CanucksRedRocket
Observer
Good luck on your adventures, and glad to see you've hit the road. I can't wait to see more pics.
Adrift in Space
- Thread starter Phoo
- Start date
Daydreamer1969
New member
Ground control to Phoo, over. Hope all is well and enjoying your adventure?
Phoo
Observer
Stardate: 2017.2.2
Local Coordinates: 45.708405, -121.515300
I'm currently in orbit around greater Mt. Hood/Portland, OR area, where I'll be making preparations for Phase 2 of this grand adventure. I'll make an attempt at recapping the trip so far while I have easy access to internet -
- Transcontinental Slog -
“You picked a strange time of year to start a road trip!”
I can certainly see how some might draw that conclusion. That also may be why some folks just assumed that I'd gone completely 'round the bend and was plunging headlong into some maniacal, escapist vision quest.
But there was a plan. Winter travel means a few things:
Pleasant desert weather
Empty national parks
Snowy mountains to play in
Unfortunately, it also means enduring some undesirable temperatures and rather bleak scenery while getting to the good part of the trip. And so went my exodus from the Northeast and long uneventful haul across the Midwest. Blasting out of PA, I took a day and a half to get to Chicago, met some friends for lunch, stayed over in nearby(ish) Milwaukee, then made the long drag to Colorado over the course of another two days. With the exception of my layover in the land of beer and sausage, evenings in this time period were used to raise the practice of rest stop camping to high art. Nestled among the restless diesels, glaring sodium vapor lamps, plastic-bag-tumbleweed and the usual assortment of shady characters, I huddled on the lee side of Spacepod and cooked delicious parking lot stew on my backpacking stove. The Midwest is not without its charm, but I'll admit I did little to seek it.
In an unused, unloved RV Park (unattended dirt lot) on the edge of the town of Fleming, my camera escaped the confines of its bag for the first time. Yes, Colorado really is colorful.
There was a slightly fuzzy plan to meet a former coworker to ride some snow that weekend, but he and his partner were both down with a fairly uncomfortable stomach bug. With various forms of frozen and liquid precipitation marching across the plains, I decided to keep flying south for slightly warmer temperatures, drier skies and easier camping... and I almost made it, too! Slowed by ever worsening weather, I decided to dock for the night at the Trinidad, Colorado rest stop, one mountain pass from the New Mexico border.
Local Coordinates: 45.708405, -121.515300
I'm currently in orbit around greater Mt. Hood/Portland, OR area, where I'll be making preparations for Phase 2 of this grand adventure. I'll make an attempt at recapping the trip so far while I have easy access to internet -
- Transcontinental Slog -
“You picked a strange time of year to start a road trip!”
I can certainly see how some might draw that conclusion. That also may be why some folks just assumed that I'd gone completely 'round the bend and was plunging headlong into some maniacal, escapist vision quest.
But there was a plan. Winter travel means a few things:
Pleasant desert weather
Empty national parks
Snowy mountains to play in
Unfortunately, it also means enduring some undesirable temperatures and rather bleak scenery while getting to the good part of the trip. And so went my exodus from the Northeast and long uneventful haul across the Midwest. Blasting out of PA, I took a day and a half to get to Chicago, met some friends for lunch, stayed over in nearby(ish) Milwaukee, then made the long drag to Colorado over the course of another two days. With the exception of my layover in the land of beer and sausage, evenings in this time period were used to raise the practice of rest stop camping to high art. Nestled among the restless diesels, glaring sodium vapor lamps, plastic-bag-tumbleweed and the usual assortment of shady characters, I huddled on the lee side of Spacepod and cooked delicious parking lot stew on my backpacking stove. The Midwest is not without its charm, but I'll admit I did little to seek it.
In an unused, unloved RV Park (unattended dirt lot) on the edge of the town of Fleming, my camera escaped the confines of its bag for the first time. Yes, Colorado really is colorful.
There was a slightly fuzzy plan to meet a former coworker to ride some snow that weekend, but he and his partner were both down with a fairly uncomfortable stomach bug. With various forms of frozen and liquid precipitation marching across the plains, I decided to keep flying south for slightly warmer temperatures, drier skies and easier camping... and I almost made it, too! Slowed by ever worsening weather, I decided to dock for the night at the Trinidad, Colorado rest stop, one mountain pass from the New Mexico border.
Phoo
Observer
- No Rest for the Wicked -
The southwestern part of the U.S. was to be the first part of the trip that I had really made firm and deliberate plans to enjoy. Upon crossing the Raton Pass and out of the brooding, swirling weather system engulfing Colorado and other states north, I slowed down and made a point of enjoying New Mexico's brutalistic rendition of desert landscape; seemingly endless snow covered grasslands, punctuated by immense towers of rock erupting from nowhere and flanked by distant mountains. On a whim, I stopped at the Fort Union historic monument. Fascinating piece of history and worth a look if ever in the area. The staff was a bit surprised to see anyone stop in on such a cold, snowy day.
Having grown quite thoroughly exhausted of rest stop camping (however glamorous it may sound), I pulled into Santa Fe for a medium order of French fries and some McWiFi to plot my next moves. By the power of the internet, a *FREE* campsite was located in a green blob on the map called Caja del Rio Plateau. Out of town, into the setting sun and down a muddy, unpaved road, I found my first night of desert camping, chorus of howling coyotes included. As I drifted to sleep, soft rain began to fall, leaving me to wonder if I'd be able to get out the next day.
I awoke to brilliant sunshine, some nice views and slick but tacky roads. Desert oatmeal that morning was found to be far superior to rest stop oatmeal. After camp was broken, crew and craft hastily but cautiously beat a retreat from planet mud and set a course for Albuquerque to catch up on some real-world details.
The trip to Albuquerque involved an oil change, a trip to the bank, a trip to the post office and a WiFi stop at Starbucks. My campsite for the evening was a quiet national forest spot in the mountains just to the east of town. The road to the site was far less exciting than the day before, but mountain oatmeal may have in fact rivaled desert oatmeal.
I managed to get about an hour of hiking in before some weather started to sneak up. Things didn't look too bad, but I was looking forward to getting to the Grand Canyon before the next storm (yes, another one) took that option away. Camp broken, chocks pulled, thrusters lit and onto Flagstaff!
From my spot in the hills west of Flagstaff, the crackling, robotic voice of my weather radio informed me that I was exactly a day too late. Flagstaff, Grand Canyon and all immediately surrounding areas were about to get pounded (technical term) by multiple feet of snow over the next three days. Somehow, I'd miscalculated, or the storm had moved in faster than expected. As the first of the storm began to roll in, I hunkered down in the local library and put together a plan to swing further south than originally intended. Just after lunch, I shoved off in the direction of Phoenix. As I dropped below 4000 feet, snow changed over to rain, and I pulled into camp at a state run OHV park just before sunset.
The next morning proved to be dry enough for a quick hike on the adjacent trail system (which happened to be part of an IMBA Epic, but the bike stayed in the car, sadly).
By lunch time, the storm returned to finish what it had started, so I ducked into town, took care of the laundry situation and resolved to move on to California, camping at another OHV park that night.
The southwestern part of the U.S. was to be the first part of the trip that I had really made firm and deliberate plans to enjoy. Upon crossing the Raton Pass and out of the brooding, swirling weather system engulfing Colorado and other states north, I slowed down and made a point of enjoying New Mexico's brutalistic rendition of desert landscape; seemingly endless snow covered grasslands, punctuated by immense towers of rock erupting from nowhere and flanked by distant mountains. On a whim, I stopped at the Fort Union historic monument. Fascinating piece of history and worth a look if ever in the area. The staff was a bit surprised to see anyone stop in on such a cold, snowy day.
Having grown quite thoroughly exhausted of rest stop camping (however glamorous it may sound), I pulled into Santa Fe for a medium order of French fries and some McWiFi to plot my next moves. By the power of the internet, a *FREE* campsite was located in a green blob on the map called Caja del Rio Plateau. Out of town, into the setting sun and down a muddy, unpaved road, I found my first night of desert camping, chorus of howling coyotes included. As I drifted to sleep, soft rain began to fall, leaving me to wonder if I'd be able to get out the next day.
I awoke to brilliant sunshine, some nice views and slick but tacky roads. Desert oatmeal that morning was found to be far superior to rest stop oatmeal. After camp was broken, crew and craft hastily but cautiously beat a retreat from planet mud and set a course for Albuquerque to catch up on some real-world details.
The trip to Albuquerque involved an oil change, a trip to the bank, a trip to the post office and a WiFi stop at Starbucks. My campsite for the evening was a quiet national forest spot in the mountains just to the east of town. The road to the site was far less exciting than the day before, but mountain oatmeal may have in fact rivaled desert oatmeal.
I managed to get about an hour of hiking in before some weather started to sneak up. Things didn't look too bad, but I was looking forward to getting to the Grand Canyon before the next storm (yes, another one) took that option away. Camp broken, chocks pulled, thrusters lit and onto Flagstaff!
From my spot in the hills west of Flagstaff, the crackling, robotic voice of my weather radio informed me that I was exactly a day too late. Flagstaff, Grand Canyon and all immediately surrounding areas were about to get pounded (technical term) by multiple feet of snow over the next three days. Somehow, I'd miscalculated, or the storm had moved in faster than expected. As the first of the storm began to roll in, I hunkered down in the local library and put together a plan to swing further south than originally intended. Just after lunch, I shoved off in the direction of Phoenix. As I dropped below 4000 feet, snow changed over to rain, and I pulled into camp at a state run OHV park just before sunset.
The next morning proved to be dry enough for a quick hike on the adjacent trail system (which happened to be part of an IMBA Epic, but the bike stayed in the car, sadly).
By lunch time, the storm returned to finish what it had started, so I ducked into town, took care of the laundry situation and resolved to move on to California, camping at another OHV park that night.
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Phoo
Observer
- Joshua Tree, Monsoon Rains and King of the Walmart Hammers -
When the previous storm had chased me out of Flagstaff, and effectively forced me to take a very far south route, I decided that I may as well swing through Joshua National Park. It's right there, temperatures should be tolerable, and hopefully the crowds won't be too bad. And thus, when the sun rose and the screeching of two-stroke dirtbike engines in the adjacent lot signaled the start of a new day, I once again packed up and blasted west across miles of flat, brown desert.
Arriving mid-afternoon at Joshua Tree, I bought my annual pass, ate a quick lunch and managed a short hike up Mt. Ryan.
Camp that night was in a BLM lot just outside the south entrance of the park. My neighbors included a young German couple in a rented Ford Econoline, a retired couple in a pickup/slide-in camper combo, and some dude in a sedan who I suspect may be a “permanent resident” of the area. That night, the weather radio promised another rain storm for the following afternoon.
Rain-be-danged, I set off early the next day for a longer hike down the Boy Scout Trail, a bit farther north into the park. I made it probably about three miles across some absolutely stunning terrain before the darkening skies signaled their intent to end my adventure. Snapped a few photos and got the heck out, making it back to the trailhead about half an hour before the rain started.
So when's the next time I'll ever get to hike Joshua Tree? Hopefully someday, but possibly never. The rain gear went on, and I went out for a quick loop on the Hidden Valley trail before leaving the park. Sadly, the camera stayed in the bag.
Stopping for McWifi in Yucca Valley, research showed that camping options were either in the park, or about an hour north in Johnson Valley. The latter of which, according to Google Maps, is the site of King of the Hammers (a slightly insane desert race that I was recently made aware of by one of my equally insane gearhead friends back home). Camping in Joshua Tree would cost me money. Camping with the alleged “Hammers” would mean slogging down an unknown dirt road, into a dirt lot, in the middle of nowhere, during unimaginable heavy rains (really pouring at this point) and getting hopelessly stuck, no doubt to the humor of the local 4x4 crowd... but there was that Walmart that I just passed. I told myself that I never wanted to, unless I was really hard up, but today was the day. In the back-right corner, amidst a couple of run-down RVs, a conversion van and a few other folk looking for refuge. I spent a short, uneasy night there and made an early exit, with Death Valley on the radar. I did manage to swing past the Hammers location, and the trail/road in looked like it would have devoured Spacepod. It was, however, worth it for this photo -
When the previous storm had chased me out of Flagstaff, and effectively forced me to take a very far south route, I decided that I may as well swing through Joshua National Park. It's right there, temperatures should be tolerable, and hopefully the crowds won't be too bad. And thus, when the sun rose and the screeching of two-stroke dirtbike engines in the adjacent lot signaled the start of a new day, I once again packed up and blasted west across miles of flat, brown desert.
Arriving mid-afternoon at Joshua Tree, I bought my annual pass, ate a quick lunch and managed a short hike up Mt. Ryan.
Camp that night was in a BLM lot just outside the south entrance of the park. My neighbors included a young German couple in a rented Ford Econoline, a retired couple in a pickup/slide-in camper combo, and some dude in a sedan who I suspect may be a “permanent resident” of the area. That night, the weather radio promised another rain storm for the following afternoon.
Rain-be-danged, I set off early the next day for a longer hike down the Boy Scout Trail, a bit farther north into the park. I made it probably about three miles across some absolutely stunning terrain before the darkening skies signaled their intent to end my adventure. Snapped a few photos and got the heck out, making it back to the trailhead about half an hour before the rain started.
So when's the next time I'll ever get to hike Joshua Tree? Hopefully someday, but possibly never. The rain gear went on, and I went out for a quick loop on the Hidden Valley trail before leaving the park. Sadly, the camera stayed in the bag.
Stopping for McWifi in Yucca Valley, research showed that camping options were either in the park, or about an hour north in Johnson Valley. The latter of which, according to Google Maps, is the site of King of the Hammers (a slightly insane desert race that I was recently made aware of by one of my equally insane gearhead friends back home). Camping in Joshua Tree would cost me money. Camping with the alleged “Hammers” would mean slogging down an unknown dirt road, into a dirt lot, in the middle of nowhere, during unimaginable heavy rains (really pouring at this point) and getting hopelessly stuck, no doubt to the humor of the local 4x4 crowd... but there was that Walmart that I just passed. I told myself that I never wanted to, unless I was really hard up, but today was the day. In the back-right corner, amidst a couple of run-down RVs, a conversion van and a few other folk looking for refuge. I spent a short, uneasy night there and made an early exit, with Death Valley on the radar. I did manage to swing past the Hammers location, and the trail/road in looked like it would have devoured Spacepod. It was, however, worth it for this photo -
High Center
Adventurer
One small step for man....
Phoo
Observer
- Death Valley and the Final Approach -
Having spent most of my life living on the east coast, the deserts of the southwestern United States were an entity that I did not have any experience with other than in pictures. For this first leg of my trip, I had made a goal of spending some time, and to a limited extent, coming to grips with this particular environment. Unfortunately, I'd been thwarted, in several instances, by relentless weather. My trip to Death Valley National Park was the first opportunity to stay in one place for an extended amount of time, and really explore outside of the vehicle. Overall, I spent about three and a half days there, exploring by foot, bicycle and car. Appropriately enough for a landscape that is both immense and unimaginably austere, I have few words today with which to describe the experience. Thus, I'll just link a few of my humble photos.
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Edit: Meet Holly and Paul. I ran into this young couple while hiking up Falls Canyon, near the north end of the park. Since retiring, these two have managed to hike an average of ~6 miles per day (some days more, some days less) and have gone the equivalent of 3/4 of the way around the globe. A fair number of those miles have been spent poking at every imaginable corner of Death Valley. If you kiddos are reading this, thanks for all of the helpful advice, and I hope to run into you again another day!
Day 4
Upon leaving Death Valley, I took a fairly direct route to the Portland, Oregon area, with a slight detour to the Reno area to go snowboarding with an old friend. As noted, I'll be locked in geosynchronous orbit until mid-March for some vehicle preparation, repair, planning and physical training. At that point, myself and a second crew member will be blasting into deep space for phase two. Stay tuned!
Having spent most of my life living on the east coast, the deserts of the southwestern United States were an entity that I did not have any experience with other than in pictures. For this first leg of my trip, I had made a goal of spending some time, and to a limited extent, coming to grips with this particular environment. Unfortunately, I'd been thwarted, in several instances, by relentless weather. My trip to Death Valley National Park was the first opportunity to stay in one place for an extended amount of time, and really explore outside of the vehicle. Overall, I spent about three and a half days there, exploring by foot, bicycle and car. Appropriately enough for a landscape that is both immense and unimaginably austere, I have few words today with which to describe the experience. Thus, I'll just link a few of my humble photos.
Day 1
Day 2
Day 3
Edit: Meet Holly and Paul. I ran into this young couple while hiking up Falls Canyon, near the north end of the park. Since retiring, these two have managed to hike an average of ~6 miles per day (some days more, some days less) and have gone the equivalent of 3/4 of the way around the globe. A fair number of those miles have been spent poking at every imaginable corner of Death Valley. If you kiddos are reading this, thanks for all of the helpful advice, and I hope to run into you again another day!
Day 4
Upon leaving Death Valley, I took a fairly direct route to the Portland, Oregon area, with a slight detour to the Reno area to go snowboarding with an old friend. As noted, I'll be locked in geosynchronous orbit until mid-March for some vehicle preparation, repair, planning and physical training. At that point, myself and a second crew member will be blasting into deep space for phase two. Stay tuned!
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gunpainter
Observer
Very much enjoyed the photography, and the write ups to this point, looking forward to reading more about your travels. I don't get to start my big trip until the end of May, which can't get here soon enough.
Branden
Branden
Phoo
Observer
Lance,
After getting chased around by weather, I feel that I have some unfinished business in the southwest. Hopefully we can connect when I get back out that way.
Branden,
Good luck and be excited! This strange business in which we endeavor is absolutely worth it. Getting past the front door is toughest part.
After getting chased around by weather, I feel that I have some unfinished business in the southwest. Hopefully we can connect when I get back out that way.
Branden,
Good luck and be excited! This strange business in which we endeavor is absolutely worth it. Getting past the front door is toughest part.
Phoo
Observer
Stardate: 2017.3.11
Odometer: 6475.4
Local Coordinates: 45.649937, -122.667610
Ship's Log:
- Fanfare for the Common Van -
Get it? Ha! (replace that “V” with an “M” and it should all come into focus. If you're still confused, ask a dorky band kid for now... maybe we'll come back to this later) My high school British Literature teacher insisted that the pun is the lowest form of humor, but my deep stock of fart-jokes suggests differently...
So, before I unplug for the next month, I thought I'd take some space to be the techie-gearhead-nerd that I am, and talk about the little van called Spacepod. Since I'm running with a bit of a theme this post, I'll break it down in two movements -
First Movement – Spacepod as an “overland” vehicle
Over the past summer, I was pushing hard to get a much more capable vehicle up and running (Build thread linked in my signature. Friends and family not members of ExPo – you'll not be able to see the pictures without an account, but we'll chat over Christmas dinner. Groovy?). When late fall came and the engine was still divided among a half dozen or so jumbo-size Tupperware boxes in the basement, not to mention the rat's nest of electrical wiring to be sorted through, I sat myself down for a heart to heart discussion. Even if by some miracle I had actually finished, traveling solo in continental North America, a machine that capable was completely unnecessary, and would likely just tempt me to take risks getting to places I don't need to go. Limiting my terrain choices to the occasional rugged forest road, an AWD minivan with some decent tires seemed like a reasonable conclusion. I have most of the capability of a stock VW Vanagon Syncro, but with much better reliability and parts availability (In full disclosure, I once owned a Syncro of another flavor. It was fun for a while, but I no longer have a taste for that particular coolaid).
On tarmac, Spacepod is a great long distance vehicle. Toyota gave it just enough power to get out of its own way, and it handles reasonably well for a 4,500 lb cinder block. Visibility is great, and NVH is rather tolerable. Off the beaten path, the AWD system coupled with traction control has been enough to save me from my own stupidity on a number of occasions. My little bus is a 2008 model, and as I understand it, is equipped with just an open mechanical center differential. The newer models use some kind of part-time viscous/electric clutch pack system, and are effectively FWD until traction is compromised. Ground clearance is about 7.5”, which is just sufficient to slide into a rugged campsite here and there, but low enough to require some thoughtful line choice.
I'm not sure I see myself driving this beast for much longer than my present adventure, but if I were to keep it, there are a few big things that could really stand improvement. First, the headlights are awful. This condition is exacerbated by the coke-bottle lenses I put on my face every morning to half correct my slowly failing eyesight. Some nice auxiliary lighting out front would improve things greatly. The manual in the glove box rather amusingly points out that this is NOT an off road vehicle, but some minimal skid plates would be a welcome addition.
I generally don't go looking for trouble, but the added insurance would be nice. Lastly, and this would be the most difficult to accomplish, would be another inch or two of ground clearance. Yes, there are some obvious challenges, like CV joint stress and such, but I'd like to think it could be done with some thought and creativity. Consider this an open challenge. Any takers?
Second Movement – Spacepod as a Studio Apartment
There is no “build-out” documented for this vehicle. I bought a cot at the sporting goods store and tossed a bunch of milk crates beneath it. I had to make a few stand-offs so that the crates would fit under the cot, but other than that, I only spent a few additional minutes with a socket wrench to wrestle the rear bench seat out of its little cubby hole. Here's the five cent tour of my humble home on wheels, for what it's worth.
My mountain bike lives on the passenger side of the van (front wheel removed). Behind, in the rear bench recess is the full size spare tire, dirty laundry bag, a couple bags of seasonal attire, tool box, 6 quarts of oil, 1 gallon of coolant, jack stands, and a haphazard pile of groceries. On the drivers side of the van, I have my cot with eight milk crates stashed beneath. Crates 1-3 contain clothes. Crate 4 contains miscellaneous camping supplies. Crates 5-6 contain cookware and eatingware. Crate 7 contains bike stuff. Crate 8 contains snowboarding stuff. My roof box has my two snowboards (splitboard and solid board), warm weather sleeping bag, and backpacks not currently in use.
Living in this small of a space is certainly difficult at times. I can sit upright on my cot without hitting my head on the ceiling, but standing is out of the question. The biggest drawback over something like a full sized van, is that it lacks living space. There's not much room to just hang out. When warmer, dryer weather comes, I expect that this will be less of an issue
Now, every toothbrush handle trimming outdoor minimalist usually has one or two entirely senseless pieces of “gear” (generally not at all essential or useful in function) that effectively irrationalize the sum total of all other efforts to save space and weight. Like those tallboys you packed instead of your rain gear. Before we go there, let me first drop a bit of Phoo trivia... In a not so distant life, I was once a classical musician. If I was traveling anywhere for more than a few days, the French horn came with me (What's a French horn you say? That weird, awkward kid around the block... ask him what's in the funny looking case he drags to school every Thursday morning. By the way, we just came full circle, there.). Sadly, that beast got left behind in my little storage unit. If you're going to make questionable decisions, you may as well go all in. Thus, it was only logical to bring the amplified, electric, solid-bodied instrument of my current musical life. And I snapped this goofball picture today, since all I've got is time on my hands:
The big, bad bass lives in its bulky, TSA approved, hardshell case, in the space between the cot and left side sliding door.
Oh yeah, Fanfare for the Common MAN is a piece by 20th century composer, Aaron Copland. A rather memorable brass part, it has. Look it up some day.
Super-secret-double-bonus:
I took a series of interior photos with me in it to show scale. Not surprisingly, they were all a bit goofy. Anyhow, if you look closely at what I'm reading, you'll note that it's an article on world travel and Expedition Portal superstar Dan Grec (Published in the current issue of Tread magazine). The lower picture is of him sitting in his Jeep, tapping away at his laptop, no doubt posting to ExPo. Ponder this as your universe collapses on itself...
Odometer: 6475.4
Local Coordinates: 45.649937, -122.667610
Ship's Log:
- Fanfare for the Common Van -
Get it? Ha! (replace that “V” with an “M” and it should all come into focus. If you're still confused, ask a dorky band kid for now... maybe we'll come back to this later) My high school British Literature teacher insisted that the pun is the lowest form of humor, but my deep stock of fart-jokes suggests differently...
So, before I unplug for the next month, I thought I'd take some space to be the techie-gearhead-nerd that I am, and talk about the little van called Spacepod. Since I'm running with a bit of a theme this post, I'll break it down in two movements -
First Movement – Spacepod as an “overland” vehicle
Over the past summer, I was pushing hard to get a much more capable vehicle up and running (Build thread linked in my signature. Friends and family not members of ExPo – you'll not be able to see the pictures without an account, but we'll chat over Christmas dinner. Groovy?). When late fall came and the engine was still divided among a half dozen or so jumbo-size Tupperware boxes in the basement, not to mention the rat's nest of electrical wiring to be sorted through, I sat myself down for a heart to heart discussion. Even if by some miracle I had actually finished, traveling solo in continental North America, a machine that capable was completely unnecessary, and would likely just tempt me to take risks getting to places I don't need to go. Limiting my terrain choices to the occasional rugged forest road, an AWD minivan with some decent tires seemed like a reasonable conclusion. I have most of the capability of a stock VW Vanagon Syncro, but with much better reliability and parts availability (In full disclosure, I once owned a Syncro of another flavor. It was fun for a while, but I no longer have a taste for that particular coolaid).
On tarmac, Spacepod is a great long distance vehicle. Toyota gave it just enough power to get out of its own way, and it handles reasonably well for a 4,500 lb cinder block. Visibility is great, and NVH is rather tolerable. Off the beaten path, the AWD system coupled with traction control has been enough to save me from my own stupidity on a number of occasions. My little bus is a 2008 model, and as I understand it, is equipped with just an open mechanical center differential. The newer models use some kind of part-time viscous/electric clutch pack system, and are effectively FWD until traction is compromised. Ground clearance is about 7.5”, which is just sufficient to slide into a rugged campsite here and there, but low enough to require some thoughtful line choice.
I'm not sure I see myself driving this beast for much longer than my present adventure, but if I were to keep it, there are a few big things that could really stand improvement. First, the headlights are awful. This condition is exacerbated by the coke-bottle lenses I put on my face every morning to half correct my slowly failing eyesight. Some nice auxiliary lighting out front would improve things greatly. The manual in the glove box rather amusingly points out that this is NOT an off road vehicle, but some minimal skid plates would be a welcome addition.
I generally don't go looking for trouble, but the added insurance would be nice. Lastly, and this would be the most difficult to accomplish, would be another inch or two of ground clearance. Yes, there are some obvious challenges, like CV joint stress and such, but I'd like to think it could be done with some thought and creativity. Consider this an open challenge. Any takers?
Second Movement – Spacepod as a Studio Apartment
There is no “build-out” documented for this vehicle. I bought a cot at the sporting goods store and tossed a bunch of milk crates beneath it. I had to make a few stand-offs so that the crates would fit under the cot, but other than that, I only spent a few additional minutes with a socket wrench to wrestle the rear bench seat out of its little cubby hole. Here's the five cent tour of my humble home on wheels, for what it's worth.
My mountain bike lives on the passenger side of the van (front wheel removed). Behind, in the rear bench recess is the full size spare tire, dirty laundry bag, a couple bags of seasonal attire, tool box, 6 quarts of oil, 1 gallon of coolant, jack stands, and a haphazard pile of groceries. On the drivers side of the van, I have my cot with eight milk crates stashed beneath. Crates 1-3 contain clothes. Crate 4 contains miscellaneous camping supplies. Crates 5-6 contain cookware and eatingware. Crate 7 contains bike stuff. Crate 8 contains snowboarding stuff. My roof box has my two snowboards (splitboard and solid board), warm weather sleeping bag, and backpacks not currently in use.
Living in this small of a space is certainly difficult at times. I can sit upright on my cot without hitting my head on the ceiling, but standing is out of the question. The biggest drawback over something like a full sized van, is that it lacks living space. There's not much room to just hang out. When warmer, dryer weather comes, I expect that this will be less of an issue
Now, every toothbrush handle trimming outdoor minimalist usually has one or two entirely senseless pieces of “gear” (generally not at all essential or useful in function) that effectively irrationalize the sum total of all other efforts to save space and weight. Like those tallboys you packed instead of your rain gear. Before we go there, let me first drop a bit of Phoo trivia... In a not so distant life, I was once a classical musician. If I was traveling anywhere for more than a few days, the French horn came with me (What's a French horn you say? That weird, awkward kid around the block... ask him what's in the funny looking case he drags to school every Thursday morning. By the way, we just came full circle, there.). Sadly, that beast got left behind in my little storage unit. If you're going to make questionable decisions, you may as well go all in. Thus, it was only logical to bring the amplified, electric, solid-bodied instrument of my current musical life. And I snapped this goofball picture today, since all I've got is time on my hands:
The big, bad bass lives in its bulky, TSA approved, hardshell case, in the space between the cot and left side sliding door.
Oh yeah, Fanfare for the Common MAN is a piece by 20th century composer, Aaron Copland. A rather memorable brass part, it has. Look it up some day.
Super-secret-double-bonus:
I took a series of interior photos with me in it to show scale. Not surprisingly, they were all a bit goofy. Anyhow, if you look closely at what I'm reading, you'll note that it's an article on world travel and Expedition Portal superstar Dan Grec (Published in the current issue of Tread magazine). The lower picture is of him sitting in his Jeep, tapping away at his laptop, no doubt posting to ExPo. Ponder this as your universe collapses on itself...
Phoo
Observer
- Distant Galaxies, Additional Crew and Famous Last Words -
I think it was a little bit of a joke, a little bit of a bet and a little bit serious. I half heartedly floated it out into the ether via text in a sort of who-flinches-first sort of way. I cannot recall the exact words, but in the end no one flinched, and now I'm hours away from loading up Spacepod and blasting north toward Alaska. The deepest of space, that is. For the next five weeks, I'll be traveling with splitboarding buddy/instigator @thecorydog (His internet handle. Instagram account hyperlinked: here), henceforth known here as TCD.
The plan is to mosey through British Columbia for a few weeks, exploring what we can as weather and mountain moods permit, prior to pushing for the Valdez/Thompson Pass to climb and ride the biggest lines of our lives. We'll keep a low orbit there for about a week and a half, then slingshot back south in time to catch Oregon Splitfest.
I hope:
That Spacepod does not break down
Daily low temperatures improve from brutal cold to just stupid cold
TCD and I do not try to kill each other after five weeks in a phone booth on wheels
That this will be a memorable experience, though, that may already be guaranteed
Access to internet is certainly uncertain, so this may be the last transmission until we cross back over the event-horizon.
Here goes... Something!!
I think it was a little bit of a joke, a little bit of a bet and a little bit serious. I half heartedly floated it out into the ether via text in a sort of who-flinches-first sort of way. I cannot recall the exact words, but in the end no one flinched, and now I'm hours away from loading up Spacepod and blasting north toward Alaska. The deepest of space, that is. For the next five weeks, I'll be traveling with splitboarding buddy/instigator @thecorydog (His internet handle. Instagram account hyperlinked: here), henceforth known here as TCD.
The plan is to mosey through British Columbia for a few weeks, exploring what we can as weather and mountain moods permit, prior to pushing for the Valdez/Thompson Pass to climb and ride the biggest lines of our lives. We'll keep a low orbit there for about a week and a half, then slingshot back south in time to catch Oregon Splitfest.
I hope:
That Spacepod does not break down
Daily low temperatures improve from brutal cold to just stupid cold
TCD and I do not try to kill each other after five weeks in a phone booth on wheels
That this will be a memorable experience, though, that may already be guaranteed
Access to internet is certainly uncertain, so this may be the last transmission until we cross back over the event-horizon.
Here goes... Something!!
Phoo
Observer
Stardate: 2017.3.14
Local Coordinates: 50.997234, -118.200434
Ships Log:
- Quick Update -
TCD and I are now on day three of the Canada/Alaska odyssey. Currently at the local library researching weather, avalanche conditions, geography and generally killing time. Today began with a dawn start tour near Nelson, B.C., followed by a four hour drive through some stunning scenery. I was far too occupied with waltzing Spacepod through endless corners on glorious mountain highways to take pictures, but hopefully, I can borrow a few shots from TCD for a later, more detailed post. Just a few shots from the adventure so far:
Reconfigured Spacepod, packed and ready for launch -
Crossing Upper Arrow Lake by ferry today -
Dirtbag convention at the Revelstoke combined library and aquatic centre parking lot -
... On that topic, I should probably clarify what I mean by "dirtbag", as that may be a bit unfamiliar to some. According to the mighty UrbanDictionary.com:
A person who is committed to a given (usually extreme) lifestyle to the point of abandoning employment and other societal norms in order to pursue said lifestyle. Dirtbags can be distinguished from hippies by the fact that dirtbags have a specific reason for their living communaly and generally non-hygenically; dirtbags are seeking to spend all of their moments pursuing their lifestyle
(link)
The parking lot is filled with all manner of vans, buses, truck campers, wagons, etc., outfitted for long term adventure travel and recreation in the mountains. It's always nice to roll into a place with so many people clearly on the same page as yourself. But, my goodness, does it smell a bit in here (not that I have much room to comment at this point)!
Local Coordinates: 50.997234, -118.200434
Ships Log:
- Quick Update -
TCD and I are now on day three of the Canada/Alaska odyssey. Currently at the local library researching weather, avalanche conditions, geography and generally killing time. Today began with a dawn start tour near Nelson, B.C., followed by a four hour drive through some stunning scenery. I was far too occupied with waltzing Spacepod through endless corners on glorious mountain highways to take pictures, but hopefully, I can borrow a few shots from TCD for a later, more detailed post. Just a few shots from the adventure so far:
Reconfigured Spacepod, packed and ready for launch -
Crossing Upper Arrow Lake by ferry today -
Dirtbag convention at the Revelstoke combined library and aquatic centre parking lot -
... On that topic, I should probably clarify what I mean by "dirtbag", as that may be a bit unfamiliar to some. According to the mighty UrbanDictionary.com:
A person who is committed to a given (usually extreme) lifestyle to the point of abandoning employment and other societal norms in order to pursue said lifestyle. Dirtbags can be distinguished from hippies by the fact that dirtbags have a specific reason for their living communaly and generally non-hygenically; dirtbags are seeking to spend all of their moments pursuing their lifestyle
(link)
The parking lot is filled with all manner of vans, buses, truck campers, wagons, etc., outfitted for long term adventure travel and recreation in the mountains. It's always nice to roll into a place with so many people clearly on the same page as yourself. But, my goodness, does it smell a bit in here (not that I have much room to comment at this point)!
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