We've been quiet and this blog post is about one-year-to-the-day overdue. This time last year, we were living out our last days, for the foreseeable future, with Penny, parked on the beach in La Ventana. Since then, we've been attempting to assimilate to life off the road, which doesn't inspire the same spark to write as does traveling, kitesurfing and side-of-the-road repairs.

Last year, after our adventurous caravan with Josh, Jenna, Miles and Aaron (Travel Amateurs and @totorothevan) we camped in one spot on the beach in La Ventana for about six glorious breakdown-free weeks, which for us, is a mini-miracle. We were living large on the cheap. Several times a week fresh squeezed juice, homemade tamales, pastries and even 5gal garrafons de agua were delivered and available for purchase at our campsite. We rode our bikes up to the pescaderia for fresh fish, over to the real estate office for free and fast wifi, or down to the buffadora for incredible single track mountain biking. Within walking distance was the farmer's market and yoga with the unparalleled KayKay. Kiteboarding, snorkeling, running, and snuggling puppies available for adoption filled our days and R&R filled our nights. 

Beyond the delicious produce, sunny days and windy afternoons, we love returning to Baja for the people and community. Last year Cameron's uncle Tim and his girlfriend Kerri (Van Tramp and @asolojourner), Travel Amateurs and their new friends The Globe Trol all came through LV, we loved spending time with family and Overlanding friends in our favorite kiteboarding town drinking margaritas, playing cards on the beach, learning about native bird species (BOOM!) and drinking margaritas. 

A year has passed and our memories have faded, luckily we started playing around with making little videos while we were down in Baja, you can check them out below or on our YouTube page (if you like 'em, subscribe and maybe someday we'll make more) ;-)

A little bit of what goes on when we're not kiting, biking, doing yoga, snorkeling, etc!

La Ventana, Puppy Rescue, Baja Sur, Mexico

Enjoying the sights, tastes and sounds of Carnaval in La Paz, Baja Sur.

Uploaded by FollowTheWind on 2016-04-20.

Three vessels and their crews had joined.

After a crazy first couple of days battling the elements, the pace turned. Jacqui and I were in our first caravan; it's a fascinating concept when you think of it. Three groups all huddled together that have one thing in common: they decided to leave all familiarity behind, squeeze themselves into a claustrophobic home-on-wheels and brave whatever forces stand in their way, for what essentially amounts to an extreme sports version of a road trip.

Welcome to Overlanding.

1400 miles, rain storms, impassible muddy roads, a shattered oil pan, a tractor tow, baby grey whales, miles of salt flats, oysters gathered in plenty off the beach, tacos, ceviche and margaritas with friends. All this just starts to tell the tale of our caravan down Baja.

Behind that 57 second video was 1400 miles and 12 days of stories. We camped among bolders in the high desert. We built a shanty town with our rigs and awnings next to the sea where we gathered fresh oysters off the beach. We made a new friend and camped with him near the Grey Whales, where he later got arrested for kayaking among those very Grey Whales. We had margaritas that were too strong, twice, then shoved 6 people in the Westy and collectively determined that it didn't feel "that crowded." 

In the blink of an eye we parted ways. Miles and Aaron headed west for waves. Josh and Jenna headed south to meet his mom. Jacqui and I headed east for the wind.

Miles' and Aaron's videos of our time together.

The trip is officially underway in part 1 of our month crossing the 1,000 miles of Baja, Mexico. Drones, surfing, off-roading, caravaning, ceviche, and cervezas. The only thing Baja doesn't have is Patagonia. Guess we have to keep looking!

"The word adventure has gotten overused. For me, when everything goes wrong, that's when adventure starts." -Yvon Chouinard Things take a turn after leaving the whale watching grounds of Ojo de Liebre. Watch the chaos unfold as the boys limp their way down Baja.

re·sil·ience
noun

1. the ability of a substance or object to spring back into shape; elasticity.

2. the capacity to recover quickly from difficulties; toughness.

The sun had yet to rise and Jacqui and I were already loading into the van on a drizzly morning in San Diego. In a last minute maneuver we were now entering into a caravan for the border crossing, obviously a tactical Starbucks meeting was in order.

Josh and Jenna of Travel Amateurs were patiently sitting behind steaming cups of coffee while Jacqui and I arrived in tardy fashion. We gave them a choice, to stay or to go, a last minute opportunity to choose sanity. We were happy to wait out the storm if they wanted to; they put their faith in our judgement.

Guess they don't know us that well. We crossed the border.

Three winters in a row we've crossed the border into Baja and never once has it felt the same. Trip one was a venture into the complete unknown. Trip two was with a different vehicle a few months after Baja had had it's largest storm in recorded history, the desert was green that year. This time, the desert had transformed to wet peanut butter.

We made it a goal to keep our first day's driving miles to a minimum. We also planned to meet up with some online friends that were cruising around in classic split-window buses. They had given us two possible meeting locations. Neither was going to be particularly easy to reach and this was clearly articulated when they told us to simply try for Camp One, unless the road was "impassable".

For an hour and a half we trudged through sludgy, washed out roads searching for a campsite by the sea that may or may not have a small group of old buses camped on it. It's difficult to gauge what a group of complete strangers would consider impassable. Determined not to be the ones with the lighter nerves, we dragged Josh and Jenna further and further out towards the coast, while a steady drizzle added to the slow demise of the roads we were traveling.

When at last we pulled out into a giant field of artichokes, we came to the conclusion we were lost and opted to try for Campsite Two. We were astonished by how quickly the roads were deteriorating on the return trip.

A field of artichokes at the end of the world

Hours of mud and muck later we managed to find Campsite Two and our Bus Trippers friends managed to find us. 

Day one was a win for the Caravan. But Baja was brewing a counter attack.

The following morning we packed up and set out determined to show our friends one of our favorite repeat camp sites: Punta Baja. Every year we turn off Highway 1, near Mama Espinoza's restaurant, and start the 10 mile trek down a dirt road to find the tiny fishing village nestled at the end of a peninsula. We'd talked up the beauty and scenery plenty to Josh and Jenna and were excited to deliver them there. 

Now sometimes things just go unexpectedly wrong. Life is full of unpredictability: break-downs, flat tires, getting sick or any other number of mishaps that can choose to strike at random, and all of this is only amplified by living on the road. I make this statement because I want you to understand what follows is absolutely avoidable.

And so, a familiar road turned unfamiliar.

It began with a giant crack and a sketchy descent where avoiding lodging either of our vehicles into this crack involved no shortage of skillful driving. Josh and Jenna later informed us that we had driven on three wheels for part of this.

Josh and Jenna finishing the last of the cracked road

Our second opportunity to turn away from a masochistic path began with a lake, in the middle of a road, where never before had there been a lake. The aforementioned lake appeared to offer two potential paths separated by tall grass and brushes. Rather than be discouraged, Josh and I began attempting to evaluate this obstacle. With sticks and such we worked to measure the depth of the water and determine which path would be less painful.

A local in a Chrysler Sebring (aka, your grandmother's grocery-running car) took a whack at our pride when they unhesitatingly plowed through the path on the right. Our wounded pride infused our veins with courage so we boldly pressed forward. Within seconds the front of the PennyWagon took a dive, Jacqui yelped and I watched what I assume was the Chrysler's muffler float to my left while water rushed over the windshield. It was deeper than expected. Just as quickly as we dove down, Penny's face surged back above the surface of the water and we were through our second obstacle. I'm still not sure how the Chrysler, minus their exhaust, made it through. We were waiting with smiles for Josh and Jenna on the other side.

Evaluating Obstacle 02.

As we continued, I immediately started hearing a loud clacking noise. One of our axles had a torn rubber boot that I'd known about for a while. Apparently they like to be full of grease, not sludge and water. Obstacle 03 began and another opportunity to turn back presented itself, then that opportunity reiterated itself. I'm proud to say I ripped out and rebuilt that axle on the side of the road in a measly 45 minutes thanks to Josh having a Dremel, with metal bits, that we used to transform a pair of pliers into a snap-ring tool. But while we sat there sorting out our mechanical woes a local pulled up and informed us that we should turn back. He didn't think taking our 2WD van out to Punta Baja was a good idea. We didn't listen. I, on several occasions, have been quoted smugly saying, "If you're driving with someone that has 4WD, you basically have 4WD."

Rebuilding the axle after van-swimming

Obstacle 04 presented itself as a long patch of desperately thick mud that was no less that 90 feet long and had a 4x4 Nissan SUV stuck, smack dab in the middle. Josh, Jenna, Jacqui and myself all stepped out of our vehicles and began watching the little SUV repeatedly switch from reverse to drive in an attempt to free itself from the bog. 

Obstacle 04 truly shook my resolve to ignorantly push forward. I stood imagining consequences, experienced a fluttering of emotion in my stomach, then the atmosphere itself felt poised and ready to whisper in my ear, "You've done good, now turn around while you're ahead."

But just as my ears perked up ready to hear reason, the Nissan freed itself and a school bus trudged through without issue. With my hand on the shifter and Jacqui in the passenger seat I mumbled, "This is probably a bad idea.''

I mashed the accelerator to the floor.

The PennyWagon hit the sludge flat out in second gear. I wasn't delusionally thinking I'd get through with traction, so it was time to harness inertia. The front wheels dropped into ruts dug by previous vehicles and the van all but floated over mud while thrashing back and forth from the occasional moments when the rear tires would grab and aid our momentum. In a heartbeat we were spit out the other side onto more solid ground.

For 10 miles we traversed muddy, washed out dirt roads, but, Baja ceased with its blatant attempts to persuade me to turn around. We celebrated getting to our campsite with dinner, beers, van-brownies and star gazing. I toasted to the locals that said the PennyWagon couldn't make it. At 2am we all woke up to a deluge of rain.

I had coffee and regrets for breakfast.

I knocked on Josh and Jenna's rig at 6 in the morning. I was wearing a rain jacket, swimming trunks and sandals. All should know this is the garb of a man ready to get stuck. We mutually decided it was only going to get worse the longer we waited. Time to set sail.

Overlander's outfit

I decided to lead. I figured it'd be better if the 2WD led and got stuck then vice-versa. As we crested the first hill to start the 10 mile dirt road the van began to fishtail. Everything had turned to peanut butter overnight and sections of the road were washed out with mini rivers flowing across. There was no semblance of traction to be found. I began steering with the throttle, who'd have known years ago when I spent rainy days goofing off, drifting my old BMW, it would pay off when overlanding.

There never seemed to be a moment that the van was facing the direction it was traveling. Within seconds Jenna radioed to us, "Well, that's a bad start."

Thanks Jenna.

Mile after mile we pushed forward and I never let off the accelerator. There was going to be no restarting once we lost momentum. Drifting through corners, sliding down inclines, we just had to keep moving, and it was working. The PennyWagon was champing its way onward, Jacqui later told me I was having very in-depth pep-talks with myself while driving. I certainly didn't notice. 

But alas, the terrain changed. It wasn't that it got too steep, and it certainly wasn't due to being abnormally treacherous. A slow, steady and long incline was our demise. Ever so slowly we were moving with less and less momentum until the wheels were spinning and the van was stationary. When I stepped out it was difficult to lift my feet from the sticky mud that had finally halted our impressive progress. Time to harness the power of our friend's 4WD.

With Josh's mash-the-throttle towing technique we crested the hill, unhooked and began the even harder part of the journey. The descent. I quickly found out the brake pedal was my enemy. A gentle touch of the brakes would do nothing to decelerate us, but would definitely start turning us sideways. It was time to leave it in gear and let the engine put drag on the rear wheels while doing all we could to keep moving straight.

I was sweating bullets on this part, and apparently, according to Jacqui, giving myself more pep-talks. Every so often the engine would decide to stall and in a panic I'd attempt to restart the motor and throw the van back in gear to face us straight again. Finally the last descent showed it's big, ugly face.

Momentum was building, brakes were our enemy, I told Jacqui "We just got to keep it straight!" A giant rut appeared in the road. There was no way to slow down. We plowed violently through it, I was shocked to see the bikes still attached to the back of the van. As we rounded the corner a new and furious river was waiting for us. A man and a tractor were attempting to fill it.

Josh and I evaluating the giant mud hole with the new river directly after it.

I chatted with Josh a minute then went back to the van and leaned my head in. The motor was still idling. I immediately noticed the oil warning light was on and quickly turned off the engine. It didn't take long to discover the PennyWagon had shattered her oil pan when we went through that last rut. We were now victims of a very avoidable situation.

Oops

Well, rather conveniently, there was that tractor. So, after trying to find any remaining pieces of the oil pan, I designated myself to duct-taping and bungee-cording it shut so water wouldn't get in the engine under tow. We wished our friends Josh and Jenna good luck and hoped we'd see them in town soon.

The tow was...interesting.

From river crossings to muddy bogs and lakes that had appeared or grown drastically, we were slowly pulled onward. During part of our tow, water was coming in the doors due to the depth. But alas, we finally got towed into the tiny town that is hundreds of miles from anything and found Josh and Jenna waiting with some interesting stories about their drive back. Here's their blog post of this same day.

I began this story with the definition of resilience. After two straight years of things going rather incredibly wrong; some as victims of chance, some as victims of ourselves, this seems to be a trait we have grown more than any other. Jacqui and I were surprisingly calm and collected. Brainstorming who or how we could ship a new aluminum oil pan from the States was simply a strategic conversation, not in any way panicky. If anything we were feeling pretty light-hearted about the whole thing.

During our strategizing I had all but ruled out repairing the oil pan. After all, the ability to weld aluminum, or a 25 year old aluminum with magnesium oil pan, is an extremely specialized craft. The chances of finding someone capable of welding our pan back together would basically be impossible.

But just for due diligence I asked our tractor driver if he knew anyone capable. He did. Within an hour we'd secured a tire shop with a clean parking lot that agreed to let me pull out the oil pan on their property. Then we dropped it off next door with the welder, a gringo named Scott who does welding for Baja 1000 trucks, and picked it up two hours later. We slapped it in and were back on the road $40 poorer by early afternoon.

And here's the truly dizzying thing. We were exactly, as in precisely, one mile overdue for an oil change.

There was a lot of welding involved, thanks Scott (aka Oscar)

Oh, and there's more! We were supposed to caravan with two other people who had to bail the day we were crossing the border. Miles and Aaron of Head First Diaries caught up with us while we were removing the oil pan.

Desert camping and caravanning commenced.

From border crossing, to muddy roads, to desert camping

For three winters in a row the tradition has remained the same. Visit all our BFF's on our way to the border, spend a few days gathering supplies, then pull an early morning crossing.

This time the sky itself seemed to inform us we were in for something new.

Perhaps it wasn't just the sky. There seemed to be a plethora of oddities lingering with a foreboding nature. Our friend Julien's inexplicable need to hang upside-down like a bat with a cool nonchalant attitude, being peer-pressured into my first tea party with little miss Katie or just the oddity of our pre-border-crossing shopping run. We showed up to the store and realized the only, single, solitary thing we "needed" was some half-and-half. Surely when you show up so overly prepared the world is about to show you what you've forgotten.

Well, the weather forecast was heavy rain. Heavy rain in Baja. We definitely considered waiting it out, then we decided, screw it. Time to get some rest and see Baja under some unique circumstances.

To be immediately continued...

An open, clean, clear, and free road! A beautiful thing to fantasize about, but Jacqui and I weren't going to be seeing any of that soon.

We'd just finished a two day stint with Karl doing the High Speed Van Build and it was time to boogie our way down to San Francisco to catch a flight. The incoming snow storm was constantly in the back of my mind. Wait it out or try to race ahead?

After making our decision to press on, this here Californian bought and installed his first ever set of snow chains. It was time to find out if Vanagons are as good in the snow as everyone preaches.

Since you are reading this you've probably gathered that I either set this blog to auto-post if something terrible happened to us, or we survived. I'll leave you with the suspense.

Through dumping snow, icy streets - one that nearly broke my tailbone when I fell- and mountain passes that froze our headlights, the PennyWagon labored through the elements. It was a difficult choice between defrosting the windshield or warming ourselves. Vanagons rarely leave you with easy decisions.

But somehow we made it through. We pressed over the first mountain pass to spend an evening with Jacqui's twin cousins near Eugene. One cousin, Megan, and her partner Skye have been traveling, living and working out of their various vans for nearly seven years. But for the time being they are tiny-housing it on Andhi's bio-dynamic farm (Andhi, the other twin). Farm photo below taken in October, not during this snowy visit.

The following morning we hit the road again to cross an even more treacherous pass where we could see no more than 20 feet ahead due to snow and fog. We arrived a bit after the pass reopened, luckily we were headed in the right direction as northbound traffic was backed up nearly 5 miles!

With that pass finally behind us sweet California rain was the only thing greeting us for the rest of the drive to the Bay Area. As quickly as we arrived, it was time to fly out.

We were being drawn to the Lone Star State because Jacqui's Mom and Step-Dad, Debbie and Butch, had docked their land-yacht in Austin. Being that it's their first year full-timing on the road, we like to take some credit for the wandering inspiration, the whole family was flying in for their first #RVlife holidays. Don't visit this family and start asking about mailing addresses, it's far too complex a subject.

We were relieved when we discovered a few of us could stay in the miniature cabin at the RV park instead of shoving the entire family into the RV. Despite the 31ft RV being a mansion to Jacqui and I, six adults and two corgi's can make most spaces feel tiny.

Hiking, eating, exploring, and a high stakes family volleyball competition guided us through our eleven day visit to Austin and added a few notches on my belt (aka girth).  Luckily we were flying back to California to see my family and start our adventure towards Baja! (aka Mexican gym).

Crazy weather through Oregon!

Holidays in Texas, blurry photos attributed to a busted iPhone.

After 9 weeks in the beautiful Columbia Gorge we were officially setting sail. Our time in the Big Red House was over and I was abandoning my boss at Mark's Auto to deal with the long line of cars needing repair on his own. Sorry el jefe, adventure awaits, and so does a friend in need.

Our first stop was a pay-it-forward mission. Our new friend Karl, the very Karl from Westy Ventures who saved our broken-down butts a few weeks before, was in a conundrum. He's so busy building and outfitting other people's adventure rigs, that after two years, he still has a barren Sprinter van.

Life, work and time all seemed to be getting in the way of him pursuing his own adventures and van-build. So as time slipped by with him not having so much as a decent rig for weekend camping, his frustration was building.

Well, Jacqui and I decided we would step in and help out the guy who has been helping us for months with motor-swap tips, advice and eventually even building us our new injection pump. We had a flight to catch in San Francisco coming up quick, but we rearranged our time carefully and told Karl we would be showing up for two days; 48 hours of our time was all his. We cautioned him to use the time wisely.

We simply stated, "We'll be there so clear your schedule and make sure you have some building materials ready! Let's make a beta-camper!"

Two days is hardly enough to build a fully-self-contained adventure mobile, but we could at least get some insulation, walls and a bed platform installed quickly enough to let him do a road-trip to the east coast to spend time with the family for the holidays. After all, Karl sells adventure vehicle fridges and heaters so he could easily throw a few things in the van to have a rudimentary camper.

I'm here to say, insulating and walling an entire cargo-van takes a lot longer than we thought, but we hustled and accomplished our mission in time for Karl to take his road trip. The best part is that even though Karl thinks we were there to help him, secretly we were just there to learn some tricks towards building our own rig from scratch some day. *Wink, wink.*

See you next time we're North-bound Karl!

Some of Karl's Photos!

For over 4,000 miles (which took three grueling months, two engines and three injection pumps to accomplish) Jerry has been a thorn in my foot. The bane of my existence. The object of loathing.

But lets face it, I don't even know how to spell Jerry's name. Gerry, Geri, Jery, Jeri...who knows. I've never met the guy. He might be a fantastic, charismatic, and extremely professional gent for all I know. What I do know is he hasn't been able to build me a working diesel injection pump to save his life.

After 4,000 miles of freedom from mechanical difficulties we firmly believed we'd been released from Jerry's injection-pump-purgatory to wreak adventure-based havoc upon the world. We were wrong. Jerry's talons of injection-incompetence had only temporarily released us with false hope.

Screw you, Jerry, it was supposed to be a nice camping weekend!

Regardless, Jacqui and I didn't let our pride get in the way of having a good time. We still pulled up to the campout in a turbo diesel powered machine. I think you might be hard pressed to find a full-sized tow truck that isn't.

Somehow, it seems like Jacqui and I always seem to find the back door out of a sticky situation and that weekend proved no different. We were in the process of camping with Vanagon mTDI guru Karl of westyventures.com and half a dozen other vans and friends. So one additional tow truck ride after the campout had us sitting at Karl's shop trying to figure out the financial logistics of purchasing a Karl-pump. We were hoping the phone call we were about to make would go smoothly.

Numbers dialed and phone ringing later we were quickly connected with Thomas of Quality German Auto Parts. Thomas has the unfortunate responsibility of being the middleman between Jerry and I, but I'm happy to say, we made a deal and Thomas agreed to buy the pump back. Thank you very much, Thomas. You've been excellent to work with and every product you were personally responsible for has been flawless. I wouldn't hesitate to buy another motor from you, minus the Jerry-Pump.

Really it's kind of a win-win though. Thomas doesn't ever have to hear from us again, regarding this power plant at least, and we got to gawk over the guru Karl building us the life force of our engine! Not to mention, no more Jerry-pump-travel-purgatory!

Guru Karl, despite the very long wait list for one of his customized Cummins Diesel pumps (Sorry for cutting in line people who are waiting!), built us a pump on the spot, then tweaked and customized our motor into a powerhouse! I even got to learn part of the process!

Once again Jacqui and I have been released to wreak havoc upon this world! Prepare for the adventure!!

Super, super thank you Karl! We owe you one!

After all of the extra power that came with the new pump and tuning some new minor issues popped up. Our van decided to sound like a screaming banshee every time I got on the throttle. Hehe. Easily fixed though.

Jacqui and I have spent 2 years on and off the road. In that time we've been through 2 adventure vehicles, 3 engines, 40,000 miles, 13 border crossings and an unknown number of breakdowns. It's not magic that we're on the road; we work.

I currently don't possess skills that allow me to make money from the road. I'm working on it, but for now I'm an Auto Mechanic. Jacqui, as an Industrial Designer, can come much closer to honing her skills for life remotely, but even that profession is rarely done outside the office.

So in the great journey that is us staying on the road, we got off the road for a bit. It was finally time for Jacqui and I to take a lesson from so many Canadians we met south of the border: work hard somewhere you love while the weather is good, and get out of there as soon as it gets cold.

Enter the Columbia Gorge.

The Columbia Gorge has 77 waterfalls accessible from the highway, one of the world's best network of rivers for white water kayaking, hundreds of mountain biking trails, world class wind for world class kiteboarding, endless hiking trails and easy access to Mount Hood for snowboarding and skiing.

Right up our alley!

From networking with friends we made in Mexico, we scored a room to rent in a beautiful house right on the river. From the living room we had an amazing view of Mount Hood and could watch the salmon jumping in the river. I got a job within the week at a local garage and we got Jacqui a desk at a local thrift store so she could dedicate her time to building a business and website for herself. The plan was simple, live off my income while Jacqui starts building a business and try to save enough from what I'm making to get us down to Baja for the winter. You know, live like the snow-birds.

I won't say it's an emotionally or physically easy transition to go from road adventurer to weekend warrior. But when my modest income wrenching on cars in a small town can earn enough in two months to live two more months in Mexico, the light at the end of the tunnel helps keep your head up. Even when I never got to see daylight Monday through Friday.

Regardless, our time in White Salmon, Washington has definitely opened our eyes to the many ways staying on the road can be achieved. Sure it'd be fantastic if I was a stock trader or web designer who could log on to the internet from anywhere in the world to work my day-job. But I don't have those kinds of skills...yet. Jacqui and I simply have our cumulative education and skills that we can leverage in any way we see fit. 

Enough on that for now.

Have a look at our 9 weeks in the Columbia Gorge!

Some pictures of our time exploring as weekend warriors.

A lot has changed in a year.

From the 20 vans that showed up to the first Descend on Bend, 2015 brought well over a hundred rigs. Despite the exponentially greater number of people, pets and children, the theme remained the same: meet like-minded people.

In the whirlwind of socialization and baking more than one van-apple-pie, Jacqui and I drove away from Descend on Bend Dos with massive smiles because we had the privilege of seeing old faces and new. More than anything though, getting a chance to feed off the stories and excitement of other travelers, many that have been on the roads for years and some that are just starting their tale, has energized Jacqui and I to restart ours.

From a family of 5 living full-time in an airstream (with a cat too), seasoned travelers who have traversed the globe in their 15 years living in a van, a family of three who've seen the America's tip-to-tip in a '71 VW bus, expecting parents choosing to start their new baby's life on the road, an engaged couple who are likely to have their wedding en-route to Argentina, two best friends taking off to make a show about their drive down the Americas... all these stories capture just a handful of the travelers we've met at Descend on Bend.

After meeting this mass of travelers, I'm here to tell you, not a single, solitary one of them can tell YOU how to stay on the road. Or at the very least, I have yet to discover a single matching answer.

Staying on the road full-time seems to be a true test of creativity. What skills do you have? How can you monetize those skills in a way to allow you to spend more of your life living and less of it working? When Jacqui and I figure out the answer, I'm sad to say, it probably won't help you. But if you figure it out, it probably wouldn't work for us either.

This all makes a great segue to our next post that's coming soon about working, settling, exploring and trying to prioritize living.

But not before some photos of our fun at Descend on Bend Dos!!

After two rather traumatic runaway/breakdowns, Jacqui and I were struggling to find any enthusiasm when word came we could pick up our van again. Even with Marcello putting 150 trouble free miles on Penny, we were simply suffering Vanagon PTSD. Another rental car, another hour drive out to Marcello's and another farewell wave later we we're cruising down the highway with churning stomachs.

I was manning the PennyWagon with heavy shoulders and exhales that sounded like sighs. I had that general disposition you get when you're positively exhausted and someone gives you an insurmountable task that you want nothing to do with. In this case those emotions were directed at driving my own van. Jacqui was following in the rental car with nerves more shot than my own.

Suddenly there was a flurry of honks and flashing lights. I looked in the rear view mirror and Jacqui was clearly trying to tell me something was wrong. I checked both mirrors, checked the gauges, eased the throttle a bit, then in furious denial I declared to no one , "There's nothing wrong! I'm not stopping this car!!!"

Jacqui intensified her lip-syncing and light flashing.

I pulled over.

We stared at the diesel pouring out of the injection pump.

Jacqui explained that, in addition to the leak, our license plate had flown off a few miles back.

We got back on a tow truck.

I thought about the fact that the aircooled motor that we worked so hard to replace literally never left us on the back of a tow truck.

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Well, it was minor. Literally just a very easily repaired seal. And so 3 states and 4000 miles later I'm here to report back........FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDOOOOOOOOM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Actually, we're now averaging 26mpg of freedom.

So a HUGE, MASSIVE, GIGANTIC thank you to Helen, Martin and baby Elliott for letting us be roomies for nearly two months. More than that, thank you for being an absolute pleasure to be around! Because of the chaos with our van we got to watch baby Elliott go from struggling to pick up his food, to taking his first steps. I don't think I can ever describe what it's like to just drop into a family's life for such an unexpectedly long period of time, but judging by the fact that we all still like each-other, I'd say it only strengthened our friendship.

Can't wait to see you guys on our next Southbound Round! Though I expect it will be a much briefer visit.

Jacqui's always mandatory gratuitous number of baby photos. Along with an old college photo of Helen and Jacqui.

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Jacqui and Helen got crafty by preparing monsters for Elliott's first birthday party. All of the monsters are made from the "Puffs" containers that Elliott loves to eat.

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So two months later I'm here to report we've been busy. We planned on spending over a month cruising our way up to the Pacific Northwest. But instead we used that time to be broke-down (aka Mission: Watch baby grow up). So instead, it's been fast-paced hello's, gear swapping and driving. 

Back with the old roomies on Treasure Island

Trading gear at the storage unit, stopping by my old work Engine Works in Alameda, the abandoned-military-grocery-store turned renegade-fabrication-shop that we used to live in, and a few of the friends and family we saw around the Bay Area.

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 Cruising up Northern California

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Oregon and Still Northbound
What's that...Jacqui found another baby to take photos of?

We had tons of hello's to make on our way through Oregon. Family, friends and even a van meetup.

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Washington and still North-Bound!
When we finally got to Northern Washington we did something we've meant to do for a long time. Camped with my Uncle Tim (Van-Tramp) and his lady Kerri! (@asolojourner) I guess full-time life on the road runs in the family.

The Hoh Rainforest, meandering through Washington and even more hello's (and yes, that blond-haired blue-eyed man is my father).

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Northwesty...because no blog post ends without car repair!
Some 30 year old suspension bushings really took a beating on our way to Guatemala and back. We swung by NorthWesty and Kirk was nice enough to let me throw on some bushings and some lift springs in the parking lot, where we also slept a night.

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With seven grease-covered days behind us, Jacqui and I finally paused to proudly observe our completed motor installation. It was late in the day and we were exhausted, which added to our decision to wait until morning to start up the engine. After all, with a conversion of this magnitude there were bound to be hiccups and I didn’t want discovering them to pollute my night’s sleep.
 
Little did I know, any start up issues we were about to encounter would pale in comparison to what was lurking in our near future.
 
The morning dawned, we crossed the street from our shady motel to the DIY garage and got to work. We topped off all the fluids, disconnected the electrical to the injection pump and cranked the engine over a few times to get the oil pumping. After one final check over, Jacqui and I each took a deep, long breath and took our positions.
 
While I went off to the driver’s seat Jacqui scrambled to prepare a video. Sitting there waiting for a thumbs up from Jacqui, I was far from thrilled about the concept of her capturing the first start. The thought of something going catastrophically wrong and being filmed wasn’t the warmest thing rolling around in my imagination. 

Jacqui finally gave me the go-ahead so I turned the key and with unbelievable speed and a puff of smoke, PennyWagon Version 2.0 roared to life.

Our first start was a success! The idle was rough and there was a minor coolant leak coming from an aftermarket coolant flange, but nonetheless, we had every right to pat ourselves on the back. Well, somehow that minor coolant leak managed to eat up an entire day. I tried to figure out why this brand new flange was leaking and it broke in my hand. Frustrated, we took long Uber rides to get a new one, which broke in the exact same manner. Now it was obvious we should have stuck with the stock, plastic flange. Ok, fine! Could be worse, right?
 
At last we prepared PennyWagon sufficiently to take her on a test drive and I was ecstatic, though fully aware she wasn’t running perfect. Having never driven a TDI-powered Vanagon before I had nothing to compare with, but I recognized it was a little challenging to make idle and there was a ton of turbo lag which I knew to be uncharacteristic of this power-plant. Regardless, the fine-tuning could come with time. The hard parts were over so it was time to head to the exhaust shop.

After eight days of DIY madness we were out of the shady hotel and on the road once again. We clocked 100 miles between the shop and our friends’ house without a single hiccup. We had significantly more power than our air-cooled motor ever offered and we were thrilled to get 28.25mpg at the first fill up. Which, with current diesel prices in Southern California, was putting us at a nice even 10 cents per mile. 

We swung by Quality German to show Thomas our work and were rewarded with his praise for this install being one of the more beautiful he’d seen completed. Finally, we were going to have a dependable adventure-mobile worthy of world exploration! For anyone following our vehicle-related trials the last 18 months you can probably imagine our excitement. 

When at last we turned our wheels north for a cautious drive we were full of smiles and talk of a grand future ahead. For three months we prepped, planned and waited to start this swap. We drove from Guatemala to Texas, then Texas to California. We put our dream of driving to South America on hold (for a second time) and were looking forward to spending time in the US with family and friends while kiteboarding and exploring the Pacific Northwest. We felt relieved that perhaps we could finally spend our time adventuring instead of on car repair, which had become just about the only thing we ever do since our accident in March 2014. 
 
However, we have been told by more than one of our fellow travelers we are cursed or have the worst luck. When I give a rundown of the trials associated with our travels listeners express their utter disbelief, whether through words or facial expressions. One traveler even held her fingers in a cross to ward off our unlucky spirits. Knowing that, it may not surprise you to hear that whenever we say things are finally going our way that's customarily when things go terribly wrong. Clearly today was going to be something quite ordinary, for us.
 
While cruising highway I-15 I downshifted for a steep grade and smiled at how much more power was at my disposal for hill-climbs. As I crested the hill I depressed the clutch and tried to move from 3rd to 4th gear, I never made it to 4th.
 
The engine immediately started screaming as if I was holding the gas pedal to the floor in neutral, the only thing was I wasn’t touching the gas. I quickly cycled the ignition off and the engine didn’t care it was running full-speed on it’s own. Immediately adrenaline started pumping through my skull and I knew I needed to get this van off the road and shut the engine down immediately. 

“We have a major emergency! Diesel runaway syndrome, it could explode!” 

My eyes were wide and I scanned for a safe spot. With no time to react I nearly locked the brakes and came to a stop in the middle of six lanes of traffic. We were at the base of the infamous Grapevine, splitting the lanes that usher truckers to the right and cars to the left. 

“No, no, no, no, no!”  Black smoke so thick you could cut it with a knife was billowing out the back of the van while our engine, even with the key out, was screaming deafeningly loud. In a panic I ran around and leapt under the van, grabbed the fuel line leading from the gas tank and tried to fold it in half, but there wasn’t enough slack.
 
“Nooooooooooo!!!!” I couldn’t even hear myself scream over the high-pitched wail of the engine as it continued to rev as fast as physics would allow. I furiously ripped the fuel lines out of the bottom of the van with all my strength and folded them in half so they wouldn’t spill all over the highway. I found myself laying half under the van with an up close view as the motor continued to scream and cook itself, diesel and coolant were puking all over the ground while the unbelievably thick, monstrous cloud of smoke engulfed everything.
 
“No, no, please, no.” I was almost crying the words as I watched our hard work destroy itself while I lay in the center of the highway completely powerless.
 
I looked up to see Jacqui 15 yards down the highway. Apparently when I declared our state of emergency the only words she heard were “runaway” and “explode”. Thus when the van stopped she took off sprinting down the freeway, barefoot. I needed to get out from under the van and tie off the fuel lines, I started waving Jacqui over in panic and she immediately sprinted to my side. Over the roar of the engine I yelled, “Hold this!” and went to grab a zip tie. 

Finally, with the fuel lines tied off, we stepped back in disbelief as the motor continued to scream, time was a blur. Staring at the deafening loud van billowing black smoke we were waiting for everything we owned to catch fire and burn to the ground. We dared not approach or try to save our belongings stored above the engine compartment. If the motor decided to come apart we didn’t want to be in the debris field.
 
As abruptly as it had started, it stopped. Our engine finally used up all the residual fuel in the fuel filter and lines; there was no fire.
 
Many of you probably don’t understand how our engine could possibly do this. We had the rare diesel runaway syndrome and it’s easy enough to find a YouTube video of other unlucky fellows who have experienced this.
 
A diesel engine, unlike its gasoline cousin, doesn’t require electricity to run. The gasoline engine sucks in fuel and air then uses a spark to ignite the mixture. A diesel, on the other hand, simply squeezes air so tight it creates enough heat for the fuel to spontaneously combust when added. That’s why diesels are so amazing, so robust, so simple, and will run on just about anything. Put vegetable oil, diesel, kerosene, propane, or even engine oil in them and they will run, though some of those fuels won’t exactly make them last very long.
 
In our case, the engine started getting fuel from a source that was no longer controlled by me, and that’s all it needed to get a mind of its own. If you plan on shutting off a diesel you need to either have control of the fuel or the air entering the engine. I couldn’t get to the air-intake located behind the tail-light so I attacked the fuel source and was very, very lucky that the engine wasn’t somehow sucking oil. If it was, it would have continued running until it ran out, blew up, or welded itself into a useless hunk of metal. I guess you could say this is both the beauty and the danger of diesels. Their robust ability to run anywhere and on anything is why they are the selected engines for industrial use, and why so many travelers prefer them.
 
I repeat: this is a rare thing to happen. Unless of course, you’re us.

I'm actually shocked how quickly Jacqui and I emotionally recovered from the insanity of this whole situation. Maybe the unbelievable number of mishaps on the road has made us callous. As soon as we knew our van wasn’t burning down, we were basically just concerned about calling a tow-truck and handling the warranty regarding our new motor. 

When we finally entered the safety of the tow-truck the adrenaline and tension subsided and was replaced by the kind of chuckling that can only come from utter disbelief. The kind of semi-crazed laughter that only comes with the epiphany that your circumstances are absolutely, positively, ludicrous. But more than anything, despite this being our first ever diesel run-away, this whole scenario felt somehow ordinary.

Regarding the warranty, Thomas from Quality German is a great guy and has been in business for over 30 years. Once we collectively determined it was in fact the special pump that failed (the pump that Jacqui and I waited 8 weeks to receive) and no fault due to our install, he took full control to make things right. He and his pump builder were dumbfounded. This is the first time one of their pumps has ever failed and ran away. Someone had to be the first and we were the obvious choice I guess; must be that damn curse everyone keeps telling us we have. We don’t even believe in curses, but at a certain point you start to wonder.
 
Well, Thomas from Quality German did take amazing care of Jacqui and me. We received a rebuilt, zero-mile engine (an upgrade from the low mileage, used one that just destroyed itself) and a completely different pump. In order to quickly get us back on the road Thomas himself drove to Colorado over the weekend to pick up everything, and was hiring a world-class professional diesel mechanic to do the install so we wouldn’t have to lift a finger. He was doing everything in his power to not only make this right, but to get us on the road as quickly as possible.
 
Perhaps it’s a bit strange, but Jacqui and I both felt bad that Thomas would had to go through all this trouble. It’s not like he’s personally at fault for the pump failing, he hires a third-party specialist to build them, but we were also very grateful that we were catching a break on getting this resolved. 

After close to two weeks passed we got our van back! Absolutely incredible! Honestly this motor and the previous weren’t even comparable. Since Thomas’ specialist Marcello did the install he was able to do the fine-tuning to really make the whole thing sing in harmony. It drove with smile-inducing beauty...for 25 miles.
 
There are three things I have to be concerned with regarding on our diesel: the injection pump, the engine assembly and the turbo. Each one of them is durable and rebuild-able. With the failure of the last pump that killed the motor, we now had two of those three items with basically zero miles on them. Fresh and ready to go.

The only thing is, that custom injection pump we’ve had built twice now, failed again. Interesting thing is, this time it’s actually the fault of a part purchased from Bosch. As in the massive auto parts manufacturer. A little pin inside the pump which was brand-spanking new had a bad weld. Something you’d only see with a microscope. 
 
Our motor swap experience has been, I don’t know…uncanny? Ridiculous? A statistical anomaly? The chances that we would receive the first run-away pump these guys have ever built is already crazy. But, thanks to some tiny manufacturing error in a pin the size of a paper clip made by an auto-parts giant, we also got their second pump that has ever failed and ran away. So basically we’ve had the very rare diesel runaway syndrome in two separate engines, in less than 300 miles.
 
Fucking curse.

We are currently accepting crossed fingers, prayers and best wishes for when we get our van running a third time.
 
 
**Super special thanks to our friends Helen, Martin and baby Elliott. We’ve been living with them for over seven weeks before, during and after all this insanity and they’ve been extremely patient with these "boomerang kids".
 
***Another side note. In no way do I want this blog post to put a negative light on Quality German Auto Parts, Thomas, or the installer Marcello. Quite the opposite, actually. I’ve worked in the auto repair industry long enough to tell you that no place on earth has a 100% perfect track record in every repair they do, and especially not in custom builds. It’s simply impossible. In fact, I don’t measure the quality of a shop by whether or not a mistake has been made; I measure it by how they treat you after the mistake.
 
Based on that, these are excellent businesses and excellent people.

Now for some photos.

Running around trying to get 5 gallons of diesel (Target shopping carts totally help), our twice broken coolant flange that ate up a whole day, Thomas' shop kitty 'Grease' and saying goodbye to the guys at Your Dream Garage.

All the tow trucks associated with runaway #1, leaving all our stuff that behind at Quality German, meeting Marcello the diesel mechanic, then experiencing runaway #2. 

It's a good thing these guys keep taking us back. Someday we will stop pestering them.

This is Part 2 of our m-TDI motor swap, Part 1 can be found here. For those who would like to refer to this post as a resource for your own build, be sure to click on all the photos as additional information is contained within individual captions. Anything we've done that you try to repeat you are doing so at your own risk (good luck!).

This was an enormous, exhausting, exhilarating, adventurous and at times painful project. More than anything it was an absolute blast, and Jacqui and I know the tight deadline we set for ourselves added to the chaos. We arrived at the DIY auto shop with a van full of parts and spent eight days, nine Uber (cab) rides, a dozen runs to part stores, two last minute internet orders and countless task repetitions to complete our swap.

I lost count of how many parts had to be removed and reinstalled 3, 4 or even 5 times until they fit just right or how many smooth sailing projects came to a sudden halt until we procured the correct fastener, hose or coupling. If we had to do this project all over again, with all we've learned, we could certainly cut the time in half.

The afternoon we picked up our motor from Quality German also marked the day we started at Your Dream Garage. We were eager to get this project underway and needed to be smart, organized and decisive to finish in a timely manner. After nine weeks of ordering everything my brain could anticipate we’d need, we were now on the clock at the DIY garage and paying nights at the hotel across the street. Time was now money and it was time to hustle.

With the help of many donor parts from the very rare 1982 Diesel Vanagon, there were many bolt on/ready parts which dramatically cut down on time that otherwise would be dedicated to fabrication. VW never intended for this engine to be in a Vanagon so a huge amount of tinkering, creativity, trial and error are required to bring it all together.

When all was said and done we got a brief taste of this engine's capabilities and clocked 28.25mpg by the first fill-up. This was right before, by no fault of our own, the engine nearly destroyed itself. If you want to hear that story, you’ll have to tune in for the dramatic finale to our 3 part motor swap saga.

The first afternoon our task was to prepare the new engine with any accessories required to fit it in our engine bay. More importantly it was our last opportunity to develop a shopping list as Penny was going on the lift in the morning and we'd have to rely on Uber from then on out.

Preparing the engine

Originally our engine came from a sedan and had been computer controlled. Our task was to make it fit in a van, run without electronics (Quality German took care of building the mechanical injection pump) and lay the motor on it’s side to fit inside an engine compartment that was designed for a pancake engine. 

Shopping list:

• DV (Diesel Vanagon) oil pan 
• DV oil pickup 
• DV dipstick with tube 
• DV carrier bars (<1982 for air-cooled transmission, 1983+ for waterboxer) 
• DV passenger-side engine mount 
• Custom driver’s side engine mount
• DV flywheel + clutch
• DV lower water pump outlet
• DV crankshaft needle bearing

We prepped the engine with a Lego-style approach. If you obtain all the Diesel Vanagon parts it significantly decreases the number of items you need to fabricate and VW was nice enough to make everything bolt together with simplicity. Since our motor was built by Quality German to operate without electronics, all the various wires and sensors needed to be stripped off with an exception for the glow plug harness. Fully prepped, there should be two wires to the alternator, one wire to the pump, and two wires for the glow plugs but we're still a long way from needing to worry about that.

The motor delivered on the pallet: it still has original wiring attached from when it was computer controlled, an oil pan for upright-mounting and a clutch/flywheel that won't work with our transmission. Many items to strip off for the Vanagon conversion.
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Front to Back

Finally we were ready to bring the van into the shop. Once in, the PennyWagon wasn't leaving until she was diesel powered. So off we went stringing all the various systems that travel the 15ft from the front to the back of the van. This included coolant lines for the radiator, heater hoses, a new Diesel Vanagon throttle cable and a wire loom to keep all the new accessory wiring consolidated and weather proof.

Shopping list:

• Pre-fabricated coolant lines**
• Minimum 30ft 5/8" heater hose
• 18ft wire loom (recommend at least 5 wires in loom)
• DV throttle cable

**About the pre-fabricated coolant lines, of which there are many options, I made a mistake and purchase 1986+ lines from BusDepot.com. I discovered one of the lines is shorter than the other and ends IN FRONT of the passenger axle. I've now learned Rocky Mountain Westy makes stainless steel coolant lines that are specific for TDI conversions. This would have saved me numerous trips to stores trying to find a way to close the 1.5ft gap between the SS lines and engine. If you have 1986+ coolant lines, I recommend finding a 1.5" coupler and walking up and down the radiator hose isle in the local auto parts store until you find something S-shaped.

The air-cooled Vanagon surprised me with the fact this whole procedure required absolutely no cutting. Granted it took us forever to determine how everything wanted to squeeze together, but nonetheless it all came out beautifully. The gas tank had to be drained in preparation to receive diesel and had to be removed in order to gut the air-cooled heater system. I kept my new 5-wire marine loom inline with the factory wiring. This will allow me to hook up gauges, switches and other accessories without having to run a new wire each time.

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Gutting the Van

Time to commit. Engine, transmission, electronics, motor mounts, air ducting, grime, dust...everything goes. Only the transmission (with a different bell-housing) and two under-hood wires (alternator light wire and ignition coil power wire) are being reused. While we were in there we cleaned and re-insulated above the transmission area to help the external oil-cooler breathe a bit better. 

Luckily we even managed to find an awesome buyer for our old engine! 

Shopping list:

• Tenacity! 

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Transmission

We reused the original air-cooled transmission. Ideally we'd send out our transmission to have a couple gears changed to lower highway rpm's but for now, we'll live with the way it is. There are a couple modifications to make it fit with the diesel motor. Namely you need the bell housing and input shaft from a Diesel Vanagon. I ended up using our original input shaft and cut about a half inch from the end. Since I couldn't figure out how on earth to get that shaft out of the transmission, I just cut it while still installed. Whatever it takes, right?! This transmission project took unnecessarily long because I didn't know the bolts that held the air-cooled engine to the transmission were different than what I'd need for the TDI to bolt to the transmission. We wasted hours taking Ubers around searching for the right bolts. So to save you that trouble, make sure you have the original bolts to hold the engine to the transmission.

Shopping list:

• DV bell housing
• DV input shaft (or cut about 1/2" off the end of the current shaft)
• DV starter
• Bell housing gasket
• Input shaft seal
• All engine-to-transmission bolts!

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Getting the motor to fit!

This was the most shockingly time consuming parts of the project. Originally I was under the impression from talking to a few people I could simply trim the driver's side DV engine mount, hire a welder to reinforce it, then install. Sounds terribly simple right? 

By the time I cut up the original mount enough to clear the turbo, it became obvious there wasn't anything left to reinforce. Eeek! Time is definitely money when you're renting a lift and now we were dead in the water until we sorted this hurdle out. On top of that, the fabrication shop that was going to reinforce my aluminum mount, refused to be involved in trying to make one from scratch. Apparently they didn't want the liability.

Jacqui and I took a long Uber ride out to Thomas at Quality German to pick up a few more parts and ask if he could suggest a fabricator. Awesome luck for us, Thomas had a mostly-finished prototype mount designed for a very similar engine to ours. It wasn't a perfect fit, and it was a rough design, but it would at least provide a foundation for me to weld onto instead of starting from scratch, which could easily eat a couple of days. Once completed, Jacqui and I agreed it's probably the ugliest and heaviest mount ever done in one of these conversions, but it's doing the job until we can make something prettier. 

Regarding the passenger side mount. You do use the stock carrier bar and engine mount. However, to make the engine sit low enough to clear the deck lid, you will need to re-drill the hole in the carrier bar so the mount sits an inch or so lower.

Shopping list:

• DV carrier bars**
• Late style DV rubber motor mounts (if you want to use these mounts with early carrier bars, some drilling is required)
• Passenger side DV aluminum engine mount
• Driver side custom built mount (have fun with that project!)

**If you are using a watercooled vanagon transmission use the late style 1983+ diesel Vanagon carrier bars. If you are using the air-cooled or <1982 Diesel Vanagon transmission, you need the early style diesel carrier bars. I learned the hard way. Late model bars on early style transmissions don't fit in the engine bay. They are about an inch too short.

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Under-the-hood cooling system

This section will definitely have a shopping list worth noting. We completed numerous parts store runs to get this one done. The coolant bottle bracket I made by welding and cutting angle iron to shape. I'm currently using the 1986+ coolant bottle with a Diesel Vanagon specific coolant hose kit (Van-cafe.com listed under Tiico conversion hose kit).

Shopping list:

• 2x 5/8'' straight couplers (for attaching under-hood hoses to the heater hoses)
• 1''-to-5/8'' reduction hose (outlet on cylinder head is 1'', heater hoses are 5/8''. You need to adapt the sizes, I found a silicone hose for this from HPS silicone).
• 1-1/2" straight coupler (If you're using 1986+ coolant lines this is to connect your under-hood hoses to the rubber hose running from the axle. If you're using 1983-1985 lines, or TDI swap specific ones, I don't believe you need this at all).
• DV coolant hose set (Van-cafe.com listed under Tiico conversion hose kit).
• Coolant bottle**

**If you use a Diesel Vanagon coolant bottle it will connect perfectly to the Diesel Vanagon hoses. I'm using the 1986+ coolant bottle so I had to modify the hose to the upper nipple. I used a 5/8'' to 3/4'' silicone adapter hose and a 3/4'' straight coupler that allowed me to tie this into the stock hoses. I plan on purchasing a brand-new coolant bottle very soon.

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Turbo Piping

The intercooler/turbo piping was actually a lot of fun. I purchased a simple Ebay 2'' turbo piping kit to complete the main build, then had to source a bunch of custom sized hoses to fill in the blanks. Obviously this shopping list only applies to people who'd like to perfectly mimic my install. If you'd like to check out the intercooler install, head back to Motor Swap Part 1. This section only covers attaching the engine to the already installed intercooler.

Shopping list:

• Universal 2'' turbo piping kit (make sure it comes with at least two silicone 90 degree bends, an array of 45, 90 and straight aluminum pipes are also essential).
• 1-3/8" 45 degree silicone hose. Should be about 8'' in length. (I bought mine at HPS silicone)
• 1-3/8" Aluminum coupler. Roughly 3''.
• 2'' to 1-3/8" silicone reducer (to adapt the turbo outlet to fit your universal kit).
• 2-1/4" to 2" silicone reducers (you need two of them for adapting the Saab intercooler to the universal 2" piping kit).

There wasn't a great way to get in there and take photos of exactly how the hoses are run so I'll write it out as detailed as I can. Starting at the turbo outlet.

Turbo to intercooler (Intercooler inlet is closer to the taillight assembly). 

The 8'' 45 degree 1-3/8" silicone hose attaches directly to the turbo. From that a 1-3/8" aluminum pipe attaches a 2" to 1-3/8" silicone reducer. Custom cut a 2" 90 degree aluminum pipe so that it sits directly in front of the input in the intercooler. Attatch the 90 degree pipe you just cut to the intercooler with a 2-1/4" to 2" silicone reducer.

Intercooler to Intake (Intercooler outlet is further from the taillight assembly).

Silicone 2-1/4'' to 2'' reducer attaches directly to intercooler outlet. Custom cut 2'' straight aluminum pipe and attach that to two 90 degree 2'' silicone hoses that have been combined with a 2" straight aluminum pipe creating a 180 degree bend. Then simply mount it to the intake.

As for the inlet from the air cleaner to the turbo, the plastic pipe that goes into the turbo requires a 2-3/4" hose. The turbo itself has a 1-3/8" fitting. You'll have to figure out for yourself how you want to handle connecting your air cleaner to your turbo, but at least you now know the sizes involved.

A pair of wire crimpers with a zip-tie make an excellent tool for putting a lip on the aluminum pipes. You definitely need this lip or the hoses will slip off during boost. And make sure you clean them up after cutting. You don't want any aluminum shavings to get sucked into the turbo or engine.

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Wiring

I wish I took some fancy photos of the under-hood electrical (maybe later) but I'll try to let my words fill in the blanks. I kept everything stupid simple and as manual as possible. I have not yet finished all the electrical I'd like. Many gauges and accessories will be added in the near future (probably motor swap part 3), but for now I'll cover what operates our motor.

There are two wires left over from removing the air-cooled motor that will get reused. The ignition coil wire (good source of ignition positive) and the alternator light wire (for telling your new alternator to charge.)

Shopping list:

• 5x relays with connectors
• Fuse block
• Wiring/connectors

I simply have a fuse block with 10AWG wire getting power directly from the starter bolt. My intercooler fan, injection pump, and diesel lift pump are all powered by individual relays that are triggered by the ignition coil wire. On the opposite side of the fuse block I have two additional relays, with their own individually fused circuits, that give power to the glow plugs when I flip a switch on the dash (I just count to 5 then flip it off).

Very soon I'll be adding an RPM gauge, boost gauge, EGT gauge and oil temp gauge. But the above is more wiring than is actually necessary to start the motor.

Well, that covers getting the engine in the van! On the day we finally finished everything, we decided not to start the van. We decided it was better to take a shower, go out to dinner and put off the big key turning until the morning. So just like we waited, I'll make you wait until the next post for the first start-up, the trouble-shooting, the exhaust system and the drama that ensued 300 miles later.

To be continued...

Ready for the first start!

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Well first thing's first: Why?

Why on earth would we take that perfectly good running air-cooled motor that I recently put brand new cylinder heads on and throw it out for a completely different power plant?

Well for one, if the PennyWagon was simply a weekend adventure vehicle, I wouldn't; but she's far more than that.

The PennyWagon is our home, and we don't pack light. That means all our extra weight, consisting of our toys, clothes, hygiene products, water, food and such is making an already extremely slow van far beyond sluggish. Even with all that, she actually drives surprisingly well. But weight is only part of the reason we're pulling the trigger. The combination of the weight, this van being our home AND the absolutely extreme driving we're asking it to accomplish is why we're finally taking the plunge. The current motor simply lacks the cojones to accomplish what we need it to do.

Perhaps a little back-reading to I Don't Know could refresh your memory on how this little motor proved itself incapable of hauling our 5000lb asses up 20% grades at 6700ft in the middle of Guatemala. Which is only the beginning of the hardships we're going to ask her to endure. 

Our demands upon this machine are great so we need a power plant that is something superb. A power plant that can handle extreme weight, altitude, grades and a completely undependable supply of gas stations and parts-houses. We need a motor that can fit in the compact engine bay, is extremely fuel efficient and has little to no electronic components. Something that isn't going to starve for air in the mountains, and in an emergency, parts can be purchased anywhere in the world.

So after much number crunching, numerous power plant comparisons, we're doing a VW TDI. Not just any TDI either. An m-TDI. Translation: A fully mechanical (computer free) turbo diesel engine. No electronics, no ignition system, lots of low end grunt power, cheaper fuel prices and better mileage.

To clear things up, you can't just buy this motor. Any TDI is an electronic infested beast. Even the earliest models of them had electronic gas pedals. Imagine that, I'm in the middle of the Peruvian desert and my gas pedal sensor goes out so the van won't drive. Where am I going to buy one of those? Maybe it's just because I'm a mechanic, but having all those extra potential failure points scares me.

I'm having a shop in Ontario, CA called Quality German Auto Parts take a TDI engine and rebuild it to be completely mechanical. New school power with old school workings. The entire engine will require a single wire to run. In fact once a diesel is running, they don't actually require any electricity at all.

So as promised, the m-TDI DIY projects are rolling out. Now our motor is taking a smidge longer in the shop than anticipated, so I've been trying to do as much preparation as possible. After all, with our plan being to rent a DIY mechanic shop, every hour of work I can do before we rent the lift saves us money.

For those of you interested in doing this to your air-cooled Vanagon, this is simply how I went about it. I make no claims that this is the only way or the best way, but I'm certainly getting the job done. I apologize if everything isn't explained perfectly or if every photo isn't snapped. But at the same time, this kind of project requires a bit of creativity and ingenuity. Not everything is going to fall perfectly into place, so if you aren't comfortable filling in the blanks, I'd recommend more research or hiring help before undertaking something of this nature.

To adapt my van to this motor requires quite a few things. I need a cooling system (my current engine doesn't require liquid to stay cool but the new one does). I need a cradle since something has to keep the new motor from dragging on the ground. I need to make the engine actually bolt to the transmission, because it currently won't. I need to plumb the air. In other words it needs filtered air to enter, then the compressed air from the turbo needs to be cooled before finally entering the engine. Finally, I need to do all the electrical for the new systems being built.

I've got five categories to cover today: 

• Cutting the hole for the grill
• Installing a radiator
• Wiring up the radiator
• Installing an intercooler
• Installing a heater core

Cutting up that face!

A quick flash-back to our time at Overland Oasis in Oaxaca. The very, very beginning of our prep was completed there when Calvin and I prepared the big hole in PennyWagon's face for the soon to come radiator.

I magically managed to come across a lower Vanagon grill in a mechanic shop in the middle of Guatemala. However I didn't have all the factory mounting clips or another van to compare with for cutting. So after looking online at photos and measuring the mounting holes on the grill, I committed to cutting Penny's face. For fastening the grill I used generic license plate screw tabs, bought from any auto parts store, pressed into the vans face so I could attach the grill with actual fasteners instead of the factory plastic clips. I also used some rattle-can paint and rubber trim to help prevent rust.

Cutting the nose of our Vanagon in prep for the Radiator install down in Oaxaca, MX. 

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Installing a Radiator

Obviously the next logical step would be to install the radiator that has been waiting so patiently for me in Southern California. I did plenty of research and staring at my Bentley manual to make sure I bought everything needed. I also had big help from a friend Nick who was originally planning to convert his air-cooled to water-cooled. Since he changed his mind and is an extremely nice guy, he hooked me up with all the parts that otherwise would've been sourced from a junkyard.

Shopping list: 

• Vanagon radiator
• Factory radiator lower mounting brackets (Junkyard item)
• Factory radiator wiring harness (Junkyard item, or make one from scratch)
• Radiator Baffle Set
• Radiator Temp Switch
• Radiator fan with shroud (shroud is a Junkyard item, fan can be purchased new)
• Upper and lower rubber radiator washers
• Upper radiator mount (Junkyard or fabricate)

I was rather surprised to find how prepared the air-cooled Vanagon is to become water-cooled. It seems the engineers at VW probably found it cheaper to make the air-cooled and water-cooled vans essentially the same. The mounting slots are already there so upper and lower radiator mounts can simply bolt in...if you have them. Since I had the lower mounts from Nick I just had to pick up some fasteners. The upper mount I made out of 1'' aluminum square bar and two L-brackets. Super easy and rust proof. Even the hole into the cab for the electrical was already drilled. So I simply passed the wires through the hole above the left headlight to deal with at a later time.

 In order: First shows the factory 1986+ fan and shroud attached to the radiator. Second photo shows the giant radiator harness hanging out of the nose of the van after I passed it through a factory-pre-drilled hole above the headlight. Third I've attracted an audience. The last three images show the radiator installed with a baffling set I bought from GoWesty. The lower mounts are completely stock and self explanatory once you crawl under the van..

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Radiator Wiring

Next up is wiring the radiator. As I mentioned before I already had the factory radiator wiring harness that my friend Nick cut out of a junkyard van and sent to me. So I really just needed to make sure it was hooked up to the two-speed Vanagon fan resistor, the temp switch in the radiator, then give the whole thing power and ground. I attached the fan relay along with an accessory fuse panel behind the dash on the A-Pillar. This also allowed me to clean up some other accessory wiring while I was in there.

Factory radiator harness mounted on the A-pillar behind dash. Under is an accessory fuse block with direct, but fused, power from the battery. In other words the van does not need to be on for the fan to operate. It's completely controlled by the temp-switch inside the radiator. Don't forget to use a label-maker in case you ever sell your van. You don't want to completely screw the next owner when they try to figure out what you've done. Since my van is using the 86+ cooling system and no a/c I loosely based my wiring off of the below diagram taken from the Bentley manual. 

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Intercooler Build

Next up I decided to try and conquer the other radiator that is unique to turbocharged engines...the intercooler. Since the engine we're using is turbo charged, the air entering the engine is pressurized and hot. That air needs to be cooled for the sake of engine longevity. After many, many trial and error sessions I came up with a shockingly simple design for mounting the intercooler.

Shopping list:

• 1995 Saab 900 Intercooler (Used on ebay)
• 7'' cooling fan
• Angle iron
• Two rubber grommets
• Rivet-nut and various fasteners

The reason I pickup the Saab intercooler is how amazingly well it fits in the D-pillar AND the fact that both ports are on the same side (which adds to the fit). I have to thank people like Karl from Westy Ventures for giving me so many good pointers on what to use for this build. 

Now, the Saab intercooler is designed to be mounted from three spots. There are two nipples at the back and a single hole, for a single fastener, at the front. So that's where the angle iron and rubber grommets come into play. Find the tightest fitting grommets for the nipples, bend your angle iron into a 45 degree angle and mount/suspend the back of the intercooler in the grommets as "picture two" clearly shows. The extra angle iron in the front gives you something to bolt onto and helps direct air into the intercooler. Ignore the fact that I drilled two holes on the upper mount, that's just a bit of trial and error.

Once it's mounted firmly, you need to remove the taillight and address how much air is going to escape around the side of the intercooler. I used simple galvanized sheet metal, a vice and a bit of creativity. The fan is optional, but I decided it would help with temperatures on slow hill climbs. Also I plan on riveting an extra piece of sheet metal to the left side of my home made shroud to close off some additional air holes. Let's just call this shroud version 1.0.

The first picture clearly shows the Saab intercooler with the 7'' fan mounted on the face. Picture two shows all three mounting points for the intercooler. Three shows the intercooler mounted from within the engine bay and four/five is the view through the driver's taillight hole. The final image shows version 1.0 of my fan shrouding seen through the taillight opening.

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Heater Core

The last pre-swap project covered in this post is conquering the thing that seems to scare most people interested in air-cooled to water-cooled swaps. The heater-core. The heater-core is yet another radiator that is going to be installed in the van. Unlike the normal radiator that maintains engine temp, and the intercooler that cools air temp, this little radiator uses the hot coolant to actually heat the air entering the cabin. Hello working heater in winter!

In my time as an auto mechanic I've done my share of heater-cores, and they are usually nightmare jobs. Lots of plastic, easily breakable parts, and trying to completely remove some monstrosity of a dashboard from a car the engineers probably assumed you'd throw away long before it needed a new one. Regardless...

Shopping list:

• Vanagon front heater core
• Angle grinder

Again I can't stress how this was by far the easiest dash I've ever pulled, and the easiest heater core I've ever installed. It's like this van wants to be water-cooled. Once the dash is out, which is simply held by 9 screws (don't forget to liberally disconnect all the electrical and batteries) it lifts out pretty simply. Six more phillips head screws later and the entire airbox is in your hands and ready for disassembly. The two halves are held together by metal clips and after removing a "heater-core-shaped" piece of plastic from inside the box, your new heater core drops in. 

I only had to make three cuts. On the side of the airbox, where there is a clear factory outline, you cut a hole for the nipples of the heater core. Then you need to trim a few inches off one set of the flappers so they don't hit the heater core. Then reassemble everything. I also recommend buying a bunch of weatherstripping for doors from a local hardware store to reseal everything to the dash while you are in there.

The first and second image clearly shows the dash removed and our giant airbox bolted in dead center. Image three is the airbox removed, opened and unmodified. If you look at the dustiest section of it, that entire hunk of plastic lifts out and is replaced with the heater core. The fourth image is the heater core dropped in where the huge hunk of plastic used to be and it fits like a glove. Image five is the little flappers that fit directly over the heater core. As you can see in that image I've cut an inch or so off to make them stop hitting the heater core. Then it's lots of cleaning to get 30 years worth of dust out of the van before reassembly.

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So...after tons of research, shopping and prep, phase one of our Air-Cooled to M-TDI motor swap is complete. Now I just need the engine!! 

To be continued....

Motor Swap Part 2

Paying a visit to Thomas at Quality German Auto Parts. This is the shop preparing my engine. 

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Surprise, a baby!! You know, not ours or anything, but still quite the surprise change in scenery. Just a short time ago I was writing about traveling through the mountains of Guatemala and getting towed up hills because of our under-powered little van. However, here and now, we've traveled thousands of miles in a such a short time to completely turn our adventure upside-down again. 

Texas and unrelenting heat. Despite the fondness we have for all that Austin has to offer, the heat in our short time there was outright kicking out asses. At a certain point you realize that despite how unbelievably bored you are, you’re too hot to actually do anything. The locals informed us that this particular summer is apparently much cooler than normal...ugh. The PennyWagon with her lack of A/C was making Jacqui and me realize that maybe summering in Texas was a little presumptuous.

Through very frequent patronage of cafes, bars and swimming holes Jacqui and I survived our little visit to Texas. Before finally departing Westward we didn't forget to say a few hello’s to some new friends and old. At last the time had come to trudge out West on what promised to be a boring drive to pick up our new power plant, or so I thought.

Driving through Western Texas on the I-10 the road was flat and monotonous. The heat outside was so sweltering it forced me to roll the window up. It was better to deal with the stifling air in the van then let that nuclear waste from outside melt half my face off. However, It wasn’t just heat that greeted us on our drive towards California.

While driving through tornado alley we entered rain and windstorms so thick that even while crawling at a measly 35mph, with the wipers on full blast, seeing more than a couple feet ahead was simply impossible. I spent the entirety of that storm white-knuckling the steering wheel at a hard left turn just to drive straight. Water continually hitting the side of my face reminding me that our front windows could probably use some new seals (gotta add that to the shopping list). When that storm eased we were greeted with 110 degree punishing heat. Even the PennyWagon’s aircooled motor seemed to occasionally sputter in protest.

The following day the scorching heat returned and didn't cease even as massive storm winds began building. Exhausted, sweaty and only a little delirious we finally surrendered into a hotel room for the night. As we turned on the news channel in our little air-conditioned bliss of a room, the TV was ablaze with warnings of the dust-storm that was going to be pummeling the area throughout the night.

As we listened to the wind humming outside, Jacqui and I mused to ourselves that every day living on the road, no matter how monotonous it could be, always seems full of adventure. Right now we have three sets of friends getting ready to pick their rigs up in Columbia, something we very well thought we’d be doing in the near future. However, no matter how much we try to force it, at least for now, our adventure is simply moving another direction, again. We’re definitely excited about some post-motor-swap-plans that I’ll keep to myself for now.

Indio, California. Somehow friends that we normally would hardly get to see we’re now visiting almost every six months. Helen, Martin and baby Elliot...we’re back!!

The hour is finally upon us! We’re in Southern California and our motor should be ready any day now! DIY projects are going to be rolling out hard and heavy for the next few blog posts until this little wagon becomes a turbo diesel beast! But don’t think I’ve been sitting idle while we wait for the “Motor is ready” call. There’s some serious prep going on already.

Be sure to check in this Tuesday! We're kicking off the first post of our three part motor-swap saga!

Saying goodbye to new friends and old, and finally making it to Patagonia...just joking!

Thunderstorms and Dust Storms heading West.

We seem to be showing up on Helen, Martin and Elliott's doorstep about every six months now! Good thing we've got good friends. Jacqui, of course took a gratuitous number of baby-Elliott photos and we even got a shot of a bunch of neighborhood kids that wanted to check out the van.

Somehow, despite driving nearly 1000 miles due north, Texas greeted us with heat unlike anything Mexico had offered. Granted, in cities such as Oaxaca, we did have elevation on our side. Despite some optimistic forecasts, South Padre Island disappointed in the wind department. We spent most of our days there hiding in cafes and breweries sipping away at the slowest possible rate to savor the available air-conditioning, then heading to the beach to take advantage of cool water and free outdoor showers.

When we finally gave up on the prospect of kiting, our drive towards Austin was a game of hide-and-seek with Tropical Storm Bill. While Bill may have provided plenty of kiteboarding inspiring winds, we cautiously declined riding them and headed to what promised to be a beautiful campsite on the Padre Island National Seashore near Corpus Christi. Wasting no time to take advantage of the campsite’s showers we were barely left an hour to soak up the scenery before the local ranger came by to kick us out.

Bill was on our ass again and our campsite was supposed to get hit hard. The whole place was being shut down. For the first time ever, Follow The Wind was being followed by the wind. Goodbye beautiful campsite and hello WalMart parking lot.

So far our fun-filled-pre-motor-swap time in Texas was lacking a bit, but we are not to be deterred. San Antonio was a gem of a city which also included an unexpected visit with some of Jacqui’s family who happened to be in town.

Finally settled in Austin, our campsite is unbelievably situated close enough to downtown that driving is almost completely unnecessary. However, the grand scale of adventures we were having in Mexico and Central America do seem to be on hold for the moment. All work and no play until our new motor day. The clock is ticking down until Penny’s heart transplant begins.

And I’ll tell you here and now, with 75 and 80mph speed limits all over this state, I can’t wait to be above 45mph when the wind is in our face especially after an unexpected Texas Vanagon meet-up had us drooling over plenty of modified vans. It's amazing, for all the pain and problems our little van has given us, in some magical way she's a ticket to experiences no other camper could provide. There isn't a place we camp or park that some person we otherwise wouldn't have chatted with, starts asking us questions. The rules of VW conversation starters are even international. I'm sure some of you remember our crazy weekend getting adopted by a Mexican family that all started with the son wanting to buy our van: From the Mountains to the Hunt.

We're spending our last couple days exploring Austin and meeting up with friends. Katie, one of Jacqui's roommates from college, has lived here for 10 years. We saw her when we passed through in our Dolphin what seems like an eternity ago. So now was the perfect time for a second catch up and second adventure vehicle show off. Living on the road, especially when you're really bad at driving to South America, seems to be the best way to stay connected with far-away friends. Another of Jacqui's friends, Nichole, was in town for work so we were lucky to be around at the same time and catch up over a drink. It seems that coincidental meet ups all take place in Texas.

Visiting Sea Turtle Inc in South Padre Island and keeping an eye on Tropical Storm Bill in Corpus Christi. 

Exploring San Antonio: The Alamo and the RiverWalk. 

Meeting with friends in Austin: New Vanagon-owner friends, brunch with Katie, Jacqui's college roommate, and Nichole, a close friend from SF who was in town for work.

It became rapidly apparent that for Deb and Butch to be capable of getting out of their house in time for its closing date they were going to need help. A lot of help. So somehow a one week visit to help buy and outfit their RV was stretched. Just another "plan" pushed aside as the story of our life on the road develops. 

Closet after closet, room after room, drawer after drawer had to be attacked. When I was exhausted and vegging-out Jacqui was still pushing hard to empty each of these in turn to help her mother decide what was going in the RV, being sold, or going to sit in storage. 

Everyone pushed hard and Deb and Butch had to make a lot of big decisions. After all they have lived in that little town for decades so they had acquired the kind of things that revive memories and aren't easy to let go. Regardless, it all paid off on the day of the big garage sale. Cabinets, dressers, desks, trinkets, kitchenware and decorative items were transformed into cash and a kind of freedom that can only be found by unburdening yourself from all your stuff. 

The massive amount of stuff that took hours just to remove from the house and set on the lawn for the sale were suddenly reduced to a single mini-van-load of items that were driven off for donation. Deborah was finally retired and their house was now so empty that they were living in their RV in the front yard. So a little celebrating was definitely in order.

Surviving the Great Yard Sale of 2015, we found the easiest way to reduce the amount of junk you have.

In the blink of an eye my one week visit was now at a month and Jacqui and I were ready to fly back to our little home on wheels that was still waiting for us in Mexico. We couldn't help but feel like the luckiest people alive. If we'd still been living our old lives, toiling away at our day jobs there is no way we could have lent our time so freely, and without restriction, to family when they needed us.

It seems our one year trip is being stretched into a new lifestyle, and everyday Jacqui and I are weighing the benefits. The massive culmination of our mistakes, failures and breakdowns have forced us to keep at this for so long that we're succeeding at rethinking everything. 

After a long set of flights and a midnight cab ride to Overland Oasis in Tule, we woke to find one of our favorite campsites now had some new friends. It only took a day or two till I couldn't sit still any longer so I grabbed another guy who suffers from my condition to help me prepare the PennyWagon for the next stage in her adventure.

You see, while we were in Boston we hadn't forgotten our little predicament with the underpowered, but perfectly running, PennyWagon. Despite the fact that she probably runs better than the day she came off the factory lot, the engineers at VW didn't think it was necessary to install a motor that was powerful enough to climb 20% grades at 8000ft with 5000lbs of junk in the van. Jeez, don't they know what we really do with these things? 

So we did the math, did the research, and I give Jacqui full credit on pulling the plug for this one, we put a deposit down on our dream motor for this machine. In Southern California, right now, Quality German Auto Parts is taking a Turbo Diesel engine, throwing all the electronics away and converting it to fully mechanical. We're going to have a fully mechanical TDI powered PennyWagon here in a couple of months which means a massive boost in power, fuel economy, and it'll only require one wire to make the whole thing run. 

Say goodbye to electronics problems. Plus with the turbo and massive low end torque, we should have a hill climbing monster. But first...we've got to prep her for being water-cooled. 

Enter the other restless project guy...Calvin. 

So "plans" right? After a couple of hard days driving I'm writing this post in Texas. We're following the wind to try and get a little kiteboarding in. Then we're heading out to pick-up our motor in Caliornia before we return to Texas to use a DIY mechanic shop to do the install. I'm not going to lie, being able to rent a lift and all the proper tools instead of climbing through the dirt for this whole project is pretty exciting.

I believe we'll be summering in Texas while we earn a little dinero for our third attempt at driving to South America. I think if this plan acutally goes according to plan, that might be the biggest twist in our story so far. 

BTW, we've officially been on the road for over a year and a half! 

Bye-bye Boston

Getting a head start on our motor swap and meeting new friends at Overland Oasis. 

Driving up from Oaxaca and spending time with friends in Yucuita on our way to Texas. 

Hot days on the beach in South Padre Island, TX. Sadly, no wind for these kiters - wrong time of year. 

Expensive clothes, heads down, walking fast, face in phone. Jewelry, watches and foreign faces avoiding eye contact. My "good morning" is met with a quiet grunt. In the bathroom I'm surprised to find toilet seats and you're now allowed to flush the paper. The bar serves stronger beers than my rapidly buzzing brain is accustomed. 

I'm feeling culture shock, or perhaps it's reintegration shock. It's been five months since I was on U.S. soil and I'm having to remind myself to respond with "yes" instead of "si." 

Customs inspections and searching for my connecting flight is my mission. I answered "no" to the question of bringing food with me from a foreign country, then immidiately remembered I had some leftover tacos in my bag that I was saving for later. I threw them in the nearest trash can to hide my accidental smugglings. When I walked through the scanner I was asked what was in my back pocket.  

"Oops...my ticket." 

When I tried to grab my carry-on it was being searched because I forgot about that bottle of water. 

"Sorry." 

Don't I remember anything? Luckily the agent stamping my passport only asked my final destination and didn't want to know details of my return plans. Surely the true story is far too outlandish to save me from a cavity search. 

My connecting flight was caught and before I knew it I was offloading in Norfolk, Virginia. With no cell phone and the internet in the airport refusing to work, I was wondering how on earth I was going to find my ride. Then there she was... 

Enter: Deborah Crosbie, Jacqui's one and only mother. 

Now you may very well be wondering what on earth I'm doing getting picked up by Jacqui's mom without a Jacqui next to me. Well, Mrs Deborah and her husband Arthur (aka Butch) are working hard towards their dream of retirement and life on the road. Being that I know a thing or two about what NOT to do when buying an RV, they asked if they could fly me out to help inspect, guide and drive their hopeful new home. 

The following morning things went smooth. The vehicle inspection came back with thumbs-up. Our walk-through yielded the same results. The test-drive was more positive. That big-boy was getting purchased which meant we had to drive it from Virginia to Hamilton, Massechussetts. Road trip! 

For a couple of days we pushed the 31ft monster of a house on wheels hard to close the gap with home. With power-steering, cruise control, air-conditioning, paved roads and more than enough power in a giant V10 motor, it was far smoother-sailing than a certain little rig still parked in Mexico has yet to offer.

A few thousand miles away a certain girly was working hard in that very van fighting Mexican Mosquitos and watching storms pass by. Jacqui was holding down base, keeping in contact with the people trying to hunt us a motor, upgrading our blog, building the foundation of her own company and reading messages of her parents comical new-to-RVing driving arguments relayed by me.  It's adorable to watch the family grow to road-hardened adults.

Before we finally made it back to Hamilton we'd already done an entry-level Camping World shopping spree and I taught the family, from a safe distance, the least pleasant part of owning an RV: Emptying the black-water tank. 

It's really inspiring to feed off the excitement and learning of a couple new to the road. Using what I've learned and researched we were fast-tracking Deb and Butch into making the right purchases to make sure they were going to be ready to hit the road full time. Mere weeks prior Deb and Butch had put their house up for sale, it sold in two minutes.

They're purging belongings, finishing housing inspections, preparing to live in a manner they have zero experience with, finishing out the last few weeks of work and altogether just preparing their minds for the giant mental and physical transition that is about to take place. It reminds me all too well of when Jacqui and I took off in the Dolphin. 

In a mind-numbingly fast paced blur a million things will fall into place, some easily, others forcefully. In the blink of an eye they'll hand over their keys to their dwelling with a foundation, walk to their house on wheels and say to themselves, "Uh....where to now?" 

The only thing they'll know for sure is that they can't stay where they're at because the driveway they are parked in will no longer be theirs. If on their day of departure they were graced with enough time to do some practice camping runs in their new home, they might take off and successfully make their rig road-worthy. If not there is a good chance they will find a few things that didn't get put away properly when they come to the first stop light. The first few days they'll probably feel like everything is more expensive than they imagined as gas, food and camping prices start adding up. But hopefully they will keep a level head though all this and understand that as you climb up that steep learning curve of life on the road, your frugality will flourish.

Then again, maybe their first few days will be far different than the experiences Jacqui and I had. I certainly hope to help them avoid a few lessons.

Currently I'm trying to install whatever gizmos I think will make their life on the road easier and feed advice for the new experiences ahead. All I know is that there has been some very happy and very excited faces while new things for the new life keep rolling in.

As for Jacqui and I things are as random as you could ever expect from us. After a few days of hanging in Boston, Jacqui flew out as well. There is no sense in having her sit in Mexico for an unknown amount of time while we try to answer the never ending question of what to do with the PennyWagon. On the bright side, Mama-Deb gets to have her daughter back home for a bit while they make the fully nomadic life transition. 

The new home!

Jacqui's flight back

Butch's 75th birthday party and farewell to the soon to be travelers

Exploring Downtown Boston

Taking advantage of easy American shopping to gear up and get a few things for the PennyWagon

I can't stress enough how much more extreme the roads in Guatemala are than I ever imagined. Before entering Guatemala Jacqui and I completed our share of reading in our Lonely Planet guide and checked out other traveler's blogs to prepare. But the sheer magnitude of the mountains, the unbelievable grade of even the main highways, the horsepower-robbing altitude and the psychotic blind corner passes that school busses and passenger cars alike dare, bring on the occasional cold sweats.

Most of our Guatemalan driving, even on main highways, has been reduced to 1st gear which tops us out at 15mph. I never thought I'd say this, but we are unsafely slow.  

For those of you not familiar with the power curve of an engine, it can basically be simplified as such: an engine has a certain range of revolutions per minute (rpm) in which it generates its peak power. For example, our motor achieves its maximum output power a little above 3000rpm, which in first gear happens to line up with about 15mph. If it’s spinning faster or slower than that its power output tapers.

So here is our conundrum. We can’t drive behind semi-trucks in these mountain roads. These overloaded semi-trucks are crawling at such a slow rate that even in first gear it forces my engine to such a low rpm that the van will simply stall out. This means I have to pass or I can kiss my clutch goodbye within the hour.

However, passing is plain suicide. The main highways are two lanes, one each direction, set into massive mountains with nothing but a cliff to greet you. On top of that, our little PennyWagon lacks the power for me to shift and go faster. So that means I’d have to pass in first gear, at 15 mph, into oncoming traffic.

Let’s just say I've already done a few of these suicide passes and I’m not a fan of repeating. I completed one of these passes with the horn blazing and I’m glad I did. That is the proper method to complete suicide passes in Guatemala and everyone uses that etiquette. The school bus heading towards us was definitely understanding of my headlights and horn and was polite enough to come to a stop instead of plowing through us.

Even now, only having been removed from those roads for a few days, it’s hard for me to conceptualize what they are like. In fact it's easy for me to look back and wonder if I'm overreacting. Or perhaps my reaction to these roads is justified but only if you're driving a vehicle with our identical power and weight. Currently we’re not in Guatemala anymore, and being able to suddenly drive at a moderately acceptable speed can make it easy to forget how rigidly the hair on the back of your neck was standing while trying to navigate narrow, mountainous, Guatemalan roads while blaring on the horn to try and get pedestrians to dodge you because you know if you slow down enough to accommodate their walking you aren't going to make it up the hill. But I’ll get back to that point soon enough.

Jacqui and I have given up on several roads so far, paved and dirt alike. Running start or not, our Penny is very heavy, very under-powered, and gasping for air at altitude.

Regardless, despite abandoning visits to a few campsites we have, for the most part, been able to continue on our merry way. This includes nearly getting stuck between an extremely steep downhill leading into an uphill that we simply couldn't complete. I finally had no choice but to abusively force the PennyWagon back up the hill we’d just descended, which I'm certain has enabled me to relabel our new clutch as a heavily used one. After a few minutes of controlled breathing to shake the stress of our abusive hill escape, we consulted our electronics and found a different campsite at the base of Volcan Santa Maria. We had to simply hope that entering this campsite would be easier.

When we arrived at the base of the volcano we found the iOverlander recommended campsite to be a friendly Guatemalan family’s side yard, and it was pleasantly free of Penny-proof hills. Their house happened to be the second to last before the path up the volcano. Jacqui was staring up at that gargantuan volcano and the path in front of it in awe. I looked at that same volcano and saw pain; the pain that would inevitably enter my legs when Jacqui dragged me up that thing. I love a good hike, but I had no misconceptions about the magnitude of what I was looking at.

When we finally made our attempt at hiking this ancient giant, we made it about 80% of the way up before realizing the extremely overgrown goat trail we were on probably wasn't the safest way to continue. This prompted us to snap a few photos, then begin the descent. For those of you wishing to hike Volcan Santa Maria, when one of the locals offers to draw you a map, take their offer. Despite how straightforward it looks, it’s quite the labyrinth.

After a couple hours of a coma-like nap Jacqui and I packed up the PennyWagon and bee-lined for Lago de Atitlan. In the final town before the major descent to the lake we saw a couple of travelers looking for a ride down. Jacqui and I made a moment’s eye contact that allowed us to agree upon giving them a ride.

Enter: Fabio and Marriette.

Fabio and Marriette got a first hand experience of what traveling with us is like. No adventure is complete without something ridiculous happening, and the road into Lago de Atitlan clearly showed me I didn’t appreciate just how steep Guatemalan roads are.

When we finally started the initial decent I was outright scared. My mechanic’s brain was trying to calculate how hot our little brakes were getting because there was absolutely no trick in the book that was able to keep me from riding them. Within five minutes Jacqui and I announced to our passengers that this van was, by her own power at least, making a one way trip. This decent was clearly steeper than anything Penny had proved she could drive up. Then it got interesting.

Did your parent’s ever tell you how much harder it was for them when they grew up? Something along the lines of how pampered you are and how when they were children they walked to school everyday, barefoot, uphill both ways and in the snow. I’m sure we all knew some variation of the story. Well, if Penny could talk, I’m sure she’d have taken advantage of this situation to point out how her life is so very hard, and how we are abusively taking her on some road that magically is uphill both ways.

Well there you have it, we were stuck between two impassible hills. Even with a running start and my foot on the floor… it just wasn't happening.

With traffic blasting by and road construction digging away at the landslide mere feet from us, I ordered Jacqui to find me a rock to block the wheels. I wasn’t about to let us roll back in our present predicament. With the wheels chocked and my voice a little calmer, I requested the tow strap. With the strap in hand, Fabio, who had been mostly silent due to limited English, stepped out to assist.  Marriette, an English speaking well-seasoned traveler from Holland, was loving every minute of this experience. She made it very clear that she now thinks having a vehicle will enhance her travels, but first she’d like to find a mechanic boyfriend. Jacqui might have helped her come to that conclusion.

Personally, I've come to the conclusion that being a mechanic is actually the worst skill set to have while traveling. It is far better to have lots of money from a job that leaves you mechanically inept, then simply pay the pros to take care of your problems or tow your vehicle to the end of the earth if need be.

As I began to unravel the tow strap in preparation for asking for help I glanced up and made a moments eye contact with the driver of a large flat bed truck. He immediately pulled in front of us and readied for the tow. With the unbelievable expediency in which we received help, and with how prepared the road workers were with giant wood blocks to make sure our towing flatbed wouldn’t roll back, I was left speculating that this must be a terribly standard affair.

In a few minutes we were over the hill, unhooked, Fabio had explained to the driver that there may be another hill we might need assistance with, the driver said he’d keep an eye out for us, and we were driving under our own anemic power once again. The easy part was done.

It was now time for the final descent. Endless grueling, tight, pothole infested, unbelievably steep switchbacks were going to take us down thousands of feet in mindbogglingly fewer miles than seems feasible. For anyone who is hoping to someday make this drive, do so with your windows down. You need to listen for the horns of the large trucks ascending. They need the entire lane to complete the turn and with the blowing of the horn they have given you a very official warning to stay out of the way. 

When at last we had descended and entered the surrounding towns I was awe struck by how foreign a world it seemed we were in. The traditional Guatemalan garb is stunningly colorful and intricate. There wasn’t a T-shirt or pair of jeans to be found as we passed through the first little lake town. But we didn't have time to awe because the sun was going down and the roads were steep labyrinths that demanded full attention and maximum velocity for any chance of navigating them with our PennyWagon. On top of that we were hopelessly lost, finding ourselves on progressively steeper and narrower roads while searching for a campsite that I will probably never know the location of.

With the dark night sky around us, street lamps glowing and a few gringos walking by, someone finally pointed us towards a campsite. We had already dropped Fabio off somewhere downtown so now we wished Mariette a good night and made plans to meet up the next day.

I wish I could give you some grand tour and photo gallery of our time in Lago de Atitlan. Honestly, we didn't do much in the short time we were there. We did manage to have a beer with Marriette and a new friend she made named Daniella. We ran into Fabio again and chatted for a bit. We found out that Gringolandia, (yes it is in fact called that, and for good reason) had amazing, delectable exotic cuisines and every single restaurant advertised Wi-Fi. We also found out that you should never, under any circumstance, eat Thai food in Guatemala unless you have a special loving relationship with your nearest toilet. All in all It really seems like Lago de Atitlan would be a wonderful place to explore, and we plan to return very soon.

I attribute our lack of exploration in the Lago to how shook up Jacqui and I were feeling from our short time in Guatemala. From talking with our new friends about the future roads that will great us in Central and South America, to realizing how unsafe it is to operate this vehicle in the very first mountainous country we've encountered, we're now full of questions. It seems that this is just a fact of life on the road, or at least it is for us.

Every other day it seems like we have some insurmountable question that we need to find an answer for. It really applies to everything be it finances, timelines, right or left turns and especially deciding whether or not to eat Thai food in a foreign country. Every one of these decisions is potentially life altering when you're living on the road and exploring places unknown. Sometimes these decisions turn out to be minuscule and easily dissected, other times there doesn't seem to be any right answer and they add to a feeling that some crippling weight has been thrown carelessly on your shoulders and the only way to remove it is to answer some some infinitely complex riddle.

For us, our question sounds simple enough, despite the fact that it continues to be an ever-evolving, reoccurring and rather painful question. What do we do with this van?

This is our second adventure vehicle and we know for a fact that there is absolutely, no way, whatsoever, that we're going to trade out for a third vehicle for the sole purpose of this trip. It’s this van or a serious rethinking of what we plan on doing with ourselves.

So on that note, in the wee hours of the night this little van, combined with the warnings of travelers that have been much further south than us, started to make us paranoid. Bolivia, Peru, Equador, Chile and Argentina are all known to have incredibly high mountainous regions and far rougher road conditions. Or at least that’s the info that’s been relayed to us, and we’re at a modest 8000ft while finding the end of our vehicle’s capabilities. Or at least the end of it's capabilities with our current payload.

So we've been asking ourselves a lot more questions. Should we breeze through Guatemala and just stick to the spots our van is willing to drive? Should we try to take the most sea level route through these other mountainous countries so we don’t get ourselves in a situation we can’t get out of? Can we really expect to stay away from situations we can’t get out of? Should we really consider putting more money into this van to install a more powerful engine? Are we going to be sad for missing all the hypothetical places we won’t be able to get to if we don’t re-power the van? What’s the responsible decision? What’s the safe decision? Are we sure we’ll actually do more money-making work on the road to cover the cost of this hypothetical car work? Or is this just going to eat into the travel budget? Are we being proactive? Are we being reactive? What’s the responsible decision? What’s the safe decision?

What IS the responsible decision? What IS the safe decision?

Well I don’t know. I’m not writing this to give you answers. I’m writing this to show you the kind of seemingly life altering decisions that go on everyday. Every single solitary day is completely unknown and we’re just trying to make responsible and safe decisions based on unknowns. Sometimes it feels like we're on a plane to an unknown destination and we're trying to decide if we should bring swim trunks or snow shoes.

With the knowledge I have now of the unfathomably steep Central American roads I probably wouldn't have bought an aircooled Westy. Then again, if I had known that a left turn towards a scenic road in Tepic would lead to our Dolphin getting T-boned, I probably wouldn't have done that either. 

Regardless, through the connections with strangers this Digital Age has afforded us, (ie, Facebook, Instagram and our blog) we got a nudge in a certain direction after posting some of our towing pictures and putting it out there that we were thinking of a motor swap.

Introduction: Nick Maiorsky.

For those of you that remember the dead computer fiasco on our Penny, Nick is the guy that saved our asses during that predicament. It seems he might be a perpetual ass-saver. Perhaps he should add that title to his resume. But I’m not going to get into that at this time. I'm going to say a general ‘to be continued’ as far as Nick is concerned.

Regardless, we made our decision. Right or wrong, it was with the simple hope of being responsible and safe. Let’s re-power this thing while we have resources and connections. We were going to do it anyway. Really the only thing that seems to have changed is when. Plus both Jacqui and I are striving towards making work on the road a reality. So ideally our own ingenuity will allow us to make this a financially responsible decision and hopefully we're not putting on snow shoes to show up at the beach. 

Only problem is, no matter what we want to do, leaving Lago de Atitlan was going to be a very large first step. According to info gleaned from locals, we had to decide to get a police escort through a bandito-infested city so we could traverse a heavily washed out road that may or may not be less steep. Or we were going to attempt to ascend the way we came in and hope somebody would come along to give us a pull when we reached the limit of our little rig.

Our departure time was decided by the sky itself talking to us. A big storm was rolling through and we’d been warned if there was enough rain to cause a landslide, we could be stuck for a couple weeks. With the rain starting to build, and people's front steps starting to look like waterfalls, we bailed.

Sticking to the familiar road which didn't require a police escort, we pushed the PennyWagon as hard as we possibly could through the switchbacks. The corners are so tight and so steep we were actually burning out through them. Jacqui and I argue about whether or not Penny could have actually made it to the top of the first ascent. I think she could have made the last two turns if the damn Toyota Van in front of me hadn’t slowed me down. She doesn’t believe there was a chance. Regardless, we wouldn’t have made it up the dirt roads that come after the switchbacks anyway.

When we finally came to a halt we did the only sensible thing we could. Grabbed a couple rocks to chock the tires and pulled out the tow strap to wait. Luckily it was very, very easy to look over the side of the mountain to see who was making the slow climb. We spotted an empty flat bed and I told Jacqui she was prettier than me so she should grab the strap and work that corner. Jacqui must have done a fine job working that corner because we got the ride of our life.

When at last we unhooked from the back of the flat bed, the driver asked if we were sure we didn't need to get towed a little further. With some cold sweat running down my spine and a bit of shaking in the knees I assured him we were both thankful for his help, but we could take it from here. As he drove away a deafening and ominous crack of thunder filled the sky. Jacqui and I lightly chuckled and the coincidental timing of the thunder.

We then directed our wheels 500 miles north where we hoped all of our van re-powering ideas could come to fruition. We only had two more obstacles to overcome. Crossing back through the Border From Hell to re-enter Mexico. Which I'm here to tell you, northbound is far more the unruly evil beast. But our second trial was lying dormant like a ticking time bomb. As soon as all the border crossing paperwork was through, a certain visit to an aforementioned Guatemalan Thai food restaurant that already partially destroyed me, was about to make a delayed attack on a poor Jacqui. 

It was a very long 90 degree night camping in the parking lot of that gas station.

Well we've bee-lined it right back into Mexico. Mexico, that great mysterious place that everybody tells you is so dangerous and needs to be avoided is our very comfortable safety blanket. The genius fabrication skills of Calvin from Overlander Oasis, my mechanic background, and the unbelievable generosity of people we barely know seem to be aligning the stars to allow us to finish this engine conversion. At least that's what we desperately are hoping. I know Jacqui and I are crossing our fingers that this mechanical adventure won't send us all the way back to the United States where parking, working and the living situation are all the more unknowns in our giant crazy equation.

For now I'll tell you this. I'm planning on making it a 2.0 liter Jetta ABA motor if I can find a donor car to buy. Through the incredible generosity of people like Nick Maiorsky we've gotten most of the conversion parts, and through some unbelievable coincidences in timing, I'm flying to the United States...for free. 

to be continued... 

Arriving in Quetzaltenago (Xela)

Hiking (a.k.a. navigating our way on the wrong path) up Volcano Santa Maria.

Our tow INTO Lago de Atitlan.

Pre-departure prep and the arrival of a storm predicted to last several days.

Leaving San Pedro La Laguna and reaching our limit.

Finding a ride the rest of the way.

Our awesome and sketchy tow, which included passing another vehicle through windy roads. 

Picking up a couple van parts in Guatemala and arriving back in stormy Oaxaca. 

As Jacqui and I continued to drive precariously close the the Guatemalan border, almost accidentally crossing because of one wrong turn, we suddenly developed a new deadline. We had learned a few weeks prior from our Australian hitchhiker buddy Pat of a Guatemalan must-see. We wanted to full-heartedly dive head-first into this cultural and historically significant attraction that had to be visited on the weekend. Being that we were to impatient to make it as soon as possible and not have to wait an entire extra week, we started beelining it for... Guatemala's best water park.  Apparently the only thing that can force the PennyWagon and her crew of misfits into expedient travel is giant water slides.

First order of business was to pack up our lovely little camp in Las Nubes and hit the road. I think our pictures clearly show that driving and camping along the Guatemalan border is quite the experience.

Hitting the road...

Our campsite next to the heavily overfilled Lago Tziscao

Exploring the multi-colored lakes and a little informal cave exploration with our 11 year old tour guide around the Lagunas de Montebello

A few days before attempting the Guatemalan border we camped at the El Chiflon Waterfall

Finally we were a measly 150 miles from our intended border. We woke early in the morning and planned to get to the border for a midday crossing. I can't figure out if Mexicans hate expedient travel, despise good gas mileage or it is simply impossible to make them drive in a safe manner without putting vehicle-damaging, oversized speed bumps in the middle of the road. Regardless, 11 hours later we finished that 150 miles and parked our exhausted selves in a shitty Irish bar that had neither Irish food nor drink. We obviously decided to put off border crossing till the next day.

It was well past midnight before we could cool ourselves with soaking wet shirts and fall asleep that night, and we were up at 5:45 trying to make sure we got all of our border crossing paperwork, and vehicle import papers taken care of early. After all, everyone said don't cross on the weekends. Being that it was Saturday and we were blatantly disobeying this advice, we at least figured being early should help. 

There was another thing that we had been warned about in our internet research of this border crossing. Locals, posing as officials, will try to make money assisting you with all the border crossing paperwork. As in straight harassment.

As we started approaching the gates this was more than obvious. They were trying to use themselves as roadblocks to force us to stop. I simply mashed my foot on the accelerator and made it clear the van wouldn't be capable of stopping in time. They moved. 

Clearly that wasn't enough of a deterrent since they started chasing the car. We were simply surrounded by these crazy people all trying to be the first to point us in the correct direction. However, we safely made it to the official parking lot with heavily armed, fully-automatic weapon-carrying officials so we weren't in any physical danger. Lots and lots of forceful, "No necessito nada!" (I don't need anything) was coming from us.

All in all this was the less painful part of the border crossing. As we got through to the other side it became obvious the Guatemalans were trying for the same game. Except now, the obvious infrastructure the the Mexican side had so generously provided wasn't there. The buildings were spread out and poorly marked. On top of that the safe, official parking was not provided. No matter how hard we tried to shake all these would-be helpers it proved impossible. On top of that, the one we ended up stuck with did know the process quite well. At last I silently accepted we'd allow this guy to give advice while keeping a keen eye on everything. It seemed that their end game was simply to get tips for assistance after all. 

FALSE!!

Be warned. These guys have friends in among the officials inside the vehicle import office. Their game is simple. After helping you through every step of the way you get to the official building that offers your vehicle's import permit. At that point, the official, ASSHOLE and THIEF of a lady sitting behind the desk starts collaborating with your so-called assistant. 

Their game?

She says you failed to get an exit-stamp from Mexico. There is no exit stamp by the way. You're then informed you will have to return to Mexico to get your exit stamp but they wont allow you to re-enter Guatemala for 72 hours because of policy. After telling you how you can officially take care of the problem, by crossing back to Mexico, they finally offer a solution. Your helper guy knows somebody that can make the problem go away for 400 Quetzales (roughly 51 USD).

Jacqui and I still didn't know this was a gimmick but luckily we're not stupid enough to pay bribes. We immediately declared we we're going to take a quick walk into Mexico and get this taken care of. Of course our helpers were discouraging this. I pulled 20 Quetzeles ($2.50 USD) from my pocket, handed it to our helper, then informed him Jacqui and I would be taking care of the rest of this ALONE.

We immediately went back to the vehicle permit office and there was conveniently a new person behind the desk and all our helpers had dissapeared. We got a permit without issue. 

This was far from a great welcome to Guatemala. However, we do feel the 20 Quetzales we paid our helper was well spent since that border crossing did move rather quickly up to that point with his help. So, you know, use common sense. 

Border crossing and farewell to pesos

So there we were. Our second southbound country, Guatemala, and we drove hard to our promised paradise of a water park, and probably contaminated everything with our dirty selves. 

Driving in Guatemala

WaterPark photos taken from the web. Sorry but we were having too much fun to take photos for you.

Exhausted and happy we left that evening and headed to the mountains for an iOverlander find. Somewhere nestled in those foggy mountains, up a steep narrow road the volcanos were spilling out boiling hot water. It was time to soak in some natural hot springs. 

When we arrived that evening the man tending the gate informed us it was fine to swim at any time during the night. We put off dinner a bit, threw on swim suits, then braved the frigid mountain air and settled into the natural hot spring.

Our hot spring was nestled into a crevice between two mountains. Hot steaming water was steadily pouring down the rocks into the pool. The moon and a single star could be seen in the narrow view the two mountains and lush vegetation afforded us, while a steady pink glow flushed the clouds from the setting sun. A haze of steam was rising from the water and surrounded us. Some might call it romantic.

Driving to the hot springs and some pics from a second, larger hot spring the following morning.

For Jacqui and I the evil, imaginary metronome that represents time was ticking. Last year after the Dolphin crashed and we purchased the then-unnamed PennyWagon, we got ourselves a one year Mexican Car Insurance plan, and now that year is drawing to a close.

So, being that we stingily refuse to purchase any extension on our plan it’s time to get our butts to Guatemala. But as anyone who’s been following our journey for a while would guess, we’re just not fast at these things. It would seem our adventures are going to lead us right up to the final hours.

So back to where our story left off: San Cristobal, Jacqui finishing her freelance design job, me being a Housewife, new friends made - all that sunshine and buttercups.

Our tentative plan was to drive to Palenque, then backtrack to a southern Mexico-Guatemala border crossing. However, the fear-mongering was in full swing. Left and right the bad stories of the road to Palenque were rolling in: hundreds of topes (speedbumps), masked vigilantes and unofficial tolls. In fact, one poor fellow rolled into our campsite with the side of his van spray-painted after he tried to play dumb at one of these vigilante tollbooths.

The most complete rundown of the situation we could get was this: the locals were setting up vigilante roadblocks and demanding trick-or-treat style tolls to pass. We’ve heard of strings blocking the road, masses of people wearing masks, spike strips and people banging on your car with sticks all until you cough up the 50-300 pesos to pass.

Jacqui and I were rapidly losing interest in visiting this landmark, however….

Gregor and Janice of Live Travel Play and George and Janine of Traveling the Americas came rolling through our little campsite in San Cristobal headed on the same path. So like any brave hero I told them if they survived, send us an email and let us know how it went.

The reports were divided. Our two sets of friends departed one day apart. Gregor and Janice reported absolutely no problems other than the inconceivable amount of topes. George and Janine were delayed nearly 4 hours by the traffic the impromptu toll generated, but since they paid the toll without argument they passed without issue.

So there was a clear message that could be gleaned from all this information. No physical injuries, and no damage to your vehicle if you’re cooperative. With our confidence boosted by this info we packed a little red bag with coins and small bills for tolls and decided we’d count every single tope on the road to Palenque to help distract from how annoying they are.

Our results:

At last we arrived in the city known for it’s ruins. After the crisp, light, cool air of San Cristobal we were now wearing the thick, wet air that hung on us as crippling as wearing a winter jacket in a sauna. Luckily I had my free Mezcal-tour hat for jungle exploration and there was a swimming pool!

The ruins of Palenque were something grander than my words can give due credit. I’m not one to be awed by old rocks, but these old rocks were huge, and the jungle surrounding was constantly roaring with the inhuman sounds of howler monkeys. The inconceivably large howl of these tiny monkeys sounds like you’re on the set of Jurassic Park.

Exploring the Palenque ruins 

With the ruins explored, it was time to hug the border on our roundabout path for crossing into Guatemala. We were pulling some regular camp-hopping.

Our first night deserved no photos and therefore received none. It was a blisteringly hot evening that didn’t let up till 3 in the morning. We spent a lot of time sitting in the river that divides Mexico from Guatemala simply trying to cool down and were just too damn hot to snap a photo of even this epic scene. 

Early the next morning, before the sun could attack us, we were on the road and swinging through the Macaw Parrot sanctuary. This place left me uncharacteristically quiet. It was as if we’d stepped into some make-believe paradise. The rich thick greenery, the perfect un-manicured grass, exotic wildlife and hundreds of butterflies all nestled on the edge of a river that I couldn’t even wait to grab my swim-trunks to get in. It just didn’t feel real. 

Coming from California where grass, crops, flowers, trees and decorative plants are all carefully tended to and watered into existance…they just live here. Mangos, avocados, exotic flowers and even pineapples are wild and thriving. The insects are deafeningly loud, the exotic animals are shrieking and playing. Life is here in volumes that are simply astounding, and we’re not even close to the equator yet.

Guacamayas (parrots) sanctuary and impatiently jumping in the river

When we finally arrived at our evenings campsite of Las Nubes the overwhelming feeling of awe was all the more set into both Jacqui and I. The beyond-belief blue waters and waterfalls of Las Nubes just don't look real.

The drive to Las Nubes then when the color of the water changes...you know where it is