats, both manmade and environmental. I rely on a WD 1TB My Passport Wireless SSD. The solid-state drive means it’s tough as nails, and a built-in SD card reader means I can back up my data cards without needing a computer.

TALENT RELEASES You need a good release to legally use someone’s image for anything other than news.

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In this shot, my tiny XC15 4K professional camcorder has been stripped of its audio module. Its built-in zoom means that sensor dust intrusion is almost impossible.

You’ve outgrown your smartphone, and you still want to have a compact solution? I recommend something from Canon’s M series. They’re small, and so are the M series lenses. You can use all of the larger EF and EF-S series with the addition of a simple adapter; this camera has the same size sensor as the Cinema C200 EOS professional video camera. I like the flip-out LCD for surreptitious shooting in hostile situations.

You’re not paranoid if they actually are following you. When its Follow mode is activated, the silly little DJI Air will follow you with the diligence of a hungry village dog.

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OPTIONAL

POCKET DRONE For getting high angles unachievable through

other means.

LOCAL “FIXER” Nothing trumps local knowledge when working outside of your comfort zone. A helper can watch gear, grease palms, and even “roll camera” when you need to appear oncamera while conducting interviews.

FRIEND WITH BAIL MONEY This should be self-explanatory.

So there you have it. Go forth, play, and, if you’re so inclined, make a difference at 24 frames per second.

Above right: It’s critical to back up your cards while afield and I never leave home without the My Passport SSD. Mine has a 1TB solid-state drive, and it shakes off shocks, vibrations, and drops like a politician shakes off criticism. Along with a spectrum of wireless connectivity options, this WD backup device also features a built-in SD card reader.

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Photo by Lois Pryce

The Truth About Bribery Five opinions on the complexities of managing corruption and extortion in the developing world, including the perspective of a field professional.

By Bryon Bass, Graeme Bell, Scott Brady, Dan Grec, and Lois Pryce Intro by Dan Grec

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Photo by Graeme Bell

T

The most chaotic border we have ever encountered, queuing for five hours to cross from Colombia into Venezuela. Opening page: Tense negotiations at a police checkpoint in the Algerian Sahara.

he very word bribery often strikes fear into the heart of those who have never experienced it. Terrifying images of corrupt military brandishing automatic rifles come to mind, and a backhand exchange of grubby bills is often thought to be the only safe exit. As usual, in the overwhelming majority of cases, the reality is a far cry from this dramatization.

As overlanders, we spend hours learning about and planning for tire repair or technical recovery scenarios, which in all likelihood will only be required less than a handful of times while traversing an entire continent.

On that same continental traverse it will be mandatory to interact with numerous officials, and almost certainly some of those interactions will turn into bribery attempts.

If we aim to cross continents with a minimum of friction and trouble, it only makes sense to learn how to best deal with potential bribery attempts if they arise.

While bribery does happen in certain parts of the world, it is not nearly as common or violent as many assume. While bribery attempts do happen, for most travelers, actual payments are very rare. In fact, many roam across multiple continents without paying a single bribe.

In many places throughout the world, particularly underdeveloped and developing

countries, police and military roadblocks are a common occurrence, sometimes every few miles. When crossing borders, interactions with officials in uniform are extremely frequent, especially if you are in need of assistance from customs or immigration. In some countries—Nigeria comes to mind— it’s not unusual to spend more time talking with officials at roadblocks than to regular locals. For those of us traveling solo, on many days these are the only people we speak to. As such, these interactions can define our time in the country, and how we handle potential bribery situations will leave a lasting impression.

Because bribery is often not loud, overt, or violent, spotting an attempt is a skill in itself. Many of us might assume that when a person in uniform asks for a payment, it must be official, so we hand over the requested amount. Furthermore, many people fear violence or retribution if money does not change hands. It’s worth keeping in mind that corrupt officials would quickly lose their job or go to jail if they threatened a foreigner with a weapon—even just pointing one at a person is a serious offence, and something I have never seen.

Virtually every international overlander has their own set of skills for handling potential bribery situations. There are commonalities, and many find a combination of various approaches works well. With practice and experience, deflecting and minimizing bribery is a skill we can all perfect to make our interactions with officials easier and more enjoyable.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Bribery and extortion are rare occurrences for the overland traveler, but they can happen. Safety should always be the priority, and it is important to understand that there are no universally accepted methods for managing these situations. While respecting all safety and legal ramifications, we provide descriptions from five seasoned global travelers on how they have dealt with bribery while overlanding. Other than official legal positions on bribery at the national and international levels, it is important to note that some techniques noted by the authors might not work for everyone, and it’s not possible to systemize what may have been circumstantial luck. As a result, this article should be considered a guideline and opinion editorial, not the official position of Overland Journal.

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DAN GREC Whenever approaching any police, military, or official personnel that might lead to a bribery attempt, I employ the following three-step approach.

DEFLECT, DISTRACT, AND JOKE

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If possible, it’s always better to deflect a bribery attempt before it can even begin. At roadblocks, I wind down my window, take off my sunglasses, and extend my hand for a warm handshake. I always call officials sir or madam, and with a big smile, I ask how they are doing and what their name is. In my experience, setting the tone early on is crucial, and it never hurts to be friendly.

In a very polite and conversational tone, I immediately lead the discussion in the direction I want it to go. I say I am a tourist, I am travelling from here to there, and I’m enjoying their country immensely. I make a point to mention how everyone is extremely friendly in their country and that I feel lucky to be there. Setting up the officer in this way gives them something to live up to—they want to continue the good experience rather than be the bad apple to spoil it. In Nigeria, an officer backed down on a bribery attempt saying that because I had told him Nigerians are very friendly, he would let me go.

In some countries, a great tactic is to distract by asking questions about directions or distances. In Guinea and Ivory Coast, if I merely greeted the officer and sat quietly, they would inevitably ask to see my paperwork and begin searching for made-up defects on my vehicle such as a dirty licence plate or missing reflective stickers.

In contrast, when I quickly produced my map and asked directions to the next town, the officer would become engaged and distracted, often enlisting others to help provide information or translation. After a few minutes, I would thank them profusely while saying goodbye, shake hands again, and drive on without ever showing any paperwork or answering a single question about my foreign vehicle.

Often officers will try their luck, casually asking, “What did you bring for me?” I take this as an opportunity to make a joke and entertain, so with a grin of my own I reply, “For you? What do you have for me? I’m a visitor in your country, you should have a gift for me. Let’s trade. If you give me something, I will give you something.”

While wrong-footed, I suggest they give me their military hat, which I know they will never relinquish. Once we have established they won’t give me anything, it’s not required for me to give them anything. In every instance in Cameroon, this exchange ended in a huge smile and a handshake—they were happy I played the game with them.

PLAY DUMB, WASTE TIME, ASK FOR A TICKET

When a determined officer asks me to pull off the road and begins carefully inspecting vehicle paperwork or snooping around, it can signal the beginnings of a bribery attempt.

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In these cases, I make it clear I have all the time in the world.

If the situation appears safe, I turn off the engine, get out, and shake hands with anyone and everyone in sight. I grab a bottle of water and a snack before relaxing in the shade.

While I outwardly give the impression of being friendly and helpful, I don’t want to make it any easier for them, so I pretend not to speak their language, or only offer pidgin snippets. I always keep a calm and level tone of voice while smiling, acting as if I am trying my best to understand.

When the officers are still This tactic worked brilliantly in extremely persistent and Peru and Bolivia, where police were insist on payment, I in clearly nervous about being seen return insist I must have eliciting a bribe from a foreigner. a ticket or receipt. After After wasting plenty of their time all, if this is an official by speaking very bad Spanish, I government fine, surely kindly asked for a ticket for the they can provide me with infraction they had made up: havan official government ing only one fire extinguisher. They receipt or ticket. were extremely reluctant to do so, encouraging me repeatedly to give them cash. When I said I don’t carry cash because I’m afraid of being robbed, they burst out laughing and slapped each other on the back before speeding away in a cloud of dust.

WRITE YOUR OWN OFFICIAL REPORT

When the officers are still extremely persistent and insist on payment, I in return insist I must have a ticket or receipt. After all, if this is an official government fine, surely they can provide me with an official government receipt or ticket. I don’t want to offend or make the situation worse, so I’m careful not to use the actual word bribe, but I insinuate that it is not official.

If the officer is dead set on a payment and flatly refuses to give a ticket or receipt, I insist I must write one of my own. This technique works best if you have a printed document with an official-looking government logo from your home country. I ask for the officer’s name and rank, their station, and ask their permission to take a photo of them as proof that I paid the fine.

When they balk, I insist it is a law in my country, and it would be illegal for me not to have a document explaining any fine paid. I still maintain a friendly demeanour and carefully observe their body language. It is imperative that you never get angry or demanding. Most officers will immediately walk away or try to hide after this discourse.

This strategy worked brilliantly in the DRC (Congo) when an officer held me for over an hour, demanding I pay, simply for passing through his roadblock. After writing down the name on his uniform and getting out my camera, he became terrified, immediately apologizing, even though he was carrying an AK-47.

After well over 500 bribery attempts in Latin America and Africa, I have only paid a single $5 bribe. Always remain friendly, stay calm, and stand your ground. After all, it’s the officer who is breaking the law.

LOIS PRYCE To pay or not to pay—that is the question. The debate about bribery rages on in the overlanding world. Is it immoral to cough up when you’re being shaken down? Are you setting an unwelcome precedent for future travelers? Should you stand your ground, or just pay up and move on?

In the early days of overland travel, a request for baksheesh or un petit cadeau from a policeman or border guard was considered par for the course. Savvy travelers would set off on their adventures armed with a stash of Bic biros, packets of Marlboros, or even highly desirable Levi jeans. But in our age of global connectivity, such Western iconography has lost its allure, and when it comes to bribes, cash is king, with US dollars still the worldwide currency of choice.

The truth of the matter is that whatever your moral stance on the subject, there are times when a crisp $20 bill is just what’s required to save your hide. But there are also situations where the official in question is just taking a punt, and with a bit of shoulder-shrugging and a no entiendo from you, they’ll slope off empty-handed with no hard feelings. Assessing the situation and calculating your response is down to you and your finely-honed traveler’s instinct—and some might even say, part of the fun of life on the road.

My first experience of bribery occurred in Central America while motorcycling from Alaska to Argentina in 2003.

Concerned North Americans had issued fear-fueled warnings about my heading south of the border alone. But I sailed through Mexico no problemo, and Guatemala’s border crossing featured concrete shacks decorated with government anti-corruption posters. So far, so good. Honduras’ entry procedure brought a snarled request for dólares—with no receipt forthcoming—but it was only $5, so I paid up. But it was an exploration of Nicaragua’s backwoods where, alone on a dirt road with night closing in, I found myself at the sharp end of a bribe.

Cruising through a remote area of jungle, I was forced to skid to an emergency stop as two uniformed hombres on a bike even smaller than mine sprung out from behind a tree into my path. Pacing around me, casting an appraising view over my UK-plated, overloaded Yamaha XT225, I could almost see the dollar signs lighting up in their eyes. Then they went in for the kill. It seemed I was guilty of many misdemeanors, from how I carried my tent to the use of my headlight, and of course, there were big fines for such criminal behavior.

When I refused to pay them $50 for the felony of having a tent strapped to the back of my bike, things turned nasty. The policemen (whom I was beginning to suspect weren’t policemen at all but had acquired the necessary uniform by, and for, nefarious purposes) insisted on seeing my driving licence. It was immediately snatched out of my hand and stuffed in a back pocket with a demand for the now standard $50 fee if I ever wanted to see it again.

It was almost dark now, I was many miles from the nearest town, and the “policemen” were looking very pleased with themselves for having snared such a bountiful catch. Without my driving licence, how could I possibly continue my journey? They had me in the palms of their hands.

What they didn’t know was that while passing through Los Angeles a few months earlier, I had stopped by a particularly sympathetic branch of Kinko’s where some nifty color photocopying and laminating of my documents had taken place. The driving licence currently residing in the Nicaraguan fellow’s pocket was just one of four very convincing facsimiles I had prepared for situIn a sticky situation, ations such as this. smiling politely and being With a loose Spanish transwilling to wait will often do lation of “You can keep the lithe trick—they will get cence, and stick your 50 dollars!” bored before you do.

I jumped back on my bike and set off as fast as an overloaded XT225 can go. Glancing over my shoulder through a cloud of dust, I could see my two pursuers astride their bike in hot pursuit (or at least as hot as a 125cc with bald tires and two overweight riders can go), shouting and waving my counterfeit licence in the air as they attempted to catch up with me. It’s probably the only occasion a XT225 has won a race.

This incident emboldened me to resist future attempts at extortion, and further down the Pan-Am Highway, I fended off a half-hearted attempt from a Peruvian policeman and his laughable accusation of speeding. “On this bike, señor?”

Travelling through Africa, in the Congo, I managed to palm off a gaggle of demanding fixers at a Kinshasa port with “gifts” of French dictionaries, pin badges, and various other tat magicked out of my panniers. But conversely, in Algeria, when a soldier at a military roadblock refused me passage through an area of the Sahara, my suggestion of “financial assistance” was met with deep disapproval, regarded as an affront to his professional status.

My sense from travelling through the Americas, Africa, and Asia is that blatant bribery is not as rife as one may imagine. The line between a tip, a fee, and a bribe can be a blurry one, and a few greenbacks in the right hands can help smooth all sorts of situations from border crossings to having your vehicle “guarded” by helpful locals. In a sticky situation, smiling politely and being willing to wait will often do the trick— they will get bored before you do. But whether you decide to pay or not to pay, don’t forget to visit a print shop before you leave home.

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GRAEME BELL

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Venezuela should be the Switzerland of South America.

With the world’s largest oil reserves you would imagine a country of great wealth and prosperity, a futuristic infrastructure, and a civil service. Instead, the country suffers from a severe case of Dutch Disease—exporting little other than oil and importing even the most basic commodities.

As overland travelers, my family was particularly vulnerable, far from home with kids in tow but confident that we were streetwise enough to cross the tumultuous country safely. We entered Venezuela from northern Colombia via the most chaotic border crossing we have ever had the displeasure to suffer. It took five hours of queuing under a baking sun to eventually be granted access to a beautiful country on the brink of collapse. Not only was Caracas the murder capital of the world, but we had also been told that the police force was rotten to the core and that they were likely to try and get their hands on our dollars, and unlike conventional criminals, had the authority to search our vehicle.

Our goal was to enter Venezuela through the northwestern Zulian Region and to drive east past Caracas and south to Brazil from where we would drive through the Amazon Jungle to the Guyanas. As soon as we entered Venezuela, we were stopped at a police roadblock secured by young officers and a senior officer; surprisingly, after being asked a few questions, they allowed us to continue. There was a roadblock or checkpoint every 50 miles, and we discerned that checkpoints manned by senior officers were professional, but those guarded by the lower ranks were more likely to try and impose a spot fine, which we never paid. Venezuelans are a proud people, and we soon sensed that many people and officials who remembered a wealthy and prosperous Venezuela were happy to welcome us, determined to ensure that my family was treated well. But, not everyone understood the value of tourism.

My wife, Luisa, was enjoying Venezuela. After almost two years of camping daily in South America, we could finally afford to stay in hotels. A suite for four in a “five-star” hotel was not more than $50 and that included a buffet breakfast.

En route to the coastal town of Choroní, we drove up from Maracay into a neighbourhood which was once wealthy. As I drove, I noticed that our Landy was being followed by a police-branded Toyota Land Cruiser. Within 300 feet from Hotel Pipo, the sirens wailed, and lights flashed; we were instructed to pull over and then to follow the police to their station. Two officers emerged from the vehicle: one male, one female.

They inspected the Land Rover. “Multa (fee),” the young policeman bellowed at me, pointing at the Defender’s windscreen which had been scarred by a rock thrown by an Ecuadorian truck a few months earlier. We knew that it was game on; we never pay bribes but instead employ a combination of tactics to deter criminals wearing uniforms.

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While remaining friendly and cooperative, we forget how to speak any language other than Afrikaans. A good attitude goes a long way; shouting and screaming will only make the situation much worse.

We provide whatever documentation is requested: original passports, laminated copies of driver’s licenses, insurance policies, and color photocopies of the vehicle registration. In our experience, the police will usually not ask for a passport as they are not trained to read one, We distract the official by but they do understand transporappealing to their sense tation bureaucracy. of civic duty, asking We distract the official by for directions and appealing to their sense of civic recommendations for duty, asking for directions and sightseeing and camping. recommendations for sightseeing and camping. Sometimes I will ask for directions as soon as the official steps up to my window; this interrupts their “game” and reminds them of their real purpose.

If all else fails, we will stand beside the Land Rover facing the traffic, arms crossed, looking forlorn and shaking our heads slowly as locals drive past wondering why on earth the police are harassing these tourists. In the past, we have had members of the public stop their vehicles and berate the police for inconveniencing us.

We had been playing the multa game for half an hour with no end in sight when Luisa noticed a senior official glaring at our captors angrily from inside the police station. They were called inside and given a dressing down before being instructed to accompany us to the hotel where they spent the night in their Land Cruiser, guarding our Land Rover while we enjoyed a laugh and a glass of excellent Diplomatico Reserva rum.

We must have been stopped a hundred times as we drove across poor, beautiful Venezuela. And though shaken down a handful of times, we never paid any fines or bribes. Corruption is a disease which can destroy a country; we have seen this firsthand in our native South Africa, and we refuse to play that game.

BRYON BASS For professional workforce sent to austere, remote, or lesscontrolled environments, corruption, bribery, and facilitating payments take on a different nature, especially after wading through online learning modules or classroom courses that ram liabilities home. However, there are corporate policies and concepts that have evolved from real-world experiences that pertain to members of the private overland and expedition community.

WORKING TERMINOLOGY

A bribe generally constitutes money or valuables given with the intention of influencing, persuading, or corrupting a person’s functioning, usually in their official capacity. A facilitation payment, which may constitute a bribe, is usually made to expedite the progress of some existing administrative process—to which you might be entitled anyway, without fees, or by paying much less. Bribery and facilitating are not exactly the same but can appear so. A facilitating payment can be more official in appearance, and in some locations under certain circumstances, they are not considered illegal.

If you have offered extra money to move your visa paperwork to the top of a stack to expedite approval (within an existing bureaucratic process), then that would be a facilitation payment. Some subtleties or semantics can certainly blur the lines. Tiered prices openly posted to obtain a visa (regular or expedited fees) are an example.

Admittedly, even when one pays the local constabulary and a receipt is given, it’s not always clear what occurred. I was once pulled over by two carabinieri on motorcycles in Northern Italy. My 1992 BMW R100GS PD, well bogged with academic field equipment, clearly violated some law. I dismounted, removed my helmet, and handed over my insurance, driver’s license, and registration. The bike was still on California plates, and this sent the troopers into a geography tailspin. An argument ensued. One repeatedly pointed at the license plate. The other shrugged, then held both hands to his mouth with all fingers pinched together, then went back to the shrug.

And so it went, back and forth between the officers. I heard the words geografia della California, and non è possibile a few times. They kept at it. I could have jumped on my mount and rode away without them knowing. Finally, one produced an official-looking weatherproof notepad and wrote a ticket or official warning of some sort. It wasn’t clear. The scribe tore it out but apparently missed a few tick boxes. The other officer proudly indicated with his gloved hand the appropriate selections, and the citation was again inserted under the carbon paper for final revisions. I paid 5,000 lire, which was around $3 USD. The lads stowed their gear, jumped on their issued bikes, and sped off. Had I just bought one of them a beer, two of them espressos, or was that the cheapest traffic fine ever paid in Western Europe? I’ll never know.

TRAINING

Here are some critical expansions on themes previously discussed, as taught to certain workforce on overseas assignments. These might read like security advice. However, the crux is presenting yourself in a controlled and professional manner to limit opportunities for bribery. Which nuanced approach you use may depend on specific contexts and the level of risk present. The goal is to discourage extended checkpoint contact and bribery It is also important to attempts. Systematic methodolorealize that an officer gies provide a defensible framemight be breaking the law work, especially if non-standard by asking for a bribe, but measures need to be explained you might also be in later. It is also important to realize violation of the same or that an officer might be breaking other laws by paying, or the law by asking for a bribe, but offering to pay, the bribe. you might also be in violation of the same or other laws by paying, or offering to pay, the bribe.

With vehicles, reduce the opportunity to be stopped for spurious reasons. Ensure your vehicle is in good condition and address aesthetics, as appropriate. At vehicle checkpoints, be friendly. Stop short of barriers so you can drive around, if necessary. In convoys, keep enough distance from the vehicle in front so you can turn around or drive past. Keep both hands visible and remove your sunglasses from your eyes.

Avoid lowering the windows completely, as this deters checkpoint personnel from looking around and reaching in without permission. Do not shut off the ignition unless necessary, and avoid handing over keys (spare door and ignition keys are essential). Store documents, so they are also accessible by the front passenger. As noted, use copies. Stay with your vehicle or keep it locked if you must exit. Do not let police go in or around the vehicle without you being present.

Other commodities have value, albeit some are unhealthy.

Leaving a cigarette pack in the open can be explained away, and places the onus on the police officer taking it rather than you giving it. This is easily described as confiscation, should you need to explain. You don’t need to smoke, but in some cultures, providing a cigarette will break the ice, and that might be all you need. Don’t hide cash in a cigarette packet.

If the official wants to make an issue out of it, it’s harder to explain than an envelope labeled gas money, containing small bills, being used as a bookmark. If he takes the envelope, that’s theft, not bribery.

When motivating factors force a payment without a receipt, look for rank insignia and ask for the person in charge.

Placate the ranking member and things should go better; they may even refuse the money if subordinates are present but not in on the bribe. And remember, all approaches to deflect and avoid bribes should be systematic, even if appearing casual.

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SCOTT BRADY There are a few unavoidable discomforts with international overland travel, and some of them are corruption, bribery, and thinly veiled facilitation payments. The uninitiated will often decry that they would never pay a bribe, a convenience reserved for those who have never been face to face with the motivation an AK-47 can muster. There are also some with reasonable travel credentials that will claim to have never paid a bribe when it is impossible to know exactly which taxes, fees, or fines are a bribe and which are not. It is essential that we all take the moral high ground and avoid these exposures, to the extent we can. While I do see it as possible to never knowingly pay a bribe, that is a rarity in the world of rough and tumble travel, particularly when you get deeper into Russia, Central America, or just about anywhere that recently experienced a coup or military conflict. Most of my cohorts in this article have focused on how to eliminate or greatly reduce the likelihood of bribes. I will share some inconvenient truths about when bribes are most likely to occur and a few tools to deal with them.

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The most likely bribe to pay knowingly or unknowingly is a fine or ticket. In some countries, it is extremely common to make ticket payments directly to the officer, even on a portable credit card machine to facilitate the process. The best place to start with these is to ask yourself, “Do I believe I did something wrong?” For example, were you speeding, or did you run that red light? If the answer is yes, then it is likely you will need to pay a fine, and it is critical to understand to whom you will be paying that fine. Frequently, a pleasant conversation and some patience will reduce or eliminate the fine, but just as in the first world, if you break the law, be prepared for the consequences. However, if you feel that there was no wrongdoing or they made up some obscure or petty infraction, be prepared with a plan upon which you and your travel partners all agree. Avoid giving the official originals of any of your documents. Have laminated copies of your driver’s license on hand, as well as high-quality duplicates of your vehicle documents. Once they have your originals, they have you.

With attempted extortion, several things will work in your favor, the first being a knowledge of the law and an awareness of how the process should go. Then, feel free to assert your innocence clearly and respectfully. Ask for the officer’s full name or badge number. Ask the officer if you will receive a receipt for the fine that was paid. Then, the best plan is to wait. The official will already be put back by your declaration of innocence and the documentation you are beginning to gather about the exchange. But most importantly, a crooked official hates wasting time as much as you do, mainly because it exposes them to passersby and colleagues who could have a different view on corruption. The more they believe that a OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

bribe is not likely, the easier it will be for them to move on to a more willing victim. In countries like Mexico, there are also tourist hotlines that you can call to have them speak directly to the officer. If it was an attempt at a bribe, just calling that number will send them on their way.

BORDER CROSSINGS AND SHIPPING OFFICIALS

The worst fleecing I ever experienced was in the Port of Buenos Aires, a beautiful city filled with amazing people, but also one of the most corrupt places on earth. The bribe (or mordida), in many cases better deWith attempted extortion, fined as a facilitation payment, has several things will work in become synonymous with getting your favor, the first being a anything done at the bureaucratic knowledge of the law and level. My situation was amplified an awareness of how the because of a timetable and a sigprocess should go. nificantly delayed ship. The number one lesson in not paying a bribe at a border or port is to not be in a hurry—at all. We were in a hurry because of the passage delays, so the fees and “expediting” charges continued to pile up into the thousands. We had the most experienced automotive import fixer in Buenos Aires, and this was the only way to get the trucks out of the port in 48 hours. Technically, they never asked for a bribe, but our customs expert assured us that extortion was common. The officials would intentionally delay or manipulate the system to put pressure on travelers so they would pay. This is where patience and having lots of spare time works. They will eventually run out of motivation and release the vehicle. The traveler also needs to be prepared to pay in other ways, as delays can result in costly hotel stays and taxi fares as the days mount.

At borders, the key is to always have a great attitude. I’ve never knowingly paid a bribe at a border after experiencing hundreds of them on all seven continents. My documents are always organized, and I research the experience of other travelers in detail. In many of these countries, those border officials are important people, used to being respected. I have found the more respect, kindness, and smiles I pay in their direction, the less they ask in money or delays from me.

As travelers, it is our responsibility to resist paying bribes as much as safety allows, but I would caution against being too critical of others that may have acquiesced to that pressure or fear. I still remember the mirrored Ray-Bans and the crooked smile on that federale from my first trip to Baja. In perfect English, he said, “You were speeding, and now you will pay.”

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with such amenities as showers, a restaurant, and Wi-Fi. Our moods brightened significantly. One of the greatest lessons we’ve learned from travelling is the importance of adapting to ever-changing situations. We were quite proud of ourselves, patting each other on the back and high-fiving for rolling with the punches.

After an hour of rattling and bouncing back over rough roads, transfer case in low range, we came to a halt before a locked gate at the park boundary. The steel gate was craftily constructed in a valley to prevent us from shimmying over it, driving, hiking, or climbing around it, or breaking through it. We were locked out of the park, devoid of an exit strategy, with no notion of when the gate Flashbacks of rock would be unlocked. A day? A week? chunks flying through That brought on the waterworks the air, rapidly billowing and rolling with the punches went clouds, streaming lava, out the proverbial window. and various scenes of Richard and I resolved that we death and destruction would have to camp there for the bombarded our night as dusk was quickly approachimaginations as we ing.

Logically, camping in the wild made our escape. inside or outside of the park—who cares? But for some reason—probably the combination of the gate and what it represented along with the feeling of being trapped and the fatigue from the hellishly long day—I blubbered like a petulant child. The situation had me pondering when and how we feel secure, and how our perception of security changes our outlook. This place didn’t necessarily feel dangerous, but at the same time, neither of us wanted to camp there. We transmitted a message back to Canada via inReach: “We’re locked outside of Cotopaxi National Park. We have no idea when we’re getting out of here. See attached coordinates. We’re probably going to be fine, but no guarantee. P.S. Say hi to Dad for us.”

An hour later, we were sitting in the truck charging my laptop so that we could watch movies all night long in an attempt to lessen some of our worries. There’s nothing a good rom-com can’t fix, right? I happened to glance in my side mirror and saw the headlights of a white truck approaching.

Richard and I ejected ourselves out of the truck and ran up to the taxi shouting in our broken Spanish about llaves (keys) and la puerta (gate). The Ecuadorian man smiled, winked, and jingled the keys out the driver’s side window. We were relieved. Everything would be fine now that we didn’t have to camp in Sketchville after all.

The taxi driver led us all the way to the turnoff to Tambopaxi, our campsite for that evening. I guess he didn’t trust the two idiot tourists who obviously lacked navigation skills.

Fair enough. We chuckled to each other as we drove towards camp. What a day. The second round of high fives ensued. At camp, we popped open our rooftop tent, took a heart attackinducing cold shower to scrub the dirt off (“splash your vital organs first,” my mom always says), sipped some hot tea in the hotel restaurant, and binged on Wi-Fi, sending messages and OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

texts to family and friends. Life was good again. We tucked into our tent, ready for a cozy night’s sleep and an epic nighttime view of the Cotopaxi Volcano, lit by moonlight and a clear sky.

“Hello? Hello? English or Spanish? Do you speak English or Spanish?” The Ecuadorian man at the base of our rooftop tent was, in fact, a climbing guide. “We were on the mountain this morning, and there was an eruption. The park is closed, and we are evacuating now. It is not safe to be here!”

Richard and I scurried down the ladder of our tent and saw an enormous, billowing cloud obscuring the volcano.

Richard put the tent away as quickly as he could with freezing cold fingers and the resultant fumbling around of tent poles and jammed zippers. I stuffed a bunch of our extraneous crap into the cab of our adventure mobile, and we set off on the long winding road through the northern part of the park to the highway. If my memory serves me correctly, we still owe Tambopaxi $15 for our camping fee that night.

I kept my eyes glued to the side view mirrors as if monitoring the volcano could prevent it from spewing molten magma from the depths of the earth. Our experience with erupting volcanoes was limited to watching the film Dante’s Peak; flashbacks of rock chunks flying through the air, rapidly billowing clouds, streaming lava, and various scenes of death and destruction bombarded our imaginations as we made our escape. Neither one of us wanted to think about what would have happened if we were still trapped behind the park gate.

An hour or so later (it felt like five), we arrived at the PanAmerican Highway. Home free, sort of. We remembered reading somewhere that in the event of an eruption, the snow capping Cotopaxi’s peak could melt and combine with mud, water, and volcanic rock to create a cataclysmic mudslide. Geologists estimated that the mudslide could reach speeds in excess of 60 miles an hour—very close to the top speed of our fully loaded rig.

As we turned left onto the highway, we let out a huge sigh of relief. Tunes cranked up, windows rolled down, and in full cruise mode. Out of nowhere, a line of neon orange traffic cones, complete with local police officers suddenly obstructed our path. “There are protests blocking the Pan-American Highway, so the northern and southern routes are closed. We don’t know when the highway will reopen.”

We couldn’t return north, and we couldn’t continue south, so our next question then was east to the beach or west to the jungle? Richard didn’t hesitate before choosing the right turn signal— cervezas on the beach was the only option.

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TAIL LAMP ASHLEY GIORDANO

Photo by Richard Giordano

Drama in Cotopaxi National Park The Giordanos’ series of unfortunate events

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woke with a start at 5:00 a.m. to the sound of a blaring car horn and someone yelling urgently outside our rooftop tent. “Hello? Hello? English or Spanish? Do you speak English or Spanish?” These are not the words you want to hear when travelling in a foreign country, especially in such an anxious tone. My husband, Richard, begrudgingly emerged from his sleeping bag and zipped open the tent door, poking his head outside. The Ecuadorian gentleman standing at the base of our tent ladder had a panicked look on his face. Beyond him, under a threatening gray sky, pandemonium erupted as locals hurled themselves and their belongings into the backs of several HiLux pickup trucks which hastily departed in a cloud of dust. A thick layer of smoky ash clung to our tent, and sulfurous fumes invaded our nostrils. Something was seriously wrong here, and we were right in the middle of it.

Twenty-four hours earlier, we had awoken from a blissful slumber, eager to enjoy our last full day in Ecuador’s Cotopaxi National Park. The park is home to the Cotopaxi Volcano, famous for both its splendor and shyness. After nearly seven days in the park with minimal services, we were in need of hot showers, a vehicle cleanout, and some of that sweet, sweet Wi-Fi. Our proposed route of departure would take us around the volcano and out of the park, conveniently heading towards our next destination. Perfect.

We began circling the volcano’s base, soaking up the mountain views, avoiding animals and wild horses on the road, weaving in and out of the park’s boundaries. After four hours, it already felt like a long day in the dirt, but according to our Maps.me and Earthmate apps it wouldn’t be long OVERLAND JOURNAL GEAR 2019

before we met up with the highway. Another hour or so and we’d be hitting the pavement, throwing the truck into twowheel drive, and trundling into Quilotoa in no time.

Beyond the washout in front of us though, the road ceased to exist. Do not pass go, do not collect $200. We talked to local farmers, set off on foot, and tried to explore other routes.

There weren’t any. A quick river crossing netted us zero progress; a cruise through someone’s private property didn’t help either. The sun was inching closer and closer to the horizon, and we were out of options. We had hoped to reach our next campsite by this point but instead were forced to retreat and start from scratch.

We learned of this scenic route during a typical intelgathering session with some of our fellow overlanders. At most of the well-known campgrounds, travellers are usually found hunched together over paper maps, zealously scrutinizing potential routes with a glass of wine or cold brew clasped in one hand and a black marker or neon yellow highlighter in the other. During this particular session there must have been more malbec sloshing down our gullets than usual, and as we later discovered, there is no road that circumnavigates the Cotopaxi Volcano. However, if you drive 180 kilometres south, you can experience a lovely, relaxing, and scenic drive around Chimborazo Volcano. You know, that other volcano in Ecuador that starts with a C. I’m not going to lie, we weren’t super enthusiastic about driving four more hours on rough roads back to the same place we had started from that morning. Fortunately, the iOverlander app listed a hotel back in the park offering camping Continued on page 134

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