Total commitment: adding a pop-top conversion
A Mulgo pop-top on a Land Cruiser Troopy, and a Dormobile conversion on a Defender 110, from Sonoran Rovers.
Think way, way back to the Pre-Cambrian Era of the U.S. overlanding scene: say, 2005.
If you were interested in backcountry vehicle-based exploration, what choices did you have for self-sufficient accommodation?
There were plenty of ground tents on the market, from small to large and bad to excellent. If you owned a pickup and wanted a slide-in camper that could withstand regular off-pavement use, you had a choice between the excellent but heavy Alaskan and the excellent and lighter Four Wheel Camper.
And . . . that was pretty much it, unless you owned a rare Land Rover Dormobile. The clever flip-top Wildernest was gone, sadly too far ahead of its time. There were no adventure trailers, no roof tents—and certainly no Earthcruisers or Global Expedition Vehicles.
Today the situation is reversed. We have a bewildering array of options. However, since few people can afford a single-purpose vehicle, the choice for the majority of us comprises a more-or-less mainstream 4x4 passenger vehicle which we then modify to a greater or lesser extent to support multi-day excursions. And if you own a long-wheelbase model such as a Land Cruiser station wagon, a Wrangler Unlimited, a (pre-2020) Land Rover Defender 110, or something similar, the most drastic possible modification is a pop-top conversion, which involves sawing the entire top off the vehicle to install a lifting roof and bed system. What are the upsides and downsides of such a full-steam-ahead approach?
One obvious downside is cost. Pop-top conversions are universally expensive, in the range of $6,000 to $9,000, double the cost of even the dearest roof tents; far more than a free-standing ground tent with full standing headroom and a full suite of accessories. And that initial cost is just for the top and bed, not any interior cabinetry or cooking/washing/refrigerating options.
The other big downside is also obvious: You are permanently altering the vehicle with a giant hole cut in the factory roof. Yes, technically speaking you could reverse most pop-top installations, but it would probably represent a financial hit close to the cost of the conversion itself. For something like a Land Cruiser 60, 70, or 80 series it would involve finding a donor roof from a wrecked vehicle and either edge-welding in the missing bit or replacing the entire roof. It would be slightly easier with a Defender given the Mechano assembly of the roof structure, but still steep.
“What have we done?”
All right—so you’re okay with the cost of a conversion, and willing to decapitate a perfectly sound vehicle. What do you get in return?
Quite a lot, actually.
First, consider setup and weather-resistance. I can hold my breath for the time it takes me to pop the Mulgo top on our 70-Series Land Cruiser Troopy. Most other front-hinged brands are just as quick, as is the side-opening Dormobile roof. Yet wind resistance in the erected structure in all the makes I’ve looked at or tried is superb, since the entire assembly is secured around its perimeter to a 5,000-pound ground anchor, and the hydraulic struts used to raise and support the roof keep the fabric taut. No soft-shell roof tent comes close in un-flappability, and even a high-quality ground tent such as the Springbar would have to be well-staked and guyed to compete—20 minutes of work, minimum.
Once you’ve taken the 30 seconds to raise the top, you have full standing headroom within the footprint of the cargo area of the vehicle. Even if you leave the interior stock, the ability to stand up inside, out of rain and wind, is a blessing. Add cabinetry, a sink, stove, and fridge, and suddenly you have a mini motorhome that will enable you to comfortably wash, cook, and eat inside during the worst weather.
Since the Troopy is right-hand drive, the tall cabinets are on the right, behind the driver. In a left-hand-drive vehicle this would be reversed.
Roseann designed our cabinetry so the Kanz kitchen can be removed and set up on legs for cooking outside.
Ensuring cabinets are correctly sized.
At the end of the day, about five seconds is all it takes to deploy a full-size bed platform and comfortable mattress. In our Mulgo conversion there is enough space to leave all our sheets, blankets, and pillows in place as well, virtually eliminating setup time for sleeping. Hydraulic struts hold the bed up against the roof while living inside. Pull down on the loops and . . . bedtime.
The costs for all this in terms of the donor vehicle’s performance, fuel economy, and backcountry ability are essentially nothing. Our Mulgo conversion raised the factory roof height by 35mm—less than an inch and a half. Thus overhead clearance is barely affected, as are aerodynamics (such as they are in a Land Cruiser Troop Carrier). The Mulgo conversion adds 75 kg (165 pounds) to the vehicle, no more than some roof tent/rack combinations, with a significantly lower center of gravity—and, did I mention, standing headroom? If one considers instead a full-sized ground tent plus cots and mattresses, you’re still looking at only about 100 pounds of actual added weight.
There are a few practical disadvantages: Our Troopy interior is not nearly as roomy as our previous Four Wheel Camper Fleet model, with its spacious transverse front dinette, queen-sized bed (the Mulgo is a double), and interior shower. With the Troopy’s bed platform lowered there is only about two feet of standing space between it and the back door—enough to dress and for access but that’s it. Both of us need to be up to put the kettle on in the morning, unlike in the FWC. But then the Four wheel Camper added 1,000 pounds to our Tacoma, in addition to significant wind resistance on the highway and a noticeably higher center of gravity. Fair trade-offs: We loved both the Four Wheel Campers we owned. We gave up some spaciousness to retain superior four-wheel-drive capability and fuel economy.
Of course, by no means do we hole up inside when camped unless the weather is truly miserable. An Eezi-Awn Bat 270 awning provides wrap-around shade and rain protection, and two clip-on wall sections allow us to arrange a sheltered outdoor room. A clever slide-out table incorporated into an interior bench gives us outdoor eating and work space. Erecting all this adds perhaps ten minutes to total setup time. But the point is, after we put in a 300-mile day on corrugated tracks and pull up somewhere in the dark in a pouring rain, all we have to do is pop the top and we’re home.
Having driven both clamshell pop-top conversions and a Dormobile, I can say that in neither case could I detect any loss of structural rigidity, even on rocky roads and in off-camber trail situations. Plus, you can actually stand and walk around on our Mulgo top’s aluminum roof—not possible on the factory roof. I’ve not noticed any noise difference either; if anything the Mulgo top might dampen it.
The way we designed and built our interior, with permanently attached cabinets, the Troopy is of very little use for anything except traveling. But that was just our approach—if you eschewed cabinetry, or fashioned an interior in modules that could be easily removed, the top itself wouldn’t hinder the day-to-day utility of the vehicle one bit. You could even leave in the rear seat and restrict camping modifications to the rear deck. Our friends Connie and Graham, who bought their own Troopy and traveled with us across Australia and then Africa, had their own Mulgo top installed but left in a drawer system and a simpler interior—personal preference.
Wolf Pack food “pantries” can be accessed in place or moved outside with the Kanz.
In terms of upkeep, most pop-tops are virtually maintenance-free. The roof is one piece and thus leakproof as long as mounting holes for the tie-down tracks and the solar panel and wiring are properly sealed. One note: I’ve yet to find a brand of hydraulic strut that’s any better than any other (what I’d give to have Koni introduce a line), and the Mulgo top uses four, two each for the top and the bed. So we carry spares, plus a fail-safe backup: a three-foot-long stick, easily wedged to keep the top off our faces even if two struts blew out at once.
Our leap of faith into pop-top ownership was more fraught than most of you might experience: We had ours installed on a vehicle we bought sight unseen in Australia, and then had trucked to Sydney for surgery before we even arrived, to have a conversion installed we also had never seen. So you could say there was some trepidation.
One night laid that to rest. Three continents later, we’re still in love with the expedition-ready amalgamation of a 70-Series Troop Carrier and a mini-Winnebago. The biggest “problem” we face now is the extra time needed to chat with the people drawn to it as if by rare-earth magnetism everywhere we go.
