San Diego Red Tide, 2011

If you have a job like me, there's a temptation to view each week as an endless progression of identical days, broken only by minor events like the new fall lineup on TV, baseball playoffs, football games, vacations, weekends, and other minor spectacles. The savvy reader, however, will note that I say that this is merely a "temptation". Sure, one can get sucked into that mindset, but really, there's no reason to. This is San Diego - and there's always something phantasmagorical going on! The perfect example for this week is the RED TIDE or rather, I should say, the return of the RED TIDE! (Cue ominious and magical music). 

"What is this so-called 'Red Tide' " you ask? Well, let me tell you: The “red tide” is caused by a large growth of algae – dinoflagellates – in a particular area. The large growth or “blooms” of these organisms cause the water to turn red – or brown in the affected area during the day, but at night, the movement of the water causes the dinoflagellates to emit bright flashes of light. 

But wait - "I want to know more about the Red Tide", you now say. Great. Here's plenty of great red tide information for your reading pleasure:  http://www.signonsandiego.com/news/2011/sep/27/red-tide-causing-stunning-bioluminescence-san-dieg/ ; http://lastadventurer.com/last-adventurers-fieldnotes/2010/5/11/red-tide-red-tide.html ; http://lastadventurer.com/last-adventurers-fieldnotes/2010/5/28/red-tide-ii-san-diego-may-27-2010-and-on.html.

Now, after doing all of this research I know what you are wondering: 1) Is it cooler than my glowing flat screen broadcasting the new "must see TV"; and 2) How do I see this wondrous natural glowy stuff?

1) Yes. Do you have to even ask? The sea is glowing!!!!

2) You'd find a beach anywhere from La Jolla, California to Carlsbad, California. The darker, the better. Artificial light ruins night vision and makes the phenomenon harder to see. 

Let me also say that the best way to experience the red tide is not to stand back at a distance and stare at it (although, it is pretty hypnotic), but get up close and personal with it. Walk the tideline and watch your steps glow; or carve blazing runes and symbols in the sand with your fingers. No matter what you do, get out and enjoy it while you can, because like anything magical, it doesn't last long.

If nothing else, sing the song that I do, "Reeeeeeeeeeeed Tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiide". Don't do it out loud though. Other people on the beach find that creepy.

-LA out!

Do not adjust your dial...

After a gap, there's only one thing that needs to be said: "I'm back". There's so much to say, so much to say and discuss. But, I'm going to keep it short for now. As my good friend Soren Kierkegaard says, "To dare is to lose one's footing momentarily. Not to dare is to lose oneself." In the last months, there's been plenty of daring and yet, plenty of not daring deeds that I can't wait to share with everyone. There's daring tales to be told; and massive changes to the site that are coming. Look for a more accessible site in the coming days, weeks, and months, with more practical tips, videos, and photos, in order that you, the reader, can experience these adventures as well. Until then, stay tuned to this channel - and the others - such as Twitter (@last_adventurer), Instagram (last_adventurer), and Tumblr (the same name).

-LA out!

The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly – Gowalla, Foursquare, and Trailhead on the Eastern Rim of San Diego County

Sitting atop Foster's Point - or am I?

“Come on you dirty rat bastard,” I swore at my phone as I watched the little data wheel turning slowly, “give me that good Edge network lovin’ – what the….awww, not again!” For the second time, foursquare had given me its fail message: “Your phone thinks you are too far away from Font’s Point, so no badges or points for you.” I stepped off Foster’s Point, cursed loudly to the clouds, grinned, and stepped back onto it. It was a beautiful day out on the Eastern Rim of the Laguna Crest. The warm desert winds of early fall were cascading up the canyons lining the mountains before pouring over the peaks and down into San Diego county. The yellow sun was warming trees, shrubs, rocks, and lone trail runners.

Lanky, high clouds strolled calmly across the pale blue sky. One could not ask for a more perfect day, especially with the smell of forest and new-old growth trees wafting around. I grinned again. I was in a fantastic spot with dramatic drop offs on one side, sloping mountains on the other, and I was focused on my mobile. I could only laugh at my ridiculousness. However, I was still slightly annoyed: I had created this location before. I had stood in this very spot. I had used this very phone. And yet, now, in the same spot, with the same phone, I was mysteriously too far away. I could only laugh. It was absurd. Not as absurd as spending part of my day staring at my phone, but still slightly absurd.

Let me backtrack a moment to explain why I was staring at my phone. I have an iPhone 4. It’s my second iPhone. When I purchased my first iPhone, my friend and fellow blogger K.Ho (http://iphoneliving.blogspot.com/) said to me, “It’ll change your life!” At the time, I had laughed at him. Two years later, I realize that he was right. Having an iPhone has changed my life. Unfortunately, while it hasn’t made me taller, wittier, more popular, or handsomer, its been a useful tool. There’s probably a discussion that could be had here about whether smartphones in general are good or bad things, but I’ll save that for a later date. If you have an iPhone or any type of smartphone, you’re aware that there are many applications that you can install on your device. If you’re not aware of this fact, guess what: there’s these crazy things called applications that you can install on your device that will allow you to get your money’s worth.

Mystery wreck...

This year, I started using foursquare (http://foursquare.com/). Foursquare is an application that uses the GPS feature on the phone to identify where you are, and allows you to “Check-In”. Checking in allows you to see reviews of the location, and allows you to see what other users are there, while collecting points and badges. I’ll be the first to admit it: foursquare is frightfully silly. But, it’s also a great deal of fun. Shortly after I began using foursquare, Rude Boy had told me about a similar application, Gowalla (http://gowalla.com/). Gowalla succinctly bills itself as a way to: “Keep up with your friends, share the places you go, and discover the extraordinary in the world around you.” In many respects, it is like foursquare, but one of the main differences is the ability to mark locations with photos you have taken, and to pick up and or put down virtual items. Personally, I’m a foursquare person for the most part, but Rude Boy is partial to Gowalla. I find whether you are a foursquare or Gowalla person depends on your individual personal preferences. 

In general, the applications work great in cities where there is lots of cell coverage. In rural areas with little to no service, the applications, like your phone, do not work as well. After using these for a while, Rude Boy mentioned to me that the North Face had come out with a similar type of application, Trailhead (http://itunes.apple.com/us/app/trailhead/id380841551?mt=8), which was designed to provide people with the locations of trails in their area, and allow people to actively track themselves in the wilderness, while providing a readout of elevation gained, lost, and time spent hiking, while overlaying the results over a map of the area. If you’ve ever read this blog, or any part of this blog, or even just looked at the photos, you’d know this is the application for me. I downloaded it, and told Rude Boy that I’d try it out as soon as possible. In between discussing this with him and heading out, I decided that if I was going to test one application on the trail, I’d test a bunch of applications. 

Because of this promise, I found myself on Foster’s Point cursing at my phone. Irrespective of whether I’m testing applications, one of my favorite training runs starts from Penny Pines (http://www.fs.fed.us/r5/cleveland/about/pennypines.shtml), heads South to Font’s Point, where I turn around, and head North, looping back over the first portion of the run, before angling out to a brutal uphill stretch up Garnet Peak (http://lastadventurer.com/last-adventurers-fieldnotes/2010/3/9/sunrise-january-1-2010-garnet-peak-california.html), and then back to the car. The run is a great way to decompress, and has a little of everything – single track forest terrain, rocky slopes and steep drop offs and great views of the desert and mountains. In order to make my tests as “difficult” as possible, I didn’t start using the applications until I was out on Foster’s Point.

Unfortunately, foursquare didn’t think I was on Foster’s Point. In order to see if this was a fluke, I jogged a little extra up the trail, and checked in at another location, before I doubled back and was again unable to check in. Gowalla didn’t know where I was, but it was perfectly happy to let me create a spot where I was at, and upload any photos, or drop any virtual loot that I wanted. I then opened up Trailhead, and after checking to make sure my Camelback was secure, began jogging back down my route.

 Summit, Garnet Peak

After five minutes, I checked the application. The screen had a distinct line on the map of where I was, and where I had gone, and it seemed to be checking off how fast I was moving, and how much I had descended. Satisfied that it was at least working, I kept a tight grip on my phone, and kept running. At the secret abandoned wrecked Packard which is off that route, I stopped, exited the application, and paused my progress. I wandered off the trail, checked the wreck (still there and rusting), and re-started the application. It immediately picked up my location, and kept recording. I didn’t look at it again until I reached the top of Garnet Peak, where I again turned it off as I was taking my final break of the day. After listening to the sun burn and the universe whirl for a while, I turned it back on, and headed back down.

As I entered the parking lot at the end of the run, I checked Trailhead and found that it had tracked me the whole time, despite the interruptions I had imposed upon it. I was impressed. It had also noted that the run was 6.4 miles, which corresponded to how long I knew the trail to be. However, there were some gaps in its otherwise flawless coverage: for example, it stated that my pace had been -.7 miles per hour. I’m not sure how to take that. It either meant I was GIANT SLOTH SLOW (false), or I was the Flash Fast (also false, sadly). I was also a little suspicious of its total elevation gained and lost, until I realized that it meant cumulatively over the course of the hike, at which point I was again impressed. Overall though, I was the most impressed with its performance in rural areas. So, if you are like me and like to know what you are doing, and like to use your smartphone at times when perhaps, you would be better suited not using your smartphone, find my ratings as follows:

THE GOOD: TNF Trailhead. Kept an accurate reading of everything I did; and had a nifty feature that allowed me to save what I had done. THE BAD: Gowalla. Mainly “bad” because no locations were marked in the areas I was at. That’s a mild bad though, like a dirty car. Otherwise worked great. I even left some virtual loot for any other nerds at the top of Garnet Peak. THE UGLY: foursquare. Hate to say it, because I’m a big fan, but it refused to check me into two locations that I had created, even though I was standing in the exact same spot with the exact same phone. Not sure what that was all about. However, it treats me great in cities, so I can’t be that mad at it. And that is the roundup on location finding applications for Fall 2010. 

The Yeti of Ranchita

Are you ready for the Yeti?

I’ll never forget the first time I saw the Ranchita Yeti. The constant drip-drip-dripping of a San Diego downpour had woken me from a sound sleep that Sunday morning. After I had gotten out of bed, I had shuffled over to my rain-streaked kitchen window, and after squinting through it at the conditions, decided that after a week of clouds and rain, I needed some sun. I packed up some gear, and headed out to my car. I wasn’t quite sure where I was going, but figured that I could explore around part of the Anza-Borrego desert for the day without any trouble at all. There weren’t many cars or drivers willing to brave the wet conditions on a weekend on the city streets, and by the time I reached the 78/79 split in Santa Ysabel, the roads were completely vacant.

On that day, however, vacant roads did not mean calm roads. At that elevation, and at that time, the mountains were acting like highwaymen, yanking the clouds down toward the ground while stealing all of the moisture inside of them. Sheets of water cascaded over my car, and unpredictable yelling gusts of wind buffeted it between the yellow lines and the shoulder. As I turned toward Ranchita on the S-22, I could feel the temperature drop suddenly though the windows. As my visibility dropped, I nudged my brakes and kept moving – slowly toward Ranchita and the pass beyond. I could see light ahead of me though, through the haze of wipers and water on my windshield, and knew that once I cleared the pass, I’d be fine. As I edged into Ranchita, the last vestiges of the storm turned into a torrent of rain. I could not see. It was too dark and too confused. I pulled over and waited for it to pass. As I sat there, engine ticking, rain falling, I looked across the street. I couldn’t see much, my windows were foggy, it was raining, the light was low. But I saw something that looked like a person standing motionless in the downpour.

After a minute or two, I rolled down the window, and yelled something really snappy, like, “Hey dumbass, get out of the storm!”, while water cascaded into the driver’s side. As soon as the words left my mouth, I realized it was futile: there was no way he/she could hear me over the wind and rain. But now, I was curious. After triple checking to see that the route was clear, I drove across the road, intending to see what sort of moron stands outside in the middle of a cold weather storm. As I pulled up I realized that it wasn’t a person at all.

It was a Yeti. Moreover, it wasn’t even a real Yeti. It was a statue of a Yeti.

I started laughing at myself. It answered the question perfectly: no one in their right or wrong mind would be outside in that type of weather. And, I told myself, only in this type of bad weather could someone such as myself confuse a statute for a real person.

I’ve been back through Ranchita a bunch since then. The Yeti is still there, come rain or come shine. And, fortunately for me, I’ve never thought it was a real person – or a real Yeti ever again.

How To Get There (ARE YOU READY FOR THE YETI?): The S-22 goes through Ranchita East-West. You can see the Yeti going either way. It is right on the road, and very visible. More information about it here: http://www.signonsandiego.com/uniontrib/20080518/news_1x18yeti.html

The Pre-historic Metal Creatures of Borrego Springs (or, if you prefer, DINOSAURS).

Saber Tooth Tigers, even wearing bird-poop, are not dinosaurs.

One of the things that fascinates me about the desert is the knowledge that millions of years ago the desert wasn’t always the desert. Not all of the features of the planet can make that claim. Large portions of the world’s oceans were always oceans, especially the deepest most mysterious bits. Mountains, by and large, usually have been standing in the same spots for millennia; and in some cases, have grown shorter by the long wait. Deserts, on the other hand, are mutable creatures. East of the Sierra Nevada, the Owens Valley sits in barren desolation today. Thousands of years ago, this valley was a giant glacial lake, likely over two hundred feet deep, and covering an area of over two hundred square miles. Aside from the salt flats and water pockets that remain in certain places, the only remnants of the lake are in spectral mirages that now shimmer on hot summer days.

Some of these desert transitions are easy to imagine, as they leave historical remnants behind, or provide ethereal gateways through which one can peer in a hopefully non-delusional way. Other times, it’s impossible to see how the desert could have been anything but desert. Sometimes, the desert finds a way to reach out and metaphorically smack even the most unimaginative with what it used to be eons ago, when man was not the central player on the planet. Galleta Meadows, outside Borrego Springs, California, is one of these places where everyone has a time machine and can see the pre-historic creatures of the past.

Yeah, that’s right; I said “pre-historic creatures”, and not “dinosaurs”.

Metal creatures hunting other metal creatures...but still not dinosaurs.

There’s a reason for that. The creatures you will see at Galleta Meadows aren’t dinosaurs. Dinosaurs were a group of small to large reptiles that roamed the planet for thousands of years that were terrifying in some cases. And again, that’s right, I said, “reptile”, and not lizard, because they were reptiles, even though their name “Dinosaur” means, “terrible lizard”. The creatures that you can see in Galleta Meadows lived in a time after the dinosaurs became extinct. They were large. They were fierce. But they were not dinosaurs. Let’s take a small sample of some of the things you will see at Galleta Meadows. For starters, you will see Wooly Mammoths. Would you ever call a Woolly Mammoth a dinosaur? I think not. You will also see a pack of Saber-Tooth Tigers. Would you call a Saber-Tooth Tiger a dinosaur? Of course not. You can also see GIANT SLOTHS. Would you ever call a GIANT SLOTH a dinosaur? Of course not, it’s clearly warm blooded, even though it’s a lazy sloth.

 Now, I don’t want to sound like a crotchety old man, so let me place this disclaimer here after the bantering of the previous paragraph: even though they are pre-historic creatures, you can call them dinosaurs if you want. Especially if you are a small child, because you’re just learning these distinctions and it’s probably just extra cool to you to see these things.

This is a Woolly Mammoth. It has tusks.

But, to the adults, let me also say this: you’re not going to impress anyone by calling them dinosaurs. Because they’re not dinosaurs. Seriously. So, if you want to sound extra cool, smart, and witty, be sure to say to the other people in the car when you drive by and or get out to gape enthusiastically, “Look at those pre-historic creatures”. If you do this, I guarantee everyone will be impressed at your knowledge, even if you know nothing else, and can’t tell the difference between a Mammoth and a GIANT SLOTH. (Here’s a hint though: GIANT SLOTHS do not have tusks).

 Now, if you have decided to focus on what the creatures are called, you may have missed the surrounding pictures in this blog about what they look like, and may be wondering what I am talking about. What I am talking about are giant metal creatures in the desert, some of which are fifteen to twenty feet high. I’m talking about a metal herd of Saber-Tooth Tigers stalking metal pre-historic horses. I’m talking metal Mammoths thundering down a stationary hill. I’m talking about metal sloths that are perpetually hungry because they’re frozen in time. All of these creatures are here for two reasons: first, because the landowner, Dennis Avery has a passion for fossils and pre-historic creatures. Second, because Dennis Avery was able to find a unique and talented artist, Ricardo Breceda (http://perrisjurassicpark.com/) to bring his passion for fossils to metal life. So, regardless of whether you like dinosaurs, pre-historic animals, or just plain art, I highly recommend checking this out if you are in the area – it’s one of the easiest adventures I’ve posted, and it’s a lot of fun. And, don’t worry: GIANT METAL SLOTHS don’t eat people. (Except in B-grade movies, which as everyone knows, aren’t real in most cases, so you should be totally fine, unless you’re visiting the art during a comet fly-by, weird Northern Lights, nuclear attack, or during the thirteenth day of the thirteenth month of 2013 at 1313. Then you might have a problem). 

The GIANT SLOTH. He just wants to give you a hug

How to Get There (I Don’t Care What They’re Called, How do I see GIANT METAL ANIMALS?): There are a number of ways to get to Borrego Springs, California, the nearest town. However, once you are in Borrego Springs, take Borrego Springs Road, and go either North OR South to see the creatures. More information here: http://www.galletameadows.com/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=52&Itemid=69 , http://www.roadsideamerica.com/tip/19170

Salvation Mountain

The yellow brick road at Salvation Mountain

As I stepped out of the back of the Jetta at Salvation Mountain, I tried to unobtrusively rub my butt. The long ride had made my left cheek go completely numb. At that point, it was very clear that the seating arrangements in the Jetta TDI were not one of its positive attributes. While it   did seat five adults, it was definitely not comfortable for a long journey. Then again, when we had left Mogfest in the Jetta, Denver had told us that it was only going to be a twenty minute drive to Niland. Forty-five minutes later, we had finally passed through Niland, and into Slab City. Nothing had been moving on the streets of Niland, but then again, we hadn’t seen many signs of active human habitation since we had left.

There had been plenty of signs of habitation along the way, but there had been no people. We had passed empty houses that were slowly being reclaimed by the drifting sands of the desert. We had passed through towns with empty businesses that sat behind cracked parking lots with boarded windows and doors, their painted hours of operation from years past flaking off cinderblock walls. The trappings of civilization were all around us, but there were no explanations provided or given about why they had faded. It was easy to imagine fantastical scenarios about what had happened in that landscape. As I sat there, and watched everything go by, it reminded me of many things – of apocalyptic books and movies I had seen or read; of half-remembered dreams; and of what the area had looked like when I had been there before.

 Mainly, what I had ended up thinking about while my back and butt had grown numb and my fellow backseat travelers had fallen asleep, was that the desert was still the place of the unknown. (http://lastadventurer.com/last-adventurers-fieldnotes/2010/5/14/the-general-wastelands-are-not-lightly-traveledstories-and-t.html).

The Salvation Truck!

I didn’t know what had happened in all of these places; wouldn’t know; couldn’t know, and could only speculate. All I could determine was that the desert was a hard place as it took portions of you and changed you, weathering you in ways that you could not hope to fathom. In such an absolute terrain, I theorized, wouldn’t like the changes that they found the environment making to themselves, and fled. And, others, like Leonard Knight, liked what the solitude changed in them, and in turn, used those changes to in turn change the world around them.

With this in my mind, and minor butt pain, there I was, staring at Salvation Mountain. Next to me, Denver and everyone else was transfixed by the vibrant colors of Salvation Mountain that contrasted with the dull browns and grays of the Mojave Desert. Next to me, someone whispered to me, “That’s pretty awesome in a creepy way, but it’s no mountain!” I laughed, the sound breaking the late afternoon silence before bouncing off the plastered yellow brick road ahead of us. Salvation Mountain while many things, is most definitely not a mountain. It’s a giant work of folk art, writ large across the face of the desert in paint, plaster, and hay bales that occupies a small hill halfway between Niland and Slab City.

Salvation Mountain is and has been the work of one man – Leonard Knight, who, after serving in the Korean War, and doing a variety of other odd things, ended up outside of Niland after his plans to build a giant hot air balloon which would say, “God is Love” fell apart. (Literally. According to Leonard himself, the balloon pieces rotted and fell apart). Rather than giving up, he began constructing a massive edifice on the present location out of hay and plaster, which he then painted.

Jesus bulldozer. Handles old and new testament alike!

At some point, the original Salvation Mountain collapsed, but again, Leonard did not give up, and rebuilt it into the form that we were viewing.

As we approached the mountain, we passed by rusted vehicles of man, a bulldozer, a truck, and even a boat, all covered with painted scripture, and Leonard’s signature “God is love” slogan, slowly weathering in the endless sun of the desert. Just as we stepped onto the first portion of the “Yellow brick road” of Salvation Mountain, Denver approached me. “Dude…” he whispered, “I think Leonard’s dead now, he’s…”

Exactly what Leonard was or was not, I never learned from Denver, because at that point, Leonard, looking very alive, popped out of one of the caves in Salvation Mountain, greeted us, and began to give us a tour of the forest he had recently built on the side, while discussing the plastering and painting techniques he had used. Eventually, we left Leonard behind, after thanking him for his time, and headed up to the top of Salvation Mountain, while laughing and razzing Denver for both his poor timing, as well as his poor identification skills of whether people were alive or dead. From the top, we could see the hazy outlines of the Salton Sea to the west, and the irregular clumps of Slab City to the East. After an appropriate moment of silence to such a mammoth piece of folk art, everyone started talking at once about what they thought about it. I know what I think about it. It, like many other things in the desert is the unknown, and it’s good to experience it.

Dragon on the "Wheel of War" - made from real shotgun shells...

How to Get There: I’m going to keep this simple. If you’re in Niland, California, head east. You can’t miss it. Trust me. If you need better directions, check out the Salvation Mountain website, here: http://www.salvationmountain.us/map.html .

Other Tips:  If you like folk art, you should also check out the “Slab City Water Towers”, which are a fifteen minute walk from the top of Salvation Mountain to the East (very visible from the top). They feature two very interesting pieces: One, the “Wheel of Kama” (the pictures I took are too racy for my G-rated site!); and second, what we named the “Wheel of War” (featured herein) at the end. I’m sure they’re not affiliated with Leonard, nor the mountain, but, they are great viewing nevertheless. And, if you get a choice for your parting gift from Leonard, I’d take the jigsaw puzzle rather than the DVD – because puzzles are that cool!

Mogfest – October 22-24, 2010

The infamous Good Ship 404 surveys its way down...

When I was small, I had my own sandbox. It was a giant green turtle whose shell came off to reveal an area that could be anything that my imagination created. In that mutable space, my trucks and cars traveled over the highest peaks, down the steepest grades, through the deepest swamps and oceans, and over the hardpan of the hottest deserts. Unless there was a dinosaur attack – or an intentional wreck, my vehicles never had a problem crossing the backcountries of these imaginary worlds. Years later, when I began off-roading, I was disappointed at first to find that the real world was not like my sandbox; in the real world things became stuck, clogged, flooded, and broken at a minimum. This disappointment vanished when I realized that real-life off-roading presented a myriad of challenges for both my imagination and practical knowledge. I quickly realized that when disaster struck in the backcountry, the proper tools and materials would always be lacking; and what tools and materials that you had were the proper tools ones, as long as they could at least get your vehicle back to a road and you didn’t maim or blow yourself up trying to fix things.

Today, the thing that I like the most about off-roading is its ability to change time. There are beautiful places in the world that are sequestered by near impossible approaches. The wondrous thing about off-roading is that it shrinks the time it takes to make that approach, and makes it a real, possible adventure, rather than a two month impossible and improbable trek. I’m not going to say that roads or vehicle trails should be blazed everywhere to every pristine spot on the planet, and in general, I’ll take a fantastic climb or hike over time in a vehicle any day, but in terms of accessibility and making adventures fit into the practical confines of regular life, off-roading is a positive time altering bonus. And, in all fairness, should you not know how to drive; or should the conditions be poor; or should anything go wrong mechanically with your vehicle (which, despite proper maintenance and regular care, is quite likely due to the stresses of rugged terrain), off-roading can be a time killer. You may find yourself stuck beyond the pale of civilization; miles from your destination, with nothing but time, as your wrack your brain of a solution that will at a minimum, see you to safety. Off-roading, then, is something that has the power to bring the joy of discovery quickly; and the despair of failure slowly.

The 2010 Mogfest convoy rolls uphill.

This is not a column about the vagaries of off-roading though. This is a column about what is in my journeyman’s opinion, the best off-roading vehicle you can obtain right now; and where you can go with that vehicle when you have it. I’ve been through all sorts of terrain – jungles, mountains, beaches, deserts – in all sorts of vehicles, from those with low slung axles and no gearing, to those with modifications made to every aspect of the drive train and frame. I had some theories, and some favorites for a while, but all of that changed when my friend Good Ship showed me his Unimog, and offered to take me to Mogfest.

At this point, I can hear the questions: Wait, what’s a Unimog? What’s a Mogfest? A Unimog is a four wheel drive truck made by Mercedes Benz, and in my opinion, probably the best vehicle to get any adventurer anywhere in the world. (More on Unimogs here: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unimog). The vehicle, for starters, is huge. They’ve been used as troop transports, farm vehicles, fire vehicles, industrial vehicles, and general adventure vehicles. The clearance on the axles is superior to anything I’ve seen, and the gearing on all of the models I’ve seen demonstrates that they can go over and through any obstacle with a competent driver. 

I could talk technically about Unimogs for a bit, but like I said, I’m a journeyman off-roader; my technical level of expertise as an expert is mountaineering. If you want to learn more, the above link is a good place to start. Mogfest, as should be evident, is an American gathering of owners of Unimogs. For the last couple years, it was held in Calico, California. (http://www.mogfest.com/photos.asp).  It’s a chance for Unimog owners to bring their vehicle out, show off the modifications that have been made to it, and an opportunity to demonstrate their driving skills and the capabilities of the vehicles. Moreover, it’s a chance for Unimog enthusiasts to share knowledge, bond, and relax while having an adventure with friends.

True story: if your Unimog is red, it goes faster.

To me, Mogfest is many things. It’s the sheer gut check terror of riding in a monster vehicle up vertical slopes, and knowing that if things go wrong, it’s either a leap to safety, or being crushed to death. It’s the feel of icy cold air whipping into the bed of the truck at forty miles per hour with a deafening howl that overpowers the murmur of the engine as we cross mountain passes. It’s the sheer unpredictability of the night run, where stars cover their eyes as we pelt across the desert. It’s jokes at all hours of the day; of cracks about flying scorpions; and general camping problems. It’s smoked meat; so much smoked meat over three days that I even consider becoming a vegetarian. It’s the non-stop thrill of thinking, “there’s no way we can cross that obstacle”, and then finding ourselves over it; and at approaching another, larger obstacle. It’s waiving to people cheerily on the main roads as they look at you with astonishment, and, it’s the comfort of traveling no faster than forty-five miles an hour ever in jolting, bumpy style, while sometimes having to change tires. 

That’s Mogfest to me. There’s a lot more that goes on – exploring caves, mines, creepy shrines,  meeting new and interesting people, and hearing stories of the world. But at some level, it’s like being a boy again in that sandbox, and knowing that your vehicle can make it anywhere. Someday, I’d like to think that I’ll travel to difficult places of the world in my own Unimog. But for now, I’ll settle for Mogfest, wherever it is, because it’s that unique and entertaining and good.

More on Mogs and Mogfest here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IVkVB8mPtRA, http://www.billcaid.com/2010/1017ACamperConstruction20100921/Part7/Part7.html