April 2023 : Rendezvan, Oregon Cousin AdVANture & Our Build Mistakes Revealed

We aimed to leave our home in Donnelly, Idaho around 7AM the day before the Rendezvan event at Mount Bachelor, the event being a great excuse to go see my cousin and his wife (here-in referred to as the cousins, but don’t worry, we’re pretty sure they aren’t blood related) in La Pine, OR, and an even greater excuse to indulge in a shakedown trip in Walter. We were up early and we got to work. I had to finish up wiring a few circuits, which took way longer than expected, and then I started troubleshooting the Webasto diesel heater, which wasn’t heating but also wasn’t showing any error codes. With no success, I started in on an oil change, which went off without a hitch, but did require dropping two bash plates and just generally took longer than we wanted. Figuring we were done with vehicle prep, we moved to house prep, and out of an abundance of care we checked the crawl space, where we found 3 inches of standing water and a malfunctioning sump pump. Awesome. I donned my filthy clothes again, got soaking wet in 45F water, and fixed the pump between a flurry of curses. Finally, I cleaned up, packed all my clothes as Chelsea packed our camp stuff, fed the dog the second half of her breakfast at 4PM (whoops) and hit the road, a cool 9 hours behind schedule.

Wiring in the snow. At least its sunny. Days before I had been Wiring in a Snowstorm. Not Cool.

THIS. IS. OVERLANDING. Trips take preparation, and sometimes preparation means fixing your sump pump hours after you were supposed to depart.

Packing was hasty, but it did make us realize we would have ample room for everything after we finished our final build out on Walter. The Under-Bed storage really ate up gear.

We pulled into La Pine late that evening, said hi to the cousins, and fell straight asleep. The next morning, they headed off to work at Mount Bachelor, and the plan was for us to meet them around noon, buying me a few hours to tinker with the Webasto heater. There was a winter storm on the way, and I desperately wanted to be able to provide a heated, comfortable van for my family. I was motivated by a desire to not freeze in an ice storm, but also because I had an expensive new toy and it was killing me to not have it working. I tore the heater out of the vehicle, inspected a bunch of factory wiring, assuming there was a missed connection somewhere, and reinstalled it, all for naught. The lights were green, there were no error codes, but the fuel pump wouldn’t turn on. Without a resolution, I hit the 11AM “pumpkin hour” that Chelsea set for us, packed our things back in the van, and took off for an ill-fated alpine adventure.

The heater malfuction was my white whale. I would not let it win, even if that meant ignoring my family and ruining my trip.

We had hit our pumpkin hour, I had to pack up tools, and head up to the mountain to have fun, but without a working heater, so it would be cold fun.

The drive to Mount Bachelor was easy; most roads were clear and those that weren’t were covered in lava rock for traction. The closer we got to the mountain, the stronger the storm became - we were forecasted for freezing precipitation at the base area, and maybe snow on the mountain. The snowbanks on the access road were impressive, 15 feet tall in places, plowicades made by giant snowblowers, as I assume the roads are too narrow and the snow too deep for loaders and excavators. Eventually we found our cousins about to clock out of their last day on the job, working ticket sales at one of the resort’s lodges. We followed them to their van, a lifted E-350 with a Quigley 4x4 conversion under it and a bespoke Howerbuilt pop-top camper on the roof, and went to the event entrance for campsite assignments.

Because we lined up together, our spots were right next to each other, and as the storm rolled in we tried to make the best of it. The chair lift nearest the camping area was on wind hold for the day, not spinning or loading, and we didn’t really feel like skiing anyways, so we got to setting up our sites. We parked in such a way that our awnings almost touched each other, which is a fun benefit to having a RHD minivan with the sliding door on the wrong side. The cousins installed the wall sections of their awning and lit a fire in their propane fire pit, while Chelsea and I attempted to get changed into winter clothes in the van for the first time, which was a learning experience (lessons learned: the window tint is great and no one can see in, but we need quick access storage for clothes).

The storm continued to get stronger, so we packed up our awning and headed to the event space for some music and revelry. The concessions tent was full of people taking refuge, the band was battling the elements on the stage, and the promotional vendors were using interns as anchors to keep the tents from blowing away. We tried to enjoy as much of it as we could, but we eventually piled back into the vans for refuge, and we ended up leaving the next day, after scraping a solid 1/2 inch of clear ice off our rigs from the storm. It was fun while it lasted, but we couldn’t refuse the comforts of the cousins’ home only 30 minutes away and the extra lure of stopping for some hot brunch on the way there. The event was going to be running for a few days, and we promised ourselves we’d come back for a day trip and ski if the skies cleared up.

Impressive snowbanks on the roads to mt. bachelor. We’re used to snow in central Idaho, but not proper PNW snow. we are more like PNW adjacent.

lining up to go into rendezvan…which, ironically, had fewer vans than rvs.

our shelters from the storm, and the first moment CHelSea and I started Considering a wall section for our awning.

This was the Beginning of the Snow storm that turned into an Ice storm.

Spirits High. Having FUn staring at the mountain that we weren;t going to ski that day.

This is my why won’t the diesel heater work Face. It was Gnawing at me and the gnawing wouldn’t go away until I had an answer. thankfully, we’d packed a small buddy heater just in case and it was enough to take the bitterly cold edge off and warm our fingers and toes.

Back in La Pine, life was way more our speed. It turns out that I didn’t want to spend a weekend in the snow on the side of a mountain after spending an entire winter working in the snow on the side of a mountain. Our home resort in Idaho had just closed for the season, and I was happy to not be skiing. Instead, we cooked great food, thawed and dried out the vans, got some projects done, soaked in the hot tub, and waited for the weather to clear on the hill.

The cousins had recently installed new tent canvas with windows on their pop-top, and the freezing rain and gale force winds of the Rendezvan event had exposed some pinhole leaks and seam tape failures. They got to work applying aqua seal and waterproofing spray while I crawled back under then van for my third attempt at installing the diesel heater - I just would not let this failure go unaddressed! After tracing wires again, and bleeding fuel lines again, and verifying voltages again, I put out some calls to regional Webasto dealers. I eventually found one who generously took some time off his lunch break to help a non-customer, and after describing my wiring diagram to him, he identified a circuit that he just didn’t like. “Pull it,” he coached, “Just pull it. I don’t like that pink wire - It doesn’t make any sense.” I yanked that pink wire, breaking its ground circuit, and just like that, the fuel pump clicked into action! It was a bit anti-climactic, and I certainly don’t think the the nice refrigeration tech in Yakima understood why I was hooping and hollering at him over speaker phone, but it sure felt nice to scratch that mental itch and have our heater working for the first time.

We spent the next few days soaking in the hot tub, and making local adventures to some rivers and into the big city of Bend, OR. Gracie showed off by being the fastest on land when it came to fetch, but got properly trounced in the water by her cousin River the lab. Eventually the skies broke and Chelsea and I went skiing in some proper spring conditions.

searching for the illusive heater gremlin.

Graciously lent some garage space.

Waterproofing. Life is Maintainence.

… this is overlanding?

We made it up to the hill for a day of spring skiing. It was worth it. Side note: those trew jackets are going to be our shells for our big trip south. They are great and are way more burly than a Traditional rain jacket.

Local adventures around La Pine.

Local adventures with dogs.

Rendezvan was a bit of a bust, but we still wanted to go adventuring. The cousins had a route planned out for us to explore, and we headed east southeast towards Christmas Valley to explore three local destinations, Crack in the Ground, Fort Rock, and Hole in the Ground. I get the feeling that the early emigrants on the Oregon Trail had stopped caring about naming things by the time they hit Eastern Oregon.

The drive out was beautiful, it reminded me of parts of the Owyhee plains and parts of Western Colorado. A vastness that’s flat, but not flat like the plains of Kansas, flat like a desert, where there are constant small pockets of complexity. The trip was a bit of a loop, and a bit of an out-and-back. Our first stop was Crack in the Ground, a long, mostly continuous ravine created by volcanic action that offers an adventurous but easily accessible hike. In most places, the ravine is no more than 10 feet wide, and the walls are nearly vertical. The feature runs for 2 miles, and the parallel cliff walls are sometimes as tall as 70 feet. The trail was mostly dry, with a few spots of packed snow and ice adding to the adventure and forcing us to scramble a bit here and there. The dogs were in heaven, although we did keep Gracie on a short leash in case she found a rattlesnake.

After Crack in the Ground we headed to Fort Rock, a large volcanic ring that was once an island in the enormous lake that covered what is now an arid desert. This geological feature towers over the surrounding landscape, and the hiking loop inside the rim is somehow even more spectacular. When we arrived, there was maybe one other car in the parking lot, and we essentially had the pace to ourselves. It was a phenomenal side stop on the adventure, and it comes recommended (clean bathrooms and some cool interpretive artwork and signs as as well!).

From Fort Rock we pushed on to our planned camping area, a spot off a forest road well known to our cousins, but otherwise just an unmarked bit of dispersed camping in the “wildernish”. We had a few dusty dual tracks to manage as we jumped between USFS fire roads, and one moderate sized climb that looked bigger than it was. Sensing a photo opportunity, Chelsea scrambled out of the van and through the sage brush to capture The Yeti and Walter in all their glory, climbing the hill.

The campsite was beautiful, just a slice of freedom and dirt nestled in the pine trees. There was a slight breeze, so we circled up the vans to protect the fire ring and the kitchen. The Cousins prepared a fantastic meal as Chelsea and I inspected and reinspected their van and their systems, making mental notes for what we wanted to do to Walter when we got home.

The night was joyously uneventful, the bed and the van was comfortable and cozy with our newfound ability to run the diesel heater, and in the morning we packed up, drove some fun dual track back to La Pine, and then headed back to Idaho, feeling right at home being worn out in a van making miles across ribbons of rural American highways.

ENtering Crack in the Ground! Very accessible, very cool.

Spots of the trail that hadn’t seen sun were pretty slick, and added just enough adventure to keep us entertained.

All sorts of neat features, it kind of felt like a cave tour but with an open ceiling

Cool geological features and minor slip-and-fall hazards everywhere!

There were also a handful of trail splits and peekaboo rock windows.

family portrait time!

The YETI leading the way through the dusty forest roads.

The cousins leading the way up a dusty hill climb

Dog is my copilot!

This climb wasn’t the limit of Walter’s abilities, but the turbo was whining and my foot was nearly to the floor.

Pure exuberance!

Reevaluating our route choice at the to of the climb.

The wagons circled up at camp.

Home, complete with an entRance mat.

Campsite TV engaged, a meal almost ready.

The string lights really made it. Without them, we are animals.

Morning light on the camsite.

A fun set of smooth banked turns and small ruts along a power line access road led us back to La Pine

With the adventure complete, we switched the dog off and drove home.

Building Walter the Warthog, our Delica L400

After hemming and hawing for a while, I've decided to start a build thread to document the build out of the van. Here's a quick history of our so far 14-month ownership of Walter the Walrus/Warthog. If you need a few paragraphs on the decision making process that brought us to paying really good money for a 25 year old JDM minivan, please look here. My goal is to make a few posts over the next few days to catch up on all the work we've done so far, and then start documenting in real time.

A family photo as we took delivery of Wlater from Nomadic Van of Sun Valley.

Walter was pretty well bone-stock when we bought him from Nomadic Van of Sun Valley ID, other than a two inch (50mm?) lift installed by Coombs Country Autos and a triple gauge pod installed by the guys at Nomadic Van. We drove him like this for most of last summer (2022), and our preferred daily-driver setup was to have the middle row captain's seats faced forward, and the third row seats folded up and clasped to the grab handles. This allowed the front half of the vehicle to act like a passenger vehicle and the back half of the LWB to carry some real cargo, or allow a platform for afternoon beverages while riverside. A veritable vehicular mullet, if you will.

Test fitting one standard sized Tuttle.

The first step of any great adventure is daydreaming, creating "a fantasy, an absurd chimera" as per my travel mentor Pablo Rey, and that step lasted us until March 3rd, 2023. Out first addition was a roof rack, because we needed space for a solar panel, a small roof box, and some accessories to prove to everyone in the Walmart parking lot that we are real overlanders. We ended up paying the big bucks for a product from Rhino Rack, as it was specifically fitted to our LWB high roof L400, and balanced our desires for low profile and stalwart construction. The fitting of the rack only took a few hours of fun-in-the-sun-in-the-snow, and we were pretty happy with the platform it provided us to begin looking for roof-top accessories.

Our next addition was a side ladder from XplorMor Offroad. The ladder required two holes to be drilled in the rocker panel of the van, but other than that it was a bolt-on accessory. Installing it felt like we were just adding jewelry to the van because there was nothing on the roof rack that would require ladder access, so we lovingly (and temporarily) named it the Ladder-To-Nowhere. The eventual plan was to add a roof box, and while we were pretty sure we wanted to go with a Yakima Topwater box, we just weren’t sure yet. In the mean time, we found a sweet deal on a used Ironman4x4 Awning. The product we chose is a 270º free-standing awning that sets up and breaks down in about 30 seconds.

Rhino Rack Roof Bars and an Xplormor Ladder, our first mods.

Test Fitting a mock up of the roof box we wanted to add.

The Ironman 270 Awning provides shade in seconds.

The next step was to start cutting, and really commit to whatever dream/nightmare we had cooked up. One of the few truths we knew about the van was that it was short on space, even if it was a long wheel base. Because of this, a rotating passenger seat was necessary. We had a few blog posts and a few youtube videos to reference, but in the end neither I nor the professional fabricator I employed were comfortable with the installation process. Instead, we sacrificed the ability to slide the passenger’s seat forward and backwards for the safety and security of proper welds. The passenger seat now rotates, reclines, and bolts very securely to the body.

In addition to the rotating front seat, we cut a hole in the floor of the van and built a small platform for a Webasto diesel heater. Our inaugural adventure was a ski trip planned for early spring, just after the local ski hills closed, so we splurged on supplemental heat.

Mounting the Passenger chair Swivel - this took a lot of heavy thinking.

Cutting the hole for the webasto heater. This cut was right next to a brake line, no pressure.

Welding the Aluminum platform for the Webasto heater.

Heater Mounted!

With the passenger’s seat in “camp mode”, we were able to start playing with the layout of the van’s bed, the living space of our SpaceGear. We busted out some boxes, crates, and Paco Pads to allow us to dial in our bed height and length. We found our sweet spot of head space and storage space, scribbled some notes in a journal, and started wishing for the winter’s snow to recede so we could get to fabricating.

In the mean time, we added a new JVC head unit for the stereo to replace the tape deck. Installation was much more straight forward than I had initially feared, and the fit was perfect. The head unit really updated the van, and it supports Apple Carplay which is huge for navigating Mexican city streets.

Test fitting a standard sized Tuttle. We had to get the height of the bed platform just right.

Adding a modern head unit for better navigation and tunes.

With a layout in mind, we tore out the original carpet and insulation, and installed a subfloor of 1/2 plywood. It was a challenge to line up the original seat anchors and tie the three pieces of plywood together, but after many rounds of fitting and refitting, we got it. We used Reflectix foil insulation as an underlayment and we scored a remanent of marmoleum from a local flooring supplier. We were initially jazzed on the marmoleum because it would allow us to install a floor with no seams, but we did eventually swap it out for a peel-and-stick tile solution, as the marmoleum bubbled up a lot with temperature changes.

One of many attempts to attach the subfloor.

Once we knew the subfloor was finished, we rolled out the insulation.

tracing our flooring.

Floor traced and cut!

Fiddling. But at least fiddling on dirt and not on snow.

With the floor installed, it was time to start laying out the skeleton of the 12v house circuits by mounting our Renogy charge controller and attaching it to our house battery, our vehicle battery, and our solar panel. This required drilling a hole through the roof of the van and fitting a weather proof wiring housing. We decided not to remove the original headliner, and to just work through/around it. The headliner and the interior trim was in good enough condition to keep, but in bad enough condition that a few modifications wouldn’t be that noticable.

Next came the bed frame, which was the heart of the camper build. We debated using 80/20 extruded aluminum, because its so popular in the van-life world on youtube, but it was way too expensive and the lead times on orders were out of our build window. Instead, I ripped some 2x4 lumber into 1.5x1.5 inch strips and constructed a simple bed platform. The three vertical supports run full length and are faced with 1/4 plywood acting as a web stiffener. A sheet of 1/2 ply on the top of the bed tied everything together and was more than strong enough to support the three of us.

We tossed our Paco Pads on the platform for a mattress, packed our kitchen box and our skis, and hit the road!

Taking the plunge and drilling a hole in a perfectly good roof.

I think this will work…

Bed platform mocked up and coming together.

Bed platform finished, and fridge support mocked up.

Testing while Resting.

Packed and Ready for the road!

Gracie likes to surveil Her World.

Rolling out to Rendezvan! Don’t worry, that’s Gracie’s Happy face.

Mexico 2.0 Part 3: Merry Christmas in La Pesca! (12.25.2021)

Gifts to Ourselves

Waking up in our tent on Christmas morning was glorious. We had already decided to take the day off, it was Christmas after all - no driving, no worrying, no errands. We had a campground to explore, enough snacks in the pantry and food in the fridge to last for a few days, and Chelsea’s camera wasn’t going to run out of film any time soon.

We had driven in the night before at dusk - there was still a golden glow coming from the West, and we were given a few minutes to see the majority of the property before we were bathed in darkness, but we really hadn’t gotten a feel for the place, so the first order of business after some instant coffee was to explore. The property was called “Tropicana Resort” and we found it using iOverlander, but it is also listed as “Topicana Bungalows” on Google. The Tropicana Resort was one of thee reviews for the La Pesca area on iOverlander, and it specifically mentioned camping and seems to have become an overlanding favorite as it offers simple amenities at an inexpensive price, like bathrooms, limited shore power opportunities, basic WiFi near the owner’s house, and very safe parking. The greater community of La Pesca looks to have many hotel opportunities, and I am sure most of the properties would welcome campers, especially self contained overland rigs. We were warned, however, that spring break season in the area can bring tens of thousands of tourists, so the sleepy community we found on Christmas day may not be indicative of its status year-round. You’ve been warned.

The resort was “gaurded” by two homes that looked lived in full time - one was the owners and the other I assume belonged to family member or a laborer, as there was evidence of recent and ongoing construction. The owners house contained the bathrooms, maybe a few toilet stalls and showers stalls, out of which there was an obvious favored one of each, and the WiFi, so communication had to be done in the shade of a palm tree maybe 20 meters away, as the signal didn’t reach the camp sites. Extending down the property from the owners house were two grassy fields, one on each side of the resorts drive way, maybe 100 meters long, with plenty of room to fit a dozen campsites.

At the end of the grassy fields were five beautiful, thatched roofed casitas, painted in breathtaking off-shades of primary colors, giving the property a very tropical kindergarten vibe. Two large communal palapas and a shallow swimming pool bordered the shoreline of the Rio Soto La Marina, an estuary that reaches all the way to the town Soto Marina on Mex180, which was our turn off the highway and towards the coast.

Exploring the property and letting Gracie get used to her first of many encounters with free-roaming Mexican dogs.

Casitas to the right…new pool under construction to the left.

We’ve officially entered the land of coconuts!

Stretching Our Legs

Even though we had told ourselves we were going to take the day off and do nothing, I eventually got antsy and couldn’t keep myself from unloading our two motorcycles for a short ride to the beach. The entire build of the truck was based on hauling our TW200s, and we had compromised on a lot to have motorcycle freedom, so I felt we needed get our money’s worth out of the hassle.

We locked Gracie in the truck, strapped on our retro helmets and carefully buzzed down to the beach, only a few kilometers away. It was gorgeously empty - no cars on the road and only a few in the parking areas. There was a healthy breeze, and the Gulf was gently crashing on the shore, and it all felt alien and beautiful and perfect. We had no desire to stay, only the desire to experience and enjoy and move on, the essence of travel.

We rode the sand tracks back as far as we could, as they paralleled the road and offered access to palapas and private family campsites set just far enough off the sand to be considered privada and not publica. The sand dual tracks were flowy and firm and fun and we are terrible motorcyclists so it felt like a real adventure to be driving 10MPH next to the Gulf on something that wasn’t asphalt. Eventually we were flagged down by a passing motorist in a nice sedan, maybe a Lexus or something like that. Out stepped a man in his mid-70s who wanted to know what were we doing, what we were riding, and what we thought of his stories of his old Yamaha road bike that he used to tour around on. It made me a little disappointed that we weren’t doing the entire trip on the TW-200s, as I don’t think he would have waved us down if we were driving the truck.

We didn’t stay long, as we knew we had a needy little cattle dog waiting in cab of the truck, so we turned tail and rode to the campground. Back at the site Chels released the hound and we gave her a quick tour on the back of my bike - Gracie loves being with us on any vehicle, in any craft, and doesn’t want to miss a single adventure.

Camp Life

The best part of overland travel is having genuine, cross-cultural interactions with local residents in foreign communities. The second best part of overland travel is meeting other travelers. Thankfully, there were a few other travelers at La Pesca, and we had a fantastic time spending the Holiday with them.

First we met a Belgian family of four (plus dog) traveling from Canada to Panama in their late 80’s full size class A motor home. They are touring and posting under the name “Fata Tropicana” and they are worth a follow on Instagram, especially for anyone with little kids that was to do the long distance, long(ish) term traveling thing. I was mostly a fan of their stories of crossing the Mexican border, as it took them three days ( I thought my 3 hour “ordeal” was bad!) and included some light forgery using Photoshop.

In addition we met Luis and his girlfriend, traveling in retirement from Quebec through the United States and in to Mexico in their crossover SUV towing a hard-sided pop-up trailer. He had been planning the trip for years, including a once-in-a-lifetime stop in his dream destination of New Orleans, Louisiana. His family had begged him not to go, he said, warning him of the dangers of traveling in Mexico, promising he would lose his life south of the border. Instead, he had so far spent a few weeks scuba diving in the Gulf and eating seafood tacos. I suppose danger comes in all forms?

It was a great two nights, with one full Christmas Day of doing not much and loving it. We had a little camp fire with our traveller friends, met the property’s parrot, hung out with local Mexican-Americans visiting family, and slept in the tent for the first two nights on the journey. It was exactly the present we had been wishing for.

An informal gathering of the travelers in the ‘wifi zone’ of the campground.

Our Christmas selfie!

Our camp spot turned adventure-staging area with the bikes out.

Gracie has fully adopted the truck as her safe space, opting to lounge in the back seat or in the truck bed when she’s tired.

Finally using the roof top tent - AKA ‘Sky Cabin’!

Mexico 2.0 Part 2: Border Crossing Drama and Christmas Eve in La Pesca (12.24.2022)

Nearing the Border

We had hustled through the US, making miles and pushing hard, spending too much money on uncomfortable motel rooms, all to get within striking distance of the border before Christmas. The plan was to wake up very early, get to the border ASAP on Christmas eve, hopefully cross with no troubles, and then drive for ~three hours down to a La Pesca, a fishing and resort community on the gulf. We harbor fears of border towns in any country, so our plan was to cross and drive as far as possible during the daylight hours to minimize risk. That was the plan…but nothing goes to plan.

We woke up later than we wanted, maybe 7:30 instead of 6AM, and from there on it felt like our feet were stuck in the mud, each stride forward taking an absurd amount of time, probably because we were nervous, apprehensive, like a swimmer standing on the pool deck next to an empty lap pool early in the morning, knowing they have to train for their race but not wanting to leave the security of their dry, warm towel.

Packing the truck was a process, even though we took almost nothing out the night before. The pre-drive check seemed like it took forever, making sure fluids were topped and paperwork was hidden and decoy paperwork was visible. Navigating McAllen wasn’t easy, and a last-chance supply mission to Walmart dragged on and on, only for us to forget to purchase most of what we’d deemed necessary when we stopped there. By the time we were approaching the border it was after 11AM, and we hadn’t eaten anything, so we stopped at a bakery whose hand painted sign proclaiming Abierto welcomed us to next step of the adventure. We were close, and Mexico was reaching for us.

Waiting in the Walmart parking lot, full of anxious energy

Christian loves taking photos of me when I’m not looking or ready.

Crossing the Border

We have very, very few images of the border crossing because recording or photographing borders is usually a bad idea. We even disabled and stowed away our dash cam because less trouble is less trouble. Crossing the bridge headed south for us was quick, with essentially no wait, and the only thing slowing us down being an inexpensive toll and a serpentine route through some jersey barriers masquerading as tank traps. The bridge itself isn’t very long, and before we knew it we were there, in Mexico.

We pulled over immediately, still in the world of the border crossing, before the lanes of traffic left the bureaucratic zone and morphed into the cacophony of downtown Reynosa. We had learned in Baja that traffic laws loosen slightly at the border, because everyone is moving at a snails pace over the aggressive speed bumps, and the lanes aren’t really lanes, but just suggestions. We asked for directions to the Banjercito, executed a super professional 8-point turn in traffic to navigate some turns much too tight for a 1996 crew cab long bed F-350, drove past some heavily armored and lightly caring Mexican Marines, and got to a shaded, secured parking spot to start the import process for our rig.

I left Chelsea in the truck with Gracie and approached the import hall with little idea of what I needed to do. The states of Baja Norte and Baja Sur are in a special administrative zone that doesn’t require temporary vehicle imports (one of many reasons why we refer to Baja as Mexico lite), so this was an aspect of Mexican bureaucracy we hadn’t encountered in our last trip. Luckily, there were two young employees at the door of the office ready to receive non-Spanish speakers and assist with the process. This was an absolute lifesaver, a blessing straight from the hand of God, as we would not have been able to enter the country without the help of our translator and guide Mariana. I think she was an employee of the Banjercito, or maybe part of a program from the Secretariat of Tourism, but whoever is funding that program should keep it up. Mariana was enormously helpful.

Once inside the office, things started off well. There was essentially no one in line, no crowd, the A/C was pumping, people were in masks, there was a discernible flow to the operation - all good things. Mariana and I waited in line for a few minutes, a stack of paperwork I assumed I would need clutched in my hands, everything from vehicle titles to rabies vaccination paperwork. We got to the front of the queue and I handed my papers to Mariana who handed them to the uninterested guard at the desk, who then handed them back to Mariana who then handed them back to me with a matter-of-fact, “Your truck is too heavy. You can’t go to Mexico.”

I had failed to imagine there would be a weight limit to the temporary import permit.

Mariana argued my case, I stood silently, she told me I had to go home, I asked about big RVs crossing the border, she argued my case again to another man at another desk, the man told her to tell me I had to go home. This went on for a while, until Mariana shrugged and said “Let’s try to get the paperwork for your motorcycles.”

We went back to the front of the queue and I handed my papers to Mariana who handed them to the even more uninterested guard at the desk, who then handed them back to Mariana who then handed them back to me with a matter-of-fact, “You have too many street-legal vehicles. Your wife can bring a motorcycle but you can’t. You are bringing the truck. One of your bikes can’t go to Mexico.”

Somehow, through the silence of bureaucracy and without any monetary lubrication, our truck was now allowed to enter, but only one bike could accompany it, because we had fully registered the motorcycles and paid an Idaho roads and highways tax. The registrations has too much information on them - if the bikes weren’t street-legal we would be home free. I tired to press my luck but Mariana and the guard now showed a level of denial that they hadn’t shown before, so I inhaled, thanked them for their time, and walked out to Chelsea, the anxiety in my chest growing stronger by the moment.

I explained everything to Chelsea, I explained what I could to Gracie, and we brainstormed.
Go back to Idaho? “Absolutely not,” said Chelsea.
Drive all the way to Baja? “Absolutely not,” said Gracie.
Put one of the bikes in storage? “Absolutely not,” said I, “Let’s give it another try.”

I composed what constitution I had, and tried to imagine what my travel mentor Pablo would do in this situation. Well, he probably wouldn’t have brought a giant unnecessary truck and two motorbikes on an overland journey, but if he had he would calmly walk back into the office and ask “What should I do?” And that’s exactly what I did.

Mariana met me, and offered advice, “Let’s try again.” so we bypassed all the guards and desks at the front of the office and went straight for the banking area of the Banjercito, the area where the papers got signed and the fees got paid. Mariana said to me quietly and clearly, “Do not say anything,” and that is exactly what I did.

Over the next half hour our truck papers got signed and issued without a problem. One motorbike got imported even quicker, and for free because it was being transported by the truck. Lastly, the paperwork for the second motorbike was slid across the desk, and Mariana explained that it was a dirt bike, even though it had license plates and turn signals. At this point, Chelsea was also involved, having needed to come inside for her tourist visa. She offered up a few photos of the motorbikes on dirt roads with Gracie riding on the back. The officer shook his head and walked out to look at the bike, only to see the comically enormous rear tires of our TW200s, tires so big they ought not to be allowed on paved roads anywhere. Seeing our point, the officer walked back in, gathered even more officials above him and went back out to have a quorum around the tailgate of the truck. Eventually, he came back in with a stoic look, grabbed the paperwork and wrote “OFF ROAD” on our bike’s titles, and walked away. And just like that, we were in.

The one “stealthy” photo we grabbed of the entrance gate at the border.

The truck, parked and waiting for permission to continue.

Gracie was amazingly patient throughout the banjercito debacle.

Scammed!

Leaving the Banjercito felt like a giant breath of fresh air. We had our paperwork, we had our permits, we paid our fees, we had all legal and necessary documents to do what we wanted to do where we wanted to do it - success! We tossed the paperwork in the center console, and drove off…

… only to be stopped maybe a kilometer later by the flashing blues and reds of a police car. We were on a three lane divided road, essentially a highway, complete with a separate frontage road for residential and business traffic, doing 60kph (37mph) confirmed later by our dash cam footage, and there was a blue and white sedan behind us, tight on our tail, lights flashing, pulling us over. I immediately assumed it was a secondary component of the border crossing - perhaps the registration was checked and enforced once we left the border area, as there was no mandatory stop in the border, only optional places to apply for paperwork.

Still totally discombobulated from the permit ordeal only minutes before, Chelsea and I put on our N95 masks, locked our doors, and rolled down the window. A man wearing a white polo, blue slacks, and what looked to be a radio walked up, and as we explained we understood very little Spanish, he shoved a radar gun in our window that read 89 KPH and asked for my license and registration. Complying while playing dumb, I gave him my real license (I keep a voided copy for this EXACT reason, but I was so stressed out from the Banjercito I hadn’t sorted my things out yet in the center console), and he asked me to step out of the truck.

Outside the truck, I think he explained I had to go with him to the police station, to which I said I didn’t understand. We kept at this, he would try to explain, and I would say I didn’t understand. He lured me back to his “cop car” because he had my license, and he kept showing me the very simple looking radar gun that had a display that only showed “89 KPH”. He got in his car, rolled down the windows, and told me (I think) to get in the front seat because we were going (I think) to the police station. Thankfully, at this point I knew enough not to get in the car. The “cop” kept showing me the radar gun, kept pointing to the unchanging display, and then eventually handed me a ticket, which I have no doubt was a real ticket for speeding. Except that this ticket was for the day before. And the registration on it was for a Honda Ridgeline.

At this point, I started to realize what was going on. I was being shaken down. Not robbed, but scammed. The panic mostly dissipated, frustration and annoyance taking its place and offering a a moderate helping of indignant courage. The cop was going on about “100 US Dollars” after I muttered “Dinero? Dinero?”, but that was before I saw the ticket. I told him, in my broken Spanish, “Look, look, I have a dash camera, it shows my speed,” only for him to say “No, no, dinero, 100 dollars.” I reached into the cop car, which I then realized looked suspiciously like a normal sedan on the inside, devoid of a camera, or a cage, or a radio, or anything, grabbed my license and registration, threw the ticket back in his center console, and gave the man a twenty dollar bill. He waved at it sheepishly, I yelled “FELIZ NAVIDAD, SEÑOR,” and walked off. We drove away, and he whipped a U-turn, lights still flashing, looking for his next victim.

The “cop” checking our license plate before showing us how fast we weren’t going.

Driving to La Pesca

We were overcome by waves of relief, anger, gratitude, and resilience as we drove away from our run-in with the “law.” We were a little jittery, but as we made miles and escaped the clutches of stop and go traffic, we settled down and eventually were quite thankful for whatever lesson we had just learned for the low price of $20 USD.

We were sticking to our plan, as it was really the only plan we had - keep driving until we hit the Gulf. We had fuel, food, and water, but we didn’t know if we had enough daylight to make it to La Pesca - our ETA put us a few minutes past last light, according to Google. We were roughly 330km from our goal, but it was 1:30PM, so things would be tight. Reynosa traffic turned into the open road, and we were thrust back onto a highway cutting a black ribbon through emerald fields of agriculture.

I had to quickly adapt to the rules of the road in Mexico: straddle the broken white line on the far right whenever possible, essentially keeping two wheels on the shoulder, allowing for traffic headed the same direction to use most of the actual lane, and some of the oncoming lane, which hopefully wasn’t occupied. Chelsea kept reminding me of the rule she learned while living and driving in Greece - just follow the car in front of you, and don’t get hit.

We lost very little time on the drive, with my eyes glued to the road, and Chels focused on the navigation and the ETA. Finally, we got to our turn off the Mex 180 highway, and onto a coastal access road and the final 50km. The speed limit dropped, the sun was at our backs, and the road was filled with unmarked, unpainted topes, speed bumps, harsh enough to damage the stalwart suspension of our built-Ford-tough truck if we weren’t careful. We were close, and we started to relax - as long as La Pesca was a real place, we’d be there near enough to sundown to be ok.

Some of the city traffic as we made our way south through Reynosa.

Some examples of the traffic flow on the highways

Finally, a sign for our destination.

A particularly angry tope that we barely slowed down in time for (see our current speed from the dash cam!) when we saw it jump out from the shadows.

The beautifully colorful town of La Pesca…a welcome sight on Christmas Eve.

Our Room at the Inn

It was Christmas eve, the sun was setting over a calm, Gulf-coast estuary, and all was right in the world. As we neared the GPS coordinates marked on iOverlander, we saw what we were looking for: a large grassy field behind a fence, a small family sitting by their house near the gate, and a few very obvious RVs tacitly heralding the acceptance of campers on the property. What a relief.

With little fanfare we asked if we could camp and wished the caretaker a merry Christmas, dumped the dog out of the truck, and found a parking spot. The sun dropped behind the horizon, as if it had been waiting for us to arrive before turning off the lights. We got to setting up the roof top tent for our first night of camping for the trip, over 2000 miles from Donnelly Idaho, but feeling more at home than we had in years.

Christmas Eve dinner - tortillas, avocado, cheese and a freeze dried camp meal.

Mexico 2.0 Part 1: Breaking Free, Thawing Out (12.20.2021 - 12.23.2021)

Departing Idaho

What had started as a fever dream spawned by a certainly chronic and likely terminal case of fernweh¹ had metastasized into full blown reality. The truck² was packed to the gills - three rafts, two motorbikes, a roof top tent, and all their necessary accoutrements. The house was ready for renters - clothes and sundries unnecessary in tropical climates stowed away until our return. The road was freshly plowed - we had just survived the second week of record breaking December snowfall. All that was left was for Chelsea, Gracie, and I to jump into the literal truck and off the metaphoric ledge, to make the plunge, to start the trip - and Gracie was already in the truck.

Day one was a quick escape out the West Central mountains of Idaho. Snow drifts and berms that held us on our property receded quickly as we drove south through the canyons. Inside two hours we were surrounded by dry hillsides, the lower elevations of Boise reminding us that the whole world was not, in fact, a snow-globe. We plodded on, the engine humming, the wheels spinning, the dog sleeping, with our eyes set on Salt Lake City. It was the day before solstice and we were at the northern terminus of our route, meaning our hours of daylight driving would be the shortest of the entire trip. We had resigned ourselves, not to the possibility, but to the promise of driving at night, knowing that we would have to get a hotel to beat the cold and extend our ability to make miles. We stayed in the urbanity of suburban SLC on night one, a pedestrian start to the adventure. One united state down, four to go.

Fresh snow, fresh start? It was a record breaking December in the valley.

“I don’t care where you are going, I want to go with you.” - Gracie O’Malley Tuttle

Starting the Slog

Night one went well, which was a relief, because it was really the start of the trip, the departure from the norm. A seven hour drive to SLC isn’t out of the ordinary for us, it happens a couple times a year, and we’ve stayed in hotels and motels with Gracie the needy, energetic, too-smart-for-her-own-good cow dog before, but that night in the hotel was the first of the trip, and its general success gave us some confidence. Maybe we could do this? Maybe we could find independence? Maybe we still are the kind of people who drove a Pinzgauer through Baja, and converted a school bus, and lived in an ambulance? Maybe, just maybe, we actually are the Traveling Tuttles?

If we actually were the Traveling Tuttles, we would need some proof, and someday we would need some prints to hang on the walls of whatever old-folks home we eventually inhabit, so we stopped in Moab for some family photos. Chelsea packed a lot of her camera equipment, including her drone “Olsen”³ (named such by Chels’ newspaper editor, which I think makes me Superman?) for reasons such as this. If you’re going out to hunt for travel magic, it’s worth documenting.

We drove around some backroads just outside Moab looking for a minimally trafficked spot to fly and land the drone and get some good views of the area’s iconic red slick rock. Even in moments like this, with all the freedom in the world, we felt rushed to get the photos and get moving, as each moment spent taking photos meant less daylight drive time. The time spent on the dirt road was worth it though, and I think the family portraits came out great.

The Wintery grip of the Intermountain West was noticeably weaker on day 2 - we were escaping.

We made sure that getting to Chels’ photo kit wasn’t too arduous. Cameras that can’t be accessed can’t be used.

Family photo time! Batsquatch the truck has a real Harlequin vibe going on.

Slogging

From the start, which is a moment in time that neither Chelsea nor I can pinpoint, this trip was going to be divided into two halves - the slog north of the border, and then everything after. Day two, three, and four slipped by as the miles disappeared in the rearview mirror and the diesel drained out of the tanks. Our existence was the monotonous staccato of a long distance road trip: drive, food break, drive, bathroom break, drive, fuel stop, drive, play disc with your dog so she stops considering armed mutiny, drive, get a motel.

We found some travel magic along the way, but not much of it was documented. We stopped for a broken down 1969 VW bus on the side of the highway, inhabited by two young Utahans and their two dogs. They had been there all night, listing perilously and perched on three wheels and a jack stand as their wheel bearings had decided to weld themselves together under the strain of a load never imagined by engineers during the Summer of Love. We stopped for some of New Mexico’s best fried chicken and barbecue shortly after, where we were welcomed to New Mexico by a friendly local who commented that we were a long way from home when he saw our Idaho plates. We found kolaches in Texas after a heartbreaking five-plus year hiatus from the regional delicacy (selling Christmas trees in San Antonio got us properly hooked on the breakfast item in 2015).

The slog continued, and continued. We drove through New Mexican towns sleeping the winter away. We drove through the oil fields of West Texas at night, with the fires casting eerie, unnatural shadows across the landscape and the cab filling with the rotten-eggs-stench of hydrogen sulfide, as if the Earth was asking, “Are you sure you want to be taking this stuff out of the ground?” only to have my truck answer, “Yes, and please don’t stop, I’m thirsty.”

We drove until we were hungry, ate until we were uncomfortable, and kept going, until the hill country of Texas slowly gave way to palm trees and grass unusually lush for January. We were closer to the border than we were to home, by a long shot, and we were probably closer to the tropics than we were to the mountains. We picked our way through a heavy stream of traffic down through San Antonio and on, to McAllen, driving on a highway two sizes too small for the volume of traffic, surrounded by signs proclaiming the arrival of an interstate route to the border, someday soon. As night fell on us for the last time in the US, we pulled in to a motel in McAllen, an easy 8 miles from the border. It felt like we had made it all the way to the edge of the cliff - now all we had to do was jump off.

If you find yourself in Cuba, New Mexico, do yourself a favor and stop at Mel’s Drive Thru Chicken and BBQ - it was well worth it

Even Gracie got a few morsels of chicken and bbq goodness at Mel’s.

Slogging.

one quick wash on the road to get that pesky road salt off.

Kolaches!

KOLACHES!!!

Slogging, slogging, slogging.

Slogging, slogging, slogging to success!


¹ “Fernweh” is a German word for “farsickness,” the opposite of homesickness.

² “Batsquatch”, a 1996 Ford F-350 XLT

³ Jimmy Olsen is a fictional character appearing in American Superman comic books published by DC Comics. Olsen is most often portrayed as a young photojournalist working for the Daily Planet.