My 2016 RAM 2500 Hemi, the Doghouse Dodge Build

[Jenzz]

Hey everyone,

after lurking on ExPo for way too long and stealing tons of ideas from your build threads, it’s finally time to give something back and start one of my own.

This won’t be a classic “from bare frame to finished rig” build. My RAM is technically “done” – or at least as done as an overland vehicle ever is. In my world it’s always work in progress.

A bit of background:
I’m the second owner of this truck. The original owner already did the big, expensive steps – the AEV suspension and the camper box on the back. We bought the RAM in 2019, right before COVID turned everything upside down, and since then I’ve been slowly turning it into our rig: tweaking, fixing, improving, undoing some choices, adding others… you know how it goes.

Because of that, this thread is going to jump around in time a bit:

• I’ll start with what I’m currently working on (electrics, small layout changes, maintenance, etc.).
• Then I’ll mix in older photos and stories from when we bought it and from the first trips.
• Over time I’d like to document the whole evolution of the truck – not just the shiny “after” pictures, but also the learning curve, mistakes, and re-do’s.

So if the timeline looks a little non-linear at first, that’s by design.

What to expect in this thread:

• RAM 2500 with AEV bits and a custom camper box (GFRP Sandwich and wedge style top
• Lots of “version 1 vs. version 2” changes instead of ground-up fabrication
• Ongoing changes rather than a finished show truck
• Plenty of photos from Europe (I’m based in Germany, so you’ll see the rig in France, Spain, etc.)
• Probably too much nerding out on details

Next post I’ll dive into what I’m currently changing on the truck and add some recent photos, then work my way back in time.

Thanks for reading – comments, questions and ideas are more than welcome. And yes, I’ve been procrastinating this thread for years… so let’s finally start.
Special thanks to RamblinChet for his inspiring stories

 

[Jenzz]

Current Setup:

Vehicle (2016 RAM 2500, 5.7 HEMI, 4×4)

• AEV DualSport suspension
• 37×12.5R17 Cooper STT pro mud-terrains on AEV Salta HD 17×8.5 wheels
• Air Lift 5000 Ultimate rear air helpers
• Bilstein 5100 shocks
• TJM Front steel bumper with (chinese) 16,500 lb winch and Factor 55 UltraHook
• AEV Snorkel
• AMP Research Power Steps

Camper Box / Habitat

• Custom GFRP sandwich camper box (PUR core, ~40 mm)
• Alu-Cab 180° Shadow Awn
• Roof solar: 200 W flat-mounted panels

Electrical System (Victron-based)

• 2 × 200 Ah Victron Lithium Smart NG (400 Ah total)
• Victron Lynx Smart BMS 500 NG as the heart of the system
• Two Lynx Distributors (one on the “in” side, one on the “out” side) for clean, fused DC bus
• Victron Cerbo GX for central monitoring (voltages, currents, SOC, temps, solar, shore, etc.)
• Victron Orion XS 12/12-50 DC-DC charger from the truck alternator into the Lynx DC bus
• Victron SmartSolar MPPT 100/20 solar controller feeding the same bus from the roof array
• Ective CSI30 Pro 3000 W inverter/charger for 230 V AC and shore power integration
• 12 V distribution for all camper loads (fridge, lights, water system, heating, etc.) taken from the Lynx DC bus
• Starlink Mini powered via dedicated DC converter (12 → 48 V) tied into the Victron system

Water

• water system with multi-stage filtration and UV-C treatment for safe drinking water

 

[Jenzz]

What I’m currently working on: the tent canvas of the pop-top is getting replaced – the old one had a few drawbacks we’re fixing now. And since we’re in there anyway, I’m also stripping off the carpet on the roof to replace it with felt, relocating and adding some lights, changing how the canvas is mounted to the roof, and add airline rails along the full length on the inside. In other words, I’m tearing everything apart. Again. My wife suffers in silence… but at this point she’s used to it.

I suffer too. I spent two full days in the unheated garage, working overhead to remove the glue...

 

[Jenzz]

Abandoned “Voice of America” Relay Station – Kavala, Greece (visited 2023)

During our 2023 travels through Greece we took a detour to one of the most surreal “industrial archaeology” stops I’ve seen: the abandoned Voice of America (VOA) relay station near Kavala.

Back in its prime, this site was one of the world’s largest and most impressive international broadcasting facilities—a massive shortwave relay station built to push signals far beyond national borders. In the Cold War era, it wasn’t just “radio”; it was a major tool of U.S. public diplomacy, projecting news and messaging across huge distances via high-power transmitters and enormous antenna fields spread over a vast footprint.

When VOA KAVALA ended operations in 2006, it left behind a nearly 2,000-acre site. What’s particularly interesting (and a bit tragic) is what happened next: the Greek government reportedly hoped to reuse the equipment and asked the U.S. Army not to destroy the base, which was apparently standard protocol for a shutdown. But the reuse never materialized. Over time, the place slipped into limbo—unused, unmaintained, and slowly picked apart. The transmission equipment is now gone—dismantled, sold, recycled, or simply looted.

A quick personal note for context: we’re not hardcore “lost place” explorers. But on our trips we do enjoy checking out abandoned structures—old churches, ruins, forgotten infrastructure—especially since we both studied architecture. Still, this location felt different. It has that uneasy mix of “we probably shouldn’t be here” and “we have no idea if someone else might be here, too.” The scale, isolation, and the site’s former purpose make it feel unusually tense and fascinating at the same time.

One moment from that visit is still stuck in my head. I stepped into the giant generator hall and a warm Mediterranean breeze pushed through the openings in the building. A few pigeons flew into the air as I moved, and the whole space answered with that low, hollow hum of wind through concrete and steel. And in that hum I swore I could hear music—faint, drifting, impossible to place. For a second I thought it might be “Break On Through” by The Doors. The idea was absurd, and I knew it, but the thought wouldn’t let go.

I snapped a few photos in a hurry, picked up a couple of papers that were scattered across the floor in a side room, and headed back to the truck where my wife was waiting. Without saying much, I asked her to take a quick look inside the hall as well. She went, came back, and when I asked if she’d noticed anything, she just said: “Somehow it sounded like a radio was playing somewhere…”

Maybe it was only wind, imagination, acoustics, or something else entirely—but for a place that used to broadcast music across continents, it felt strangely fitting to leave with the sense that it might still be whispering.

I’m sharing a few photos from our visit because it’s such a unique overland waypoint: part Cold War history, part abandoned mega-infrastructure, part reminder that even the biggest projects can end up quietly fading back into the landscape.

Note: As always with abandoned sites—be respectful, don’t force entry, and use common sense. Conditions can change, and places like this can be unpredictable.

The last picture shows the beach we stayed for the night. The Generator Building can be seen to the very left.

 

[Jenzz]

When we bought the RAM from the original owner with just 16,000 km on the odometer, we immediately knew we’d be redoing the entire interior build-out. The L-shaped bed layout meant you had to sleep with your feet overlapping—completely impractical. On top of that, the overall space utilization had some major shortcomings, and from our architect’s perspective the design was, frankly, unacceptable.

So we started the way we always do: sketches first, then a scale model, and then it was time to get to work.

Our layout makes much better use of the available interior space, gives us noticeably more usable counter/work surface, and the 195 cm interior width is plenty for me to sleep comfortably with my body oriented perpendicular to the direction of travel.

One thing we really appreciate is that the fridge is still easily accessible through the open rear tailgate—super convenient on quick stops. And even with the roof closed, we can still sit up comfortably inside and sleep without any hassle.

 

[mog]

So we started the way we always do: sketches first, then a scale model, and then it was time to get to work.

Awesome CAD (Cardboard Aided Design)

 

[Jenzz]

Haha, true. There’s nothing better than a tangible three-dimensional model. Since I earned my architecture degree back in 2000, I’m probably part of the last generation that still drew in ink and could build competition-level architectural models. The second photo shows one of the models from my diploma project. It’s aged a bit after 25 years, but I still keep it in a drawer.

 

[DirtWhiskey]

What an amazing rig! Following along.

 

[Jenzz]

In between updates, here’s a quick introduction to passenger number three: Mr. Nelson von Eschenbruch.

Nelson is a nine-year-old male Doberman, on the larger side for the breed, and at around 88 lbs he’s also just a tiny bit above his ideal weight.

He’s our third Doberman since 1996 — I guess we’re Doberman addicts.

While driving, Nelson sleeps up front in the cab in his own dedicated spot. At night, he joins us in the camper and sleeps on a roughly 27.6" × 27.6" area between the bed and the fridge. He fits exactly — and he’s happy there. Well… most of the time.

Our first Doberman even traveled with us all the way to Libya and northern Chad — but that’s a story for another time.

 

[Jenzz]

Not sure if travel stories from long time ago before the RAM would belong here, give me feedback if I shall stick to the vehicle more. Also, you'll have to wait for the corresponding photos, I need to sort them out.

Now here comes a story from our early days:

In 1993 we were in the Pyrenees with our Land Rover Discovery 1 and a roof tent. Coming from France, we had bought some things duty-free in Andorra, and it felt quite practical to leave for Spain via the “green border” on the old smuggler track. In our heads it was a small, slightly funny “uncorrectness” — maybe an administrative offense at most.

What we did not know back then: even in the 90s, the Andorra–Spain border still saw serious, organized smuggling of all kinds of goods. And the track we had chosen wasn’t a cute backroad. It was basically the smugglers’ highway.

From the Port de Cabús we had been driving for quite a while. No traffic. No people. Nothing. Before nightfall we left the main track and switched to a mule path, forded a small mountain creek, found a nice flat spot and set up camp. We started preparing dinner.

Then—out of nowhere—a battered Renault 4 (R4) appeared on that mule path. It rattled through the same creek like it was normal business, stopped a bit away, and two men got out.

The driver was dark-haired, medium height, athletic, maybe mid-30s. He pulled an old burlap sack from the car and then started walking towards us — slowly, without hurry, like he had all the time in the world. The second man followed a few steps behind. He was much older, maybe in his 60s. When you are under 30, everything above 50 feels “ancient” anyway — but this man was really small and knotted, like somebody who grew up at 1,800 meters and never had an easy life.

His skeptical look changed instantly when he realized we were just tourists (the word “overlander” wasn’t used back then). The older man didn’t speak English, and we didn’t speak Spanish, so the younger one translated. His name was Gregori.

Gregori introduced the older man to us as Josep Montané — “Sansa.” Gregori described him as the owner of the mountain. Sansa seemed genuinely amused. He told us he was happy to “welcome us on his land,” and that we had chosen the best camp spot in the entire valley.

Sansa then did two things that I still remember very clearly. First, he invited us for the next day to come up to his place for a drink. Second, he told us: You are safe here. But we should watch out for the smugglers — bad people, in his words.

The next day we drove up to Sansa’s place. The atmosphere couldn’t have been more different from the night before. We were welcomed in, shown around, and treated like guests. There is this feeling you sometimes get in remote areas: you are being watched and evaluated. Not in a hostile way, but like a quiet decision is being made: Are they okay? Can we trust them? And when you “pass,” you are suddenly in.

Sansa later took us down into Tor and into the small local bar run by Pilar (“Pili”). It was warm and simple, and it felt like the village’s living room.

Only much later we understood the bigger background: Tor’s drama was not really about houses. It was about the land and who is legally allowed to decide over it and formally be the owner.

In 1896, the inhabitants of Tor made a pact to protect the village and the surrounding mountain land from being taken over or controlled by the Spanish state. They basically declared their village and the land around it an autonomous territory in the sense that only the true residents were allowed to decide. The condition was very strict and symbolic: you had to live there all year round — often described with the line that “the fire in the house must be burning all winter long.” Continuous presence was the key, not during summer only.

Over time that pact faded into the background and lost practical meaning—until 1976, when two of the village elders, Sansa and Cerdà, allowed an Andorran real-estate man known as “El Rubén” to plan a ski station near Tor, without real agreement from anyone. That’s when another elder, Palanca, brought the old 1896 pact back as a weapon: he formed an opposition against Sansa and Cerdà, and the whole thing escalated into something like clan warfare. Outsiders appeared around the different camps—day laborers and people who didn’t want to be seen by the authorities. In 1980, two of Palanca’s protectors were murdered in a shoot-out.

In late August 1995, on our way back from Morocco, we wanted to visit Sansa again. When we arrived in Tor, we met only Pili.

Only then did we learn what had happened: in February 1995, a court had declared Sansa the sole village head. And on a hot day in July 1995, Sansa was found murdered in his house, his body already partly decomposed when he was discovered. Five months after being named sole leader, he was dead.

And suddenly that strange night in 1993 — the R4, the sack, the two men on the mule path — didn’t feel like a quirky travel anecdote anymore. It felt like a small scene inside a much darker story that we simply didn’t understand at the time.

We also realized that the photos we took back then ended up being probably the last images of Sansa while he was alive.

So, remember: you are not only driving a dirt road. Sometimes you are crossing into someone’s living room. Sometimes a route is more than a route. Sometimes a “great camp spot” already has a story attached to it — whether you know it or not.

 

[Jenzz]

 

[Jenzz]

The cabin is built from GFRP/GFK sandwich panels with a PUR foam core, 40 mm thick. The goal of this type of construction is a rigid, insulated shell with a moisture-resistant approach.

We did not build this box ourselves — it was built by the previous owner. I have changed many things on the RAM since we took over, but the basic dimensions and proportions of the cabin have proven to be spot on. At this point I can say: if I started from zero, I would build the box with the same overall size and proportions again.

A defining design feature is the upper section leaning inward (“pulled-in shoulders”). In the rear 3/4 photo you can clearly see the angle change on the side panel. This reduces the effective width at the top (relevant for branches and tight tracks) and also adds stiffness through geometry compared to a fully vertical wall.

The large top-hinged rear door has one clear drawback: you always need enough space behind the vehicle to open it fully. For us, this is more than offset by the open, connected feeling you get when the door is up. Even on long, dusty tracks we have not had issues with significant dust ingress — with the realistic expectation that any camper is not a clean room.

Overall, the vehicle follows the principle “small box on a big vehicle.” Many pickup camper builds in Europe go in the opposite direction: “big box on a smaller (mid-size) vehicle.” For our use case, the RAM + compact cabin proportions work extremely well.

Photos by the previous owner:

 

[Jenzz]

The Camino de los Pilones is an old communication route across the Maestrazgo that was already being used in the early 13th century—King James I of Aragon is described as traveling this itinerary several times in his Llibre dels Feits, long before any “pilones” existed. The stone pylons themselves are a later waymarking system tied to early efforts to prevent travelers from losing the track in mountain passes, and they remained meaningful landmarks well into the 19th century.

We stopped at the abandoned convent at Las Cuevas de Cañart (Castellote municipality), a surprisingly large 17th-century complex with a baroque church façade that still dominates the valley. The nuns left decades ago and the buildings have been slowly fading ever since—empty windows, collapsed sections, and long walls that make you imagine how big this place once was.

Another spanish ghost town:
Pinyeres, near Batea (Terra Alta), is an abandoned medieval settlement that once formed part of the Templar lands of the Algars sub-commandery. Today the place reads like an architectural ruin-study: fragments of limestone houses and boundary walls define the former street lines, while openings, lintels, and masonry joints still hint at the original scale and domestic layout.

Its focal point is the Church of the Transfiguration, a compact, single-nave building conceived with a clear, almost austere logic. The interior is covered by a vaulted roof carried on diaphragm arches, creating a sequence of structural bays; the entrance is framed by a dressed-stone (ashlar) portal; and above, a three-arched bell gable (espadanya)marks the silhouette—interestingly attached directly to the adjacent house, blurring the boundary between sacred and domestic fabric.

 

[Jenzz]

And some more random pics from our 2026 Spain/Portugal Journey: