Climbing through millennia of sediment formed by wind and rain in Canyonlands, Utah. What was once a great sea of dunes hardened into rock that the Navajo’s believed the gods coloured with turquoise, abalone, jet and white shell.
Eore in Utah in the late 1990’s.
My brother finds his way across the rocky bottom of the Urique River just north of the town of the same name.
Our two vehicle convoy followed two tire tracks that meandered with the shadows of daylight and the river along the canyon floor. We dropped down a bank onto a soft-sandbar to pitch our tents and burn driftwood into the late evening.
Barranca Del Cobre, Chihuahua, Mexico in the early 1990’s.
Winnie the Pooh looks adoringly at my travel stained Eore - streetside in San Felipe, BC, Mexico.
Baja in the late 1990’s with "Eore" the Series III Land Rover 88".
There was a desert - low vegetation in muted colours stretching off for endless, uninterrupted miles. There was palm trees and beach sand where white-capped blue and rock met in gentle swells or a violent clawing. At the borders and towns the car horns, the cook smells, the woodsmoke and shops appeared more vibrant when struggling to decipher passing conversation.
Here it was quite but for the bird calls and insect buzz that where unrecognizable. The trees were green but the leaves, the shades of green and the density were unfamiliar. Even the mist draped hills were of a lighter, ripple textured grey rock - reaching higher and closing in on our stop. We made lunch with the unfamiliar weight of rings on our fingers and marvelled at the changes in our lives time and distance had made.
Honeymooning with Eore, the Series III 88”, on the road to Central America in 2006.
"Dos"
"Dos Horas?"
"No - no, no - Dos dias"
He was weatherd in jeans with the grey Pemex-patch, button-down shirt and an unforgettable smile. Two fingers and the “dias”convinced my brother and I to refuel from our fuel Jerrys.
Heading north in my NAS D90 in the early 90’s to cross into the US at Agua Prieta.
Short on fuel in Creel, Barranca del Cobre - Mexico.
Rain water passed through lowland Belize quickly - finding unpredictable and often destructive routes from the pine highlands to the coastline. By late afternoon the skies were blue over Eore, my 88” Land Rover, left idling on a flooded road.
The water ahead was rough and picked up speed. I approached cautiously on foot and could feel the pull of the flow and see bridge trusses struggling to stay above the surface.
Prudence took me back north to find a cold Belikin Beer and discuss alternative roads south. In Central America in the early 2000's.
Expedition, Overland, Car Camping - I have always got a kick out of the debate. I understand the value of the terminology for product marketers, the accredited and authorities. For myself - since the 1990’s - traveling is road-trippin’ and trail running is 4-wheelin’. And, when I say 4-wheelin’, I mean 4 wheelin’ in the Rick Russel, 1990’s VHS tape “if you ain’t been stuck, you ain’t been wheelin’” 4-wheelin’.
My book collection contains the photographed published in 1975. “Trans-Africa Motoring” - motoring is probably an apt description for Land Rover travel. Motoring evokes an era when the vehicle required a level attention that made it a member of the travel party. There is an elegance to the term motoring. This summer - the family and I are going motoring; very civilized.
We were in motion since early morning - the rattle of fuel cans on washboard road, the pitching through potholes, the passing kaleidoscope of palm flat leaves and low, limestone hills of lush green and grey rock.
We found lastingness and stillness on Belize’s Hummingbird highway on a rusty old rail bridge under a still sky of fluffy clouds and blue. With the river lazy and far below us - lastingness and stillness was worth finding for newlyweds looking forward, down the road to their goals and dreams.
Michelle and I in Eore, our Series III 88”, honeymooning on our road through Mexico, Belize and Guatemala in ‘04.
Wind whipped, mosquito bitten, sleep deprived with a few weeping leech bites - but still smiling. Sharing our love of the outdoors and travel was always a priority for Michelle and I. It’s a very proud moment when your child is inspired by those moments and makes the passion her own.
Astrid paddling in the Kipawa region of Quebec, Canada on a multi-week canoe trip this past summer. Camp Tawingo offers this Wilderness Journey to campers who achieve a level of outdoors proficiency and apply for the trip. Astrid joins my sister as the second family member to complete this all girl journey. Yes, Astrid, your mother and I respect the grind.
Wishing everyone peace and liberty this Christmas and holiday season.
With three or four thousand miles and two borders behind us there was a halting finality to hitting blue ocean and the gentle, counter motion of the surf; at least for a few days. Quick to hand priorities in our Land Rover became towels and flip flops with hiking boots moving further into those little storage cavities between Jerry cans and storage boxes.
After a short walk to a fish taco stand we returned to our laundry drying in an onshore breeze and a quick doze in a swaying hammock. Under a pink sky, MIchelle and I watched our daughter, Astrid, make the most of the final hour of daylight in the surf. We’d fall asleep in a cooling onshore breeze with sea salt on our skin and wake early to a full, joyous sun.
Michelle, Astrid and I in Brighty, our Land Rover 110, parked on the Gulf of Mexico in 2019.
Prepping our old Land Rover in the alley behind Terry and Lynn’s “American Outfitters” in San Diego, California. In those days I used a Swepco straight 90 weight for the gears. It was thick and black as tar - but in the heat radiating off the concrete and the sand there'd be less spit out onto the back door.
Nervous energy in coveralls. We left early the following morning to sit in the traffic and the relative cool at the Tijuana border. With a border guard's disinterested waive - there'd be a mad building of engine revolutions and motion as 6 lanes of traffic dumped down to two - then under a muraled concrete bridge on a sweeping left-hander, past the streetmeat vendors and the honking mad cab drivers in determined VW Beetles.
Michelle and I - Baja, Mexico bound in the early 2000’s.
A short hike from camp. In a natural cove of sand and washed up seaweed. On the lee side of a skeletal finger of rock emerging and disappearing from the pounding surf and pointing out to sea. Astrid braves the winds of an incoming storm to stake her claim. A warning to the Knarrs lurking unseen in the rolling black and grey horizon.
Michelle, Astrid and I traveling in Newfoundland, Canada in Brighty - the family Land Rover 110.
A quiet morning on a forest road. Sipping coffee made on an old Optima hiker stove in a light rain we could hear in the tree tops, but that only made its way to the forest floor in large, infrequent, dispersed drops.
The conversation, under a break in the clouds and the canopy, concerned how cold we thought the water would be for a swim in a pool under a small, rock-ledge waterfall.
Michelle, Astrid and I traveling in northern Ontario, Canada - 3 across the bench seat of Eore, the Series III Land Rover.
The rain that had chased us north from Toronto, Canada gave way to sunshine by early afternoon. It left muddy puddles on exposed Canadian shield but did little to alter the depth or current of the rivers we crossed.
Michelle, Astrid and I found a spot to spend a few days in the sweet smelling pines. Where the stars had full reign over the night sky when viewed from a rock outcropping into a still lake.
Travelling in northern Ontario, Canada in Brighty the Land Rover 110.
The hustle of market day - the vivid colours and lively conversations were jarring after days in an old Land Rover on lonely roads. We sat and observed from a low stone wall between a church and the crowd. The bell tower stood tall behind us - a sanctuary of calm in the bustle.
The square breathed woodsmoke perfumed by the flower vendors and the sticky smell of sizzling meat. We caught bits of gossip in Spanish and listened for the phrase-book familiar in the spoken Yucatec while the roosters clucked their last rights.
Michelle and I - Honeymooning in our old Series III Land Rover, Eore, in Guatemala.
Stacking stones for an off-camber climb in northern Ontario, Canada. Where rough tracks lead to secluded lakes and loon calls sound the fading light.
Astrid is keeping an old family tradition alive - addressing basic safety only after a near miss - by stacking stones in flip-flops. A long weekend "up north" in 2017.
My brother and I change a grumbling water pump in the San Diego, California alley behind Terry and Lynn’s American Outfitters in the early 2000’s. Michelle was inside listening to the stories of Terry’s Vietnam days, or his trucking days, or the tales behind the guns in his closet or the ordnance hanging from the roof of his shop. We should be a few days down the road to Colorado, but Eore, our Series III Land Rover, had been rode hard and put away wet - one time too many.
A cheap flight to San Diego in our “travel and store” years allowed us to escape the Canadian winters to our overland packed, roadtrippin’ Land Rover. Baja, Barranca del Cobre, a new years celebration in the the California desert; Eore was happy when he was moving, but no Land Rover likes to sit. American Outfitters was a always a home away from home run by two of the bigger characters in our lives - a great shop run by generous people.
Coolin’ on some low Sea of Cortez dunes to the distant sounds of the surf. In 3 or 4 days Michelle and I will cross at Tecate. Eore, our Series III Land Rover, will be covered in bulldust - and I’ll be a few shades redder and wearing the same overland-chic with my roadtrippin’ smile; nobody’s sending this clown to secondary border inspection.
Baja, Mexico in the early 2000’s.
Coffee stop in the long shadows of morning. A few days in San Miguel de Allende on the road north meant coffee without powdered milk off a camp stove, coffee that wasn’t 75% sugar in gas station glass bottles and nobody calling me “grumps” for the first few hours of the day.
Michelle, Astrid and I - road trippin’ in Brighty the Land Rover 110.
Brunch stop in preparation for a long, stifling transit day on a Carretera Federal in southeastern Mexico. Between toll booths we’ll cross tall bridges over lazy rivers and pass armoured convoys of Pemex fuel trucks. On steep climbs through lush forrest we’ll jockey with 18 wheelers - each driver in a private dance with our power bands.
We’ll also eat dried fruit and nuts, drink piss-warm gatorade and pass around a cup of awful liquid cheese, mayonnaise and corn while arguing about who insisted we buy it at a stand by a fuel stop. You bought it - you finish it.
On the road south in Mexico with Astrid, Michelle and I in “Brighty” the Land Rover 110, 2019.
I may be the guy with the map but everyone had an opinion about where I went wrong. The guy with a beer standing by his idling chicken bus - and way too happy to be sober and way too drunk to steer a guy wrong - told me I was headed in the right direction. The road was now paved and not dirt, and paved roads always go somewhere with diesel and a meal in rural Guatemala.
Overlanding with the family in Brighty the Land Rover 110, 2019.
There was a time I considered myself far too conservative to embrace the “mankini.” It is a common sight in high-humidity, rural Guatemala. This is a photo of an early attempt, and I am proud to admit that I later mastered the techniques and luxuriated in any available breeze.
In this particular photo my fold is messy, uneven, and the obvious appearance of my boxer underwear, I later learned, is newb and offensive. If you see me climbing out my Land Rover's in my “mankini” glory - I am just being worldly.
Michelle, Astrid and I - overlanding in Central America with Brighty in 2019.
A cautionary tale from a trip to Baja, Mexico with Gatorade crystals in my Med bag @ Gatorade - Saviour or Idiot's Placebo.
The prize for the antique vehicle award I won at the Overland NTH Rally event - a soft shackle and low friction ring. These were both donated by Afriad Knot Ropes - a Canadian owned company supplying a variety of synthetic recovery gear.
I have used synthetic winch lines and kinetic recovery straps for a number of years. A low friction ring has been on my purchase list since the first time I watched my synthetic winch line work its way around my aging Warn snatch block. Unfortunately, this purchase list always comes secondary to the Land Rover's parts demands. Soft Shackles have also been on my wish list for their low weight and the number of safety advantages they provide. This was a much appreciated prize that I look forward to using. Thank you - Afraid Knot Ropes - for supporting the off roader, road tripper and overlanding community (read more about my Overand NTH experience in a previous blog post.)
The ease of those youthful years where the direction was always clear, and we moved together with the boldness of never questioning the certainty that we were right. Toronto, Canada bound from San Diego, California by way of some Colorado mountain passes. Down the north eastern slopes to the flatland’s long, straight interstate; we were moving at 45 miles per hour through corn tassels blowing in unison with the breeze. Moving east, to the fast pace of the big cities, the border lines and the march down the isle at our wedding. Two kids moving forward together - our direction so clear it was as if we were led by the sun and guided by a field of sunflowers. The boldness and certainty fades with age and experience; we - we were fated to end up together.
Merry Christmas from the 3 of us to the visitors of our page, and our best wishes for the New Year.
I think what makes this event unique is the venue - a disused runway located in Huntsville, Ontario. It limits everything to a thin strip of pavement lined with home-built campers, ground tents and trucks modified with overland products from around the globe. The campfires and conversation that inevitably result are interspersed with vendors, many selling their own "made in Canada" products, who also camp using their wares for the weekend. What results is a community feel as attendees walk from fire to fire, up and down the runway to discuss travel plans and gear.
Eore and I attended as representatives of the good folks at Toronto’s Red Bear Outdoors and won the Antique Vehicle category. A recommended weekend out.
September 26th I went to my local hospital’s ER with balance issues and double vision. I assumed I’d be on my way home after the standard 5 hour wait with a prescription for antibiotics to address a flu related sinus infection. 12 hours later I couldn’t summon the strength to stand up from my ER chair. Half hour later a Neurologist diagnosed me with Guillain-Barré Syndrome (GBS). 5 hours later I lost motor control of my tongue which slid back into my throat requiring emergency intubation.
If I could sum up the 6 weeks of hospitalization and 3 weeks at a rehab facility that followed in one word it would be humbled. Humbled by the love of my wife and daughter. Humbled by the dedication of family who traveled from far and wide to see me through the worst of it. Humbled by the generosity of new and old friends. Humbled by the dedication and caring of many of the medical professionals I encountered. Finally, I was humbled by the frailty of the human body.
It was my goal to be home for Christmas - and I am home. I have a long road ahead trying to rebuild the strength and mobility I have lost, but I am also thankful that in a relatively short time for GBS sufferers I am on that journey. Back home for Chistmas and back to Land Rover’s and road trips…
A quick but dry and shady, practical look at awning designs and our advice @ Rollin' Out the Two Pole Awning.
Rain soaked, we broke camp in the morning. We packed away our sleeping bags and draped our wet tent over the stowed gear in the back. The forecast called for sun in the afternoon, so we spent the morning hours following forrest tracks deeper into the pine, maple and oak.
Muddy puddles gathered in the hollows exposed from the forrest canopy. We were quiet and sleepy behind the warmth of the engine, the patter of rain on the bare aluminum roof, and the rhythmic slap of the wiper blades. Ferns and the moss that grows thick on the exposed rock of the Canadian shield lined the track - guarding the way off into the trees. We passed the pungent smell of water logged, swampy earth - the cat tails and the milkweed. The warning slap of a beavers tail on water drew our eyes to the packed wood and dirt of a dam up a nearby river.
We were lulled in the afternoon sunshine by the sound of water giving way to the slow progress of a wooden canoe, and the swirl of paddles pulled through lake water. Flowering lily pads lined the shores of our lake where Eore, the Land Rover, waited with our drying tent and freeze-dried spaghetti to be boiled over a hissing gas stove for diner.
COVID Couch Traveling (CCT) - Michelle and I dating not far from home with Eore, our Land Rover Series III, in Northern Ontario, Canada in the early 2000's.
After days of running coastal tracks we were disoriented without the navigation aid of a big, blue ocean. The two-track wound wildly and undulated through highland desert Cholla, Viejita and the tall green trunks of the Boojum.
The LCD of our Garmin GPS III Plus showed a lone triangle in an empty expanse. At times we’d catch glimpses of MEX 1 in a corner or bisecting the top of the screen; a single black line that confirmed we were moving in the right direction.
We took comfort from the slosh of fuel and water in our jerry cans, the rattle of forward motion, and the movement of air through the windows and dash vents. We were insignificant in a seemingly endless landscape - two kids in an old Land Rover on a desolate track - but through the quiet familiarity and sporadic conversation we had a growing appreciation of the importance of each of us to the other.
COVID Couch Traveling (CCT) - Michelle and I with Eore, our Land Rover Series III, in Baja, Mexico on our first mini-break in the early 2000's.
Stopped on our Honeymoon road south to put our toes in the sand and the Caribbean. Arriving from the heat of a highland Belize afternoon, we were spoiled in a candlelight’s glint off cutlery, a tablecloth and table wine.
We disappeared in the daytime to offshore coral reefs. Cool and washed clean of our road grime, we mimicked fantastic creatures dancing through the shafts of sunlight penetrating the forever swaying water.
Barefoot in the evenings, we danced to Air Supply and held each other close. Late into the night, I chased the sweat down the smooth swell of a cocktail glass - down the stem to the foot and back.
After a few days we missed the routine of the road. Eore was waiting - dusty, lonely but patient in the carpark.
COVID Couch Traveling (CCT) - Michelle and I with Eore, our Land Rover Series III, in Belize at the Kanantik resort during the fall of 2004.
Through the dust cloud of a passing chicken bus - cooling in the breeze of speed and relaxing in the rattle of a well trodden washboard road. Michelle put down the map she’d gripped with white-knuckles for hours as I turned on the headlights for the dust from the traffic. Astrid spotted a road sign, and her anxious and hopeful mention of anything that could be a town returned to pointing out animals and joking at her fathers expense.
Across a dusty-road valley of lush green and over a single-lane suspension bridge painted yellow and streaked with rust - all of us rode in the unspoken relief of finding our way. All that was left that we needed was a tienda with Orange Fanta in glass bottles.
COVID Couch Traveling (CCT) - Michelle, Astrid and I with Brighty, the Land Rover 110, in Guatemala during the summer of 2019.
I was selfish and sheepish in the dash-light. The headlights were just aglow in the heavy fog and our path just a solid white line on our right but broken on the left - materializing and disappearing a single strip at a time.
I had slept for a few hours on the ferry crossing from Newfoundland and drove into New Brunswick rested and restless. We ate a late dinner at 9:00 pm. It was heavy, greasy road food and Michelle and Astrid quickly fell asleep in the warmth and drone of our old Land Rover.
I drove on, though we had agreed to stop. It was stupid in the fog. Roadsigns warned of Moose crossing the highway. I imagined them stopping to take a breath on solid ground; to gaze at the stars and the moon in a horizon clear of the treetops. I wouldn’t see them until it was too late tonight. But, heading home always feels like downhill, and driving in the dark, quiet brought back memories of being free on empty roads.
In the Quebec sunrise the fog was gone, and I stopped for diesel at a station at the bottom of a long tree lined hill. I woke Michelle with my door latch - but Astrid remained asleep under the fuel-stop fluorescents on the downhill leg home.
COVID Couch Traveling (CCT). Brighty, the 110 Land Rover, Michelle, Astrid and I roadtripping to Newfoundland in 2016.
In the long shadows of late afternoon, but short on the day's mileage and heavy with fuel and water. That delicate dance of making time and staying off the bump stops. Through the deep-trough washboard that forms in coarse, soft sand; through the steep drops and boulder strewn climbs out of river washes; through the gentle cooling, and the solitude of the need to find a place to sleep in a suddenly desolate place.
Later, a breeze will work its way through the Ocotillo and flutter the hissing flame boiling my beans. I’ll wrap them in San Felipe flour tortillas - absorbed in the rough coast of the distant Sea of Cortez, and my notes on love in Hemingway that will have to become a coherent paper when I get home - sunburned and idealistic.
COVID Couch Traveling (CCT). Eore, the Series III Land Rover, and I procrastinating in Baja, Mexico in during the mid 1990's.
For days we dropped down and climbed rock ledges where tires scrambled for traction amongst towering buttes and canyon faces of stacked, fluid layers of pinks, reds and beiges. In the fading light of the evenings, bats wove through our tents, and the wind eroded spires and rock shapes on the horizon that became eagles taking flight, howling coyotes and defiant Navajos.
One morning we set out on foot in the shade of rock formed into giant petrified mushrooms, we squeezed through slot canyons and echoed through cool wind caves. We meandered through a meadow of soil crusted over with the secretions of algae and fungi and baked under the desert sun for hundreds of years. Where the trail ended, we stood like giants on a cliff face. Over a thousand feet below us the Green and Colorado rivers clashed with the violence and persistence that carved these very canyons over unfathomable periods of time.
Running out of time, Eore moved quickly on two tracks through a valley of swaying green grasses growing from red soil, and between canyon walls painted with the hand prints of an ancient people. They ended at a steep, rocky and eroded climb. Eore bucked, lurched and spun his tires over the loose track. We clung to the canyon and climbed straight into blue sky. Back to the black top, back to the rush to make the most of the hours in a day.
COVID Couch Traveling (CCT). My buddy Moe in his NAS Defender 90 and Eore, the Series III Land Rover, and I in Canyonlands, Utah during the late 1990's.
The Norns had brought this kid from the evergreens to within a few hours drive from this place.
Eore’s little 4 cylinder struggled to make the speed limit through low hills of familiar looking pine to the crest of a mountain saddle. Below, a rain-shadow desert stretched from the jagged foot of the range to a vista that looked like stillness forever to a kid used to struggling to see through swaying trees.
I made camp in a canyon of wind caves. In the upper elevations the rock was smooth, like it had been shaped by a gentle and persistent hand. At its base, it was violently gouged by a chaotic flow that dislodged and discarded haphazardly strewn boulders.
The drive in started in river wash sand. I climbed and descended through patches of exposed rock to hard packed soil and pebbles left in the wake of the water rushing from the mountain. I made camp among scurrying lizards and a small rattlesnake that disappeared among the hearty plants sheltered on the downriver side of the larger boulders.
COVID Couch Traveling (CCT). Henry and Eore, the Series III Land Rover, camped in Anza Borrego, California during the mid 1990's.
Some devout soul had made the Virgin of Guadalupe part of the rock on the roadside. Her luminosity increased from the sombre colours of northern depictions - she was holy, inescapable. She held her rosary in the wind through the canyon, over the bridge and the flowing water hundreds of feet below.
Michelle crossed herself as our aging Land Rover climbed up on the weathered wood, laid on rusted steel girders that spanned rock eroded over millennia. The bridge shifted and squeaked under our turning wheels. Neither of us spoke until we reached the other side.
Back In the comfort of our dust cloud and the familiar rattles of forward progress we sought the grace of strangers, the love in each other and mercy for the faithful on the road ahead.
Couch traveling in the COVID 3rd wave with a hope for spring in Toronto, Canada. Michelle, Henry and Eore, our 1974 Land Rover 88", roadtrippin' in Copper Canyon, Mexico during the early 2000's.
Water in motion and the seabirds of the Pacific had been our world for two days. We swam in its thunderous swell, burned its driftwood under the stars and slept above the shoreline with its salt on our skin.
On the morning of the third, we drove beach sand, scrambled up and down low sea cliffs and followed two tire tracks eastward until the Pacific disappeared in the rearview mirror.
In town we shopped for a short list of provisions. Before stepping off a curb, we waited as empty glass bottles rattled past in a Pepsi truck. At a Mercado, we picked fresh tomatoes, avocado and peppers from woven baskets arranged on a spotless, red ochre tile floor.
Across the town square, an aging speaker crackled at the peaks and troughs of guitar and violin melodies in the cantina where we ate fish tacos and condensation caressed our cold Tecate bottles. In a tortilleria, our senses swam in the sweet wood smoke as four women mixed dough, pushed rolling pins and flipped corn tortillas while gossiping in that Spanish lilt.
We left town in late afternoon with a plan to head south and eastward in the direction of the Sea of Cortez. We'd follow a dirt road to sleep on a deserted stretch of beach, or make camp up an arroyo in the fading light.
Couch traveling in the COVID 3rd wave with a hope for spring in Toronto, Canada. Michelle, Henry and Eore, our 1974 Land Rover 88", roadtrippin' in Baja, Mexico during the early 2000's.
The dust settled and the rattling stopped on a concrete bridge over a large body of still water. Traffic in the mid hours of afternoon was Eore, the Land Rover, pitching in and out of potholes and hopping over washboard road, and a restless herd of 5 goats baaing and butting heads about half an hour back.
I stopped at the bridge's centre. With my legs dangling over the edge, I wrapped leftover Fu-fu, a dish of boiled and mashed plantains, in handmade corn tortillas and searched the mirky depths and the shoreline for crocodiles. The only movement was the lazy approach of a great white Egret. It settled gracefully on a tree limb no thicker than its long legs and watched me, watching it while I chewed.
Couch traveling in the COVID 3rd wave while isolating with a hope for spring in Toronto, Canada. Henry and our Eore, the 1974 Land Rover 88", roadtrippin' on a Belizean dirt road in the late 1990's.
The snow fell shortly after breaking camp. It didn’t creep up a mountain valley or start with a few blowing flakes; it simply fell, and the world was white. At times rock was visible - jagged, eroded and protruding into the track ahead. Other times, towering shapes loomed above like a shadow.
I tracked the corners of the switchbacks by the piles of displaced rocks that lined the track, and I kept Eore slow and hugged the mountainside. Disoriented, at times I could only tell if we were climbing or descending by the sound of the lugging engine or the whine of a dragging low gear. It was still early, and I hoped the weather let up before the snow piled too deep, or it was time to find a place for a tent.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating with a hope for spring on a sunny Toronto, Canada day - Henry and Eore, the 1974 Land Rover 88", on a snowy mountain pass in Colorado, USA in the mid 1990's.
When the motor stopped spinning I was overcome by the silence and the stillness. I was content in the relative cool of morning, and a few hours down two tire tracks from waking up drowsy in a sleeping bag, a warm tea, an apple and a five day old supermarket croissant.
The red butte loomed over a land of low desert scrub in a contrasting blue, cloudless sky. My world was still as a picture. In the moments that passed, all of my senses were consumed by the enormity of the landscape. Then movement betrayed a breeze weaving through the limbs of the sagebrush. I closed my eyes and felt it on my face, heard it rustle across the plain and dance along the cracks and ridges of the face of a nearby mesa to find freedom in playful eddies through the open sky.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Henry and Eore, the 1974 Land Rover 88", in Utah during the late 1990's.
At speed, and enclosed in the green of the forest, where pebbles kicked up from the dirt track made that all too familiar “clank” in the wheel wells, we were comfortable in our forward motion.
When the foliage opened the blue sky of morning was gone. The spiced breeze carried the weight of the incoming rain, and the smell of the jungle, undecipherable and foreign to our senses, deepened with the grey of the sky. By a bend in the road, ya’axche (a Ceiba Tree) bridged the underworld and the realm of the gods - and in the clearing on our track, in our plane of existence the shapes and shades of green appeared more primal and threatening.
Michelle grabbed the map off the dash as I checked the trip odometer, and we continued confidently, together, down the road by the Ceiba tree.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Henry, Michelle and Eore, the 1974 Land Rover 88", Honeymooning in Belize during their big loop roadtrip through Mexico, Belize and Guatemala, 2004.
With the engine off, the octave range subdued by the drone of the 2.25 petrol engine reached a crescendo with the forests croaks, pops and drawn out whirrs. The higher pitched insect buzz and bird warbles and whistles combined with the lows and the stillness to drown my senses in concert with the weight of the humidity.
Perched on the tire on the hood, I scanned the jungle to find each distinct noise. The sound was constant, and the unfamiliar shapes of the dense foliage never betrayed their sources. I heard the chuckling of a laughing falcon and caught the movement of a branch and a flash of fleeing red before closing my eyes. Breathing deeply, the breeze brought that unmistakable smell of damp, rich earth spiced with what smelled like nutmeg and a tangy sweetness.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Henry and Eore, the 1974 Land Rover 88", bumming around Belize in 2000.
The river cleaved the canopy of predominately pine and maple, and we paused in sunlight and clear, running water under blue sky. Then back into the forest where our Land Rover pitched wildly and scrambled for traction over exposed Canadian shield only to descend into mirky, stagnant pools of mud and churn forward with the hope of harder ground.
I was sheepish in the heavy dew of morning while I made coffee. There was the rhythmic breathing of my wife and daughter in the tent behind me, the constant hiss of my gas stove and the scurry of a chipmunk around the periphery of our camp. The track was tougher than I’d normally attempt as a single vehicle. Michelle had been her nervous quiet, as I focused on each obstacle while losing site of the track as a whole; I couldn’t see the forrest for the trees.
By midday the sun had burned off the dew of the encroaching fall. After a hike in the cool of morning, we swam in a lake where the only sounds carried over the breeze rippled surface were our own. The drive out was tomorrows problem.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Michelle, Astrid, Henry and Brighty, the Land Rover 110, in northern Ontario, Canada in 2017.
It was the cold, wet and the sound of drips falling on my sleeping bag, the tent floor and the more hollow thud on the exposed bits of air mattress that woke me. Above me, the blue sky of morning was obscured - first by the mesh of the tent top, and then the heavy fog moving inland from the Sea of Cortez.
Yesterday, I had washed off the sweat from the relentless sun with a damp washcloth. Standing in an arroyo, beyond the last of the day's light, I had stumbled to erect my tent under the stars of a moonless sky. I shivered this morning, but I breathed deeply to draw relief from the unexpected moisture into my lungs.
Around me, the Baja desert absorbed the gift rolling inland through spindly stems lined by tiny leaves that reached ridiculous heights from a small purchase in the sand. Barrel shapes swelled while protected by thick spikes and low bushes used dense thorns to grab and trap the fleeting moisture. Ridiculous adaptations that survived a land of extremes - I was in awe of the beauty in my fragility.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Henry and Eore, the Land Rover Series III, overlanding in Baja, Mexico in the late 1990's.
50 meters from soft sand to pitch a tent on just above the Sea of Cortez’s tide line. Where the sky will turn pink over a hissing gas stove cooking mac and cheese seasoned with a can of tuna. Where naked, we will greet the morning strolling a deserted beach and find relief from the heat of the afternoon in the swelling waters.
But first - 50 meters, 50 shovel fulls of sand and a few full throttle runs for an old 4 cylinder motivated to churn its mud tires through the soft sand and call it a day.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Michelle, Henry and Eore, the Land Rover Series III, overlanding in Baja, Mexico in the early 2000's.
Before the dirt track, softened by afternoon rains and scared by lumber trucks belching acrid diesel into sweet highland pine, there was this concrete bridge over a lowland river.
Everything moved slowly in the midday heat. The lazy river flowed through large stones and around the bridge’s concrete footings to disappear into lush broadleaf forests. Flip-flops were left on the bridge and clothes on the footing, close to hand - and the miles, worry and insecurities disappeared down stream with the secrets of the ruins of Caracol.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Michelle, Henry and Eore, the Land Rover Series III, Honeymooning in Central America, 2004.
After a long day in the back of an old Land Rover playing leapfrog with heavy transport trucks on a potholed, northbound road - heaven is a pair of rubber boots and a spongy field of crawling, woody flora clinging to moss covered rock and hiding cloudberries.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Michelle, Astrid, Henry and Brighty, the Land Rover 110, camped for the day in Northern Newfoundland, 2016.
Running from the commotion at the Chetumal border - Belize’s old Northern Highway was red, rich earth that had collected still and mirky puddles from the morning’s rain.
The Caribbean sun was directly overhead as I crossed a savannah of swaying grasses and quickstick trees. There was heat, humidity and the lazy, steady drone of Eore’s little 4 cylinder - but no relief in a shadow at the Sun God’s tomb nor shade in the hills and lowland broadleaf forests heading south.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Henry and Eore, the Series III Land Rover, roadtrippin' in Central America in the early 2000's.
Pausing in a shaft of light through the gathering storm clouds of afternoon. Batopilas had felt like a powder keg. Michelle and I tossed our gear in Eore, the Land Rover, shortly after a schoolie opened its doors to the town square releasing a grim procession of uniformed and plain clothes Federales.
With little interest in the promises of the coming political candidate we started the long climb out of the deep canyon. Late afternoon was cleansed by a dousing, lazy rain.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Michelle, Henry and Eore - the Series III Land Rover - overlanding in the Barranca Del Cobre region of Mexico in the early 2000's.
Guat to Mexico at the Ciudad Hidalgo border was sweat soaked by the heat and humidity of late afternoon. Industrial floor fans circulated the odour of this human experience with moments of gut-churning, sticky sweetness when the perfumed saught relief at the source of the swirling air.
Our passports and documents were caught in the bureaucratic breeze and made their way from uniform to perplexed uniform - then disappeared to a back office for 42 minutes.
That was all a few hours behind us now. Our Defender 110 “Brighty” was racing the sinking sun through lush low hills. The day was cooling, and the breeze carried hints of the pacific’s salt air. Ahead of us was a campsite steps from the pounding surf under a sky of pinks and purples. In the rearview mirror, our daughter, Astrid’s, dirty toes whistled in the cooling breeze.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - the family in our Land Rover 110 "Brighty" - summer roadtrippin' in 2019.
Finding graded dirt and dodging backhoes and pickaxe wielding road workers on what our maps indicated was unimproved road through Guatemalan foothills. Part of me was disappointed - the part that months before had studied a winding road through tight topo lines and imagined a long day of rough, lonely dirt tracks. Another part of me lives in these moments and feels the distance from home, minds the fuel gauge, listens to our Land Rover’s little 2.25 and eyes the grey clouds congregating overhead.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Michelle, our Land Rover Series III Eore, and Henry honeymooning a big loop through Mexico, Belize and Guatemala in late 2004.
With bellies full of peanut butter and jam on handmade flour tortillas we rejoined the lane headed due south. This sign was our welcome to the sierras of the native Tarahumara peoples of Mexico.
83 kilometers. I pushed Eore, the Land Rover’s, 4 cylinder to an indicated 70 kph as the shadows deepened, and the fields turned golden. Life was as simple as a direction, the day's destination, and the happiness and excitement apparent in the hand in my hand.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Michelle, our Land Rover Series III, and Henry headed into the Barranca del Cobre canyons in Chihuahua, Mexico in the early 2000's.
Away from the constant movement of the impossibly blue Sea of Cortez. The squinting against the sunlight reflecting off the wind rippled rise and fall where Pelicans plunged for the unsuspecting swimming below the surface.
The desert was stillness and muted colours. I took the long road towards the saddle of a low mountain range. My old Land Rover rattled and squeaked until the rocks on the road turned to finer grains while I took long pulls off warm Coronas. In the long shadows of afternoon, I picked my way between the boulders of an Arroyo to a soft place for a sleeping bag.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Eore, our Series III, and Henry clowning around in Baja, Mexico in the late 1990's.
I have posted a new story from the road.
This tale finds Eore and myself southbound in the Yucatan, Mexico in the early 2000's - sucking the marrow out of that fruit of knowledge. @Dinas, Tequilas and the Serpent...
Inspired by Go Fast Campers Superlite RTT, I share some thoughts on rooftop sleeping from the perspective of a Canadian road-tripper with a few Latin American miles . @Rooftents and the GFC Superlite Concept...
As a Christmas gift to myself - I have parted ways with Instagram and Tumblr. My accounts were created to share travel and Land Rover inspiration with family, friends and like minded people. At the time of my departure I followed over 2000 accounts and had some meaningful exchanges with people I had never met. Of the many reasons to abandon it all - here are my two most compelling.
The Algorithm... My feed was increasingly skewing away from the content I had “liked” and posters I had interacted with in the chronological feed days. Too often I sought out accounts I hadn’t heard from in awhile to find I had missed months worth of their posts. In their place was advertising, sponsored content, influencers and the companies I had followed. I get it - these are businesses - and I have no problem with people making a buck. But, for the time I was willing to commit to the platforms I was not getting enough of what I wanted back.
Blogs and Forums still exist... Prior to Insta and Tumblr, my allotted thumb flipping time was spent on personal blogs and some forums. These still exist, and the truth obscured by the flow of photos is that the time spent is much more entertaining, informative and rewarding. In addition, opinions are shared free of platform censorship, and the influence of the growing portion of the population in the delusion that they must save us all from ourselves.
The much anticipated 2020 Defender has been released. Read the unsolicited opinions of a longtime travelling Land Rover Defender driver. @2020 Defender. In short, we wanted the Milenium Falcon, and Land Rover built the starship Enterprise.
We had seen two riders on horseback, but that was over an hour ago. We had kept to the two tire tracks through fast and loose sand, rutted rock and down steep, dusty declines.
The bridge before us was disintegrating concrete spanning a deep gorge. The guardrails hung off the side on exposed rebar skeleton fingers, and the expansion joints varied from 2 to 6 inches. Through the gaps, the river ambled innocuously below.
There was some debate amongst my wife, daughter and I whether the dick was the work of some vaquero Casanova or meant as some universal sign that those attempting to cross were about to get f——-ed... We crossed to a chorus of giggles from my 13 year old in the backseat of Brighty the Land Rover 110.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Family roadtrip - 2019.
UPDATE - My brothers Hummer was recovered. Thank you to all the instagram reposters and well wishers getting the word out and hoping for a speedy recovery. Was stolen December 1st 2020 at 5 am in Surrey, BC.
From little feet and little steps through insecurities and accomplishments; another year into the teen years. Photographed in central Mexico in an outfit that, while I packed the Land Rover in Toronto, Canada, I advised there would be no occasion to wear. On a hike where I advised it would provide no protection from the sun, the bugs and the rain. My influence may wane, but my pride never will. Happy Birthday.
Our traditional post - We grabbed what was quick to hand and made haste to follow this one’s trail in the morning frost on a cut hayfield. In another half hour the sun would have cleared the pines, and the tracks it left to the forest at the fields edge.
It was moving quickly - making no effort to cover its slithering ooze through the fallen leaves, or the cuts in the trees from its flailing stem. We tracked it to a shallow creek to find scraped lichen on a tree limb and stones disturbed in the creek bed; it was moving east. Astrid took one bank and I the other - watching for any sign of its flight from the running water.
Around a bend we found it trapped by a fallen pine. Cornered, it chose the smallest of us and charged with a banshee’s wale. It was a mistake. Astrid always holds grandpa’s double barrel on her hip with a calculated steadiness. Behind her smile is a bubbling cauldron of rage and teenage angst that always squeezes both triggers, drops both hammers to fire both barrels at the same time. Boom. A pained scream of rage.
It stumbled and charged me - oozing from hundreds of birdshot sized holes. I crouched and held my bowie knife in its path of travel, the pommel firm in the palm of my left hand. I staggered with the impact but held its dying gaze, and the angle of my blade to let its own weight drag it to the ground.
Jack-o-Lanterns death face is now glowing on our door step - its bones roasted in cinnamon and in our bellys. Let the terror of its visage keep the witches, the goblins, the ghosts and the other horrors of the night at bay this Halloween.
I have entered the OEM rubber versus Polyurethane bushing debate from the perspective of a Land Rover wanderer and driveway mechanic.
Read about the install and my thoughts @Polyurethane Bushings.
The head navigator departs our rain-soaked camp for a Recce. She floats on whispers of - "when I grow up, I am going to get a Unicorn floaty..."
Happy 50th Range Rover... Here is a photo of a late 1970’s 2 door that belonged to my brother. There are a lot of great memories tied to this tough, reliable Land Rover spanning from Mexico to northern Ontario, Canada. Here it is pictured on our trip to Canyonlands, Utah with my brother at the wheel. I wish it was still in the family....
Camel Trophy - one of my early inspirations. I used to trade VHS tapes with fellow members of the Southern California Land Rover club (SCLR) back in the late 1990’s. I bought the coffee table book before I had a coffee table. I stumbled upon this plaque at a ruins during my first road trip to Belize in “Eore” our Land Rover Series III. Good times on the road in the early 2000’s.
The Camel Trophy videos are now an easy find on YouTube for the homebound...
Look at them out there - getting fresh in the spring rain. The only thing keeping them apart is that pigs insecurities, and clearly they aren’t enough to maintain 6 feet. Contagions. Why - I outta pick up the phone and call the authorities. Bugger - what is wrong with me?
Self-diagnosis - the more insidious pandemic. Cure - five boney-fist gut shots from my 13 year old followed by re-calibrating bitch-slaps until the sufferer can’t distinguish tears from drool.
Rosy cheeked and looking forward to the summer days in the forecast...
Eore, our 1974 Land Rover Series III 88”, in the early days of a relationship that has spanned over 20 years and counting. We are parked on the banks of Haulover Creek, Belize watching a Carribbean sea breeze moving inland through the hammocks on verandas, swaying palms and wood slat buildings painted in the colours sold by the shaved ice vendor by the swing bridge.
For an introvert in his early twenties I was a long way from Toronto, Canada. I had found my way to Central America on a road that meandered through the inspiration of a community I had read and met at clubs and rallies. There were characters that helped me source parts or complete repairs holding spanners in a garage. There were also folks that shared knowledge through the LRO email digest. These same diverse people also inspired through knowledge of the natural world, history and bushcraft. Happy #landroverday to an inspired product and community.
Michelle checks in with her mom back in Canada from the BTL (Belize Telemedia) payphone down at Betty’s Unisex and Beauty Salon. Roadtrippin’ it old school on our honeymoon in ‘04.
Read part one of our honeymoon tale in Eore @Eore the Forgiven.
View from “Eore” our Land Rover Series III - two kids falling in love and down six thousand feet of dusty switchbacks. From tall pine and belching diesel logging trucks, past corn and pot fields, through official and unofficial checkpoints - to dip our toes in a big boulder, azure blue river. Ended our day with a beer in Batopilas.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Barranca del Cobre, Mexico with Michelle in the early 2000’s.
Stopped on Belize’s Northern Highway. Travelling in Latin America had become a bit of an obsession. The lit, history and field guides I read were fuel for me.
After crossing into Belize, I just had to pull over and breathe in that Caribbean sea; a kid from Canada in a Land Rover called Eore with some tools, paper maps and backpacking gear. Seize and appreciate life’s opportunities - keeping that in mind these days...
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Eore and I, early 2000's.
In the dark of night snow blew through our mountain saddle of juniper. Morning beside a sputtering Optimus Hiker stove was warmed by hot Oatmeal and tea. We broke camp quickly to get over the Colorado mountain pass while grey skies threatened snow.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - Colorado in the mid 1990's.
I walked this one first - it was a long way down to the river below. The expansion joints were gaps that ranged from 2 to 6 inches, the concrete was cracked and weatherbeaten and what was left of the guardrail clung to the bridge's side with rebar skeleton fingers.
The road was dirt but fast for 3 hours behind us and across the bridge it was a rocky, erroded single lane that clung to a low mountain.
I searched the ground for vehicle tracks and found only the single thin telltale of a crossing motorbike, but there had been recent rains. We chose forward - despite being lost and unsure how long the road was ahead.
The family on the road in the summer of 2019. A change of scenery while isolating - COVID-19.
Stopped to plot UTM coordinates from a Garmin GPS 45 to map our way to the Chinipas river deep in the Sierra Madres. The question - is it passable? - could only be answered while standing on the rivers edge.
Our feet did get wet when water rushed through aging door seals, but Eore, our Land Rover, churned and bucked his way to the other side.
It was well after midnight before rutted mountain track gave way to the paved roads into Alamos, Mexico.
Michell and myself in the early 2000's. A change of scenery while isolating (COVID-19).
We journeyed to the Peten region of Guatemala through planning maps, our daughter, Astrid’s, school projects, and now the two lane road through the low grasslands into Sayaxché.
Dust choked the town from the vehicles that congregated on the broad banks of the Rio de la Pasion and waited for the barge.
The rains that would swell the river were late. Operators under palapas let outboard motors drone lazily; today, the turbid flow was in no rush to find its way to the Gulf of Mexico.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - the family in "Brighty" the Land Rover 110 during the summer of 2019.
Low clouds in the pines, vapour on the road and the ripples of rain on the hood.
My diesel pedal toes getting wet on the road in central Mexico.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - the family in "Brighty" the Land Rover 110 during the summer of 2019.
Rough roads often lead to beautiful places. A three inch line on a small scale map can require hours at speeds that move no air through open vents or windows.
The inside of the Defender perfumes with the heavy smell of venting 90 weight oil; the sweetness of the dried mangos Astrid, our daughter, is chewing in the backseat; sweat; and the odd whiff of diesel exhaust on the breeze.
Over the constant clatter of the engine and the song lyrics we’ve sung - load shifts jangle and hot and dusty suspension bushes click, squeak and pop as Brighty pitches and bucks.
Outside, bird calls escape the jagged pattern of innumerable shades of green leaves on the roadside.
At topes (speed bumps), spanish filters through brightly coloured cinder block or rough hewn, wood slat buildings.
At the road's conclusion is a campsite by a lake and a swim after Henry’s arroz especial.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - the family in "Brighty" the Land Rover 110 during the summer of 2019.
We eventually found the source of all the cow patties littering this track in Guatemala. The herd scattered - but this fella.... I have drawn heavily from his WTF face for my personal COVID - your entering my personal space - WTF face.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - the family in "Brighty" the Land Rover 110 during the summer of 2019.
It was a long drive across the desert south of Nuevo Laredo. Monterrey city was our destination. It sat in the distant clouds of a low mountain range and promised a break from the heat streaming through open windows and dash vents.
We found a place to sleep in the city centre and ate Tortas in a makeshift restaurant of metal poles, tarps and the propane tanks fuelling a large grill. Darkness fell and we watched taillights and heard the bellow of vendors and the whispers of flirtations through the smoke of sizzling meat.
A change of scenery while COVID isolating - the family in "Brighty" the Land Rover 110 during the summer of 2019.
The day this photo was taken a storm rolled through, and we were totally exposed above the tree line. Our tent was ripped from its pegs and like children who let go of their new ballon we watched it fly off in the direction of the Mexican border; we were heading North.
We tried heading back down the mountain and the track was washed away in this exact spot. We gained altitude, found shelter from the wind and ate cookies in the back of my accompanying brothers truck cause his roof didn’t leak.
We followed the track over the Colorado mountain pass in the morning.
Michelle, my brother Tim in his H1 Hummer and I in Colorado, USA during the early 2000's.
It was our Summer of 2019 road trip, and “Brighty”, our Land Rover 110, had this truck beat. His 300tdi was pulling the grade in 3rd gear with a turbo whistle, stable engine temperatures and EGT’s.
In the stifling heat and humidity of a Guatemalan afternoon none of us uttered the word “race” or even an encouraging word - but the tension, the willing Brighty to victory was palpable. As we gained ground I caught movement in the rearview mirror - the headphones were off and my daughter was now wide-eyed and smiling. We all needed this...
The banana peel - the loss of traction - victory slipping from us... none of us, nor you the reader, saw it coming... A change of scenery while COVID isolating - the family in "Brighty" the Land Rover 110 during the summer of 2019.
Style and grace without running water - gastrointestinal fearlessness - pragmatic while wielding irrationality - organized, curious, outgoing and inviting.
The one on the right - I have seen her pull an 8 inch hair from a Burrito, flick it on a dirt floor, finish and order seconds. I have seen her flip-flop her way through an amused group of Federales carrying belt-fed rage and ammo cans out of a hotel lobby - pink shorts, a T-shirt and an overnight bag. She has my cutting wit - but delivers it with sweetness and innocence in 40 degree heat with 90 percent humidity.
I raise a glass tonight to my fellow obsolete, hairy-knuckle dragging blunt instruments. I drive, cook and fix the car - and when their cycles align - I do it quietly. Appreciating my ladies this evening.
Astrid's first post on the Shearpin.org website - I hope the first of many. Read about her summer of 2019 road-tripping down to Central America @Astrid's Summer of 2019.
A photo of Astrid in Mexico this summer contemplating future overlanding fame. A fun interview was posted on the Centre Steer Podcast with Astrid featured as a Land Rover kid. I listen on Apple's Podcast app or through Centresteer's website - @centresteer podcast.
Memories found down lost side streets... I read some Paz in translation a long time ago. On an otherwise mural-less street travelled by the lost - or those purposed with getting home - this appeared all the more beautiful. You have to love travel and hanging onto old books. We found this on our summer road trip in Mexico, 2019. (From Ocativo Paz’s “Two Bodies”, in the english)
We pursued it across the turned fields of October in the steam of our horses snorts, to the pounding of their hooves. The bare limbs of the forest gave it no sanctuary, and our pace no quarter. It fell on the banks under the weight of 12 arrow shafts in a puddle from a ghastly throat wound inflicted by Astrid’s belt hawk. The roar of the river stole its last pained howl. In the last of the light we took its bones from its guts and thanked the gods of Halloween for the soul and the offering. Under the moon and a blanket of music we toasted those aspiring to be free with the bones, candy and booze. Vaya con dios Jack-o-lantern - until next years hunt.
Our Guatemalan Land Rover camp rule... if the chickens are white in the morning light - then no big oil leaks happened overnight.
Central America has proven problematic for our wanderings.
I have written about my solo trip in Eore, and the Belizean flash-flood @Belize Gave Me Diaper Rash.
Eore hit the road again in 2004 for a honeymoon drive through Mexico, Belize and Guatemala, but his transmission was flummoxed by the La Mesilla, Guatemala border crossing. You can read about Part 1 of our trip north through Mexico at 25 mph by clicking @third time's a charm.
2019, we sprung Astrid from school early in the spring and pointed Brighty south. Third time proved a charm with good family times travelling through the US, Mexico and Guatemala. Stories to come.
Winner of this years coveted - car I would most likely point south to Mulege, Baja for fish tacos dressed in my undies - barefoot and chested - while passing the time sipping cognac from a Lipton Pure Leaf bottle and sending air kisses, flirty glances and come-hither looks to that grand lady, that Spirit of Ecstasy, on the end of the hood - award.
Love old rollers - and those fenders...Click for photos of a few other car show favourites.
A quick map of our summer ramblings generated by Garmin's InReach Mini. In short, we spent over 2 and a half months working our way through the United States, Mexico and Guatemala before turning north to Toronto, Canada. Check back soon for stories, gear thoughts and more Land Rover travel lore.
