Can evolution be revolution? The new Garmin GPSMap276Cx

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Our director of training and GPS connoisseur Graham Jackson has remained faithful to his long-discontinued Garmin 276C, insisting that nothing better has ever been produced—until now. Here's his review of the much anticipated 276Cx. - Jonathan Hanson

Defying time is not done easily, especially in the fast-moving world of technology. Certain things defy the odds by defying time and their reasonable expiration date. Consider the Land Rover Defender for example. In its various incarnations as a 90 or a 110, later as the Defender brands of both of those, and even reaching back to the Series III, IIA, II and I, its lineage has spanned a significant portion of motorized overlanding history, yet it is still iconic and well recognized today as a highly desired overland vehicle. 

When looking at electronic technology, we can’t expect timeframes to match those of automobiles, but still there are standouts. Consider the Garmin GPSmap 276C, the best overlanding navigation GPS device ever made. Introduced in 2004 as a direct descendant of the GPSmap 176, the 276C boasted a ruggedized, water-resistant frame, a gorgeous (for the time) high-resolution color display, new (again at the time) USB connectivity and support of external memory cards. Added to this was an intuitive operating system, actual buttons that could be manipulated by feel when driving or riding, even when wearing gloves, and genuinely useful functions such as a trip computer, track back (reversing a track log), tide charts (good for camping on beaches), sunset and sunrise times (good for planning sundowners and game drives), and customizable data fields that could display an appropriate level of information for genuine navigation, and Garmin had a winner. One that has not been matched since by the company, to the point that a GPSmap 276Cs can still fetch in excess of $500 on eBay. When Garmin stopped production I bought myself a back-up unit—which may have been prescient as my original 276C was stolen in Utah on the way to military training. That unit, and the back-up, have done dozens of expeditions with me, from a London-to-Cape-Town journey, to guiding in Central America, Southern Africa, Australia, and South America—always with unassuming and steady reliability while recording hundreds of thousands of track points and thousands of waypoints, providing unerring navigation confidence from dead reckoning in the Sahara to turn-by-turn guidance in Guatemala City. 

Lest you think the 276C had no flaws, let’s look at some. Early firmware had issues acquiring satellites; later firmware would parse and truncate saved track logs. The memory cards pre-dated SD card technology of a reasonable physical size, so Garmin produced propriety cards in the then acceptable memory capacities of 64, 128 and 512 megabytes. Enough at the time, but with maps getting ever larger, even the 512MB cards have long outstayed their useful life, and with transfer speeds from the computer to the 276C of 12 hours or more to fill the largest cards, it seems there is some low-level USB protocol issue at work. Yet despite these shortcomings, I was unwilling to give up the 276C in favor of the more modern offerings for mobile devices. I’ve used the Hema maps app in Australia and Gaia Maps for the iPad alongside my 276C looking for a successor, but the schizophrenic multi-tasking world we demand our mobile devices live in is no place for a navigation platform. Both Hema and Gaia lose signal and crash at random times that are probably more to do with the GoPro app, mail, and WiFi than to do with them, but leave distressing if not dangerous holes in the track log. Sure, I use my iPhone and iPad for navigating around cities and finding breweries, but for crossing deserts or recording tracks to guide clients on, neither has shown the robust reliability that the 276C displayed on every outing. 

Less than a year ago my good friend Nick Taylor and I discussed this whole problem over a beer (yes, at a brewery found and navigated to by iPhone). As often happens when beer is involved, our solutions got grander and grander, from starting a company that would build a 276C emulation app for mobile devices all the way to actually producing the 276 with modern technology like SD cards and support for GLONASS. This was our Garmin GPSmap 276C version of bringing the Land Rover Defender back to life. It seemed like an entirely plausible and reasonable plan, the only issue being getting the rights out of Garmin. 

Well, maybe someone from Garmin was at that same brewery and overheard us, because in October Garmin released the GPSmap 276Cx. It is a complete update of the 276, retains the buttons and the interface of the original, yet incorporates just about every update we thought of and more. Needless to say, as soon as it was available I had one on the way.

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Once again it has a beautiful high-resolution sunlight-readable color display, this time larger at five inches, housed in a slightly larger, but still ruggedized case. Garmin rates the water resistance to IPX7 which is great for motorcycle applications. The proprietary Garmin memory cards have been replaced with micro SD cards (hooray!) up to 32GB in size (64GB cards may be compatible, but Garmin admits to not having tested them) to complement the eight GB of internal memory. The purchase of a 276Cx includes a one-year subscription to Garmin Birds-Eye Satellite Imagery, which is like having Google Earth on your GPS and is well worth of the high memory demands it entails. 

On-board power can be provided by either the rechargeable lithium-ion battery included, or three AA batteries. Line power can either come from the USB connector or from the touch contacts on the AMPS mount provided with the GPS. Compatibility for external GPS antennas is standard, though I found the on-board antenna to be very sensitive even through a Defender windscreen, and using the HotFix ability satellite acquisition was incredibly quick. After losing reception through the Eisenhower tunnel in Colorado, the 276Cx re-acquired satellites in less than a second after exiting the tunnel. Satellite capabilities have been expanded to include the Russian GLONASS constellation, a welcome addition, though no word yet on Galileo (European constellation) compatibility. All of the customizable data fields present on the old 276 are still there, with the addition of fields for external sensors as well as the new onboard barometric altimeter and electronic compass. The trip computer, sunrise and sunset and tide information are all still in their familiar places, so no capabilities have been lost on that front. A full 250 track logs can now be stored on the GPS (the 276C could only handle 14). In addition the 276Cx can interface with mobile devices running Garmin Connect via Bluetooth. This allows real-time weather information to be displayed (so long as your mobile device has a data connection), which is a fantastic feature. With WiFi capabilities now included the 276Cx can get firmware updates (needed, see below), can update live position information on the internet, and can connect to other WiFi-capable Garmin GPS units for sharing data. Data transfer for maps can still be done over USB, on modern drivers so that gigabytes of data can be transferred at realistic speeds (minutes) rather than the days required for the last 276. All great additions to what was already a leading device. 

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The trusty trip computer is still there, perfect for dead-reckoning navigation

However, as with all new things, there are already some issues with the 276Cx shown during my testing. Thefirst is somewhat cosmetic, but I find annoying, and involves the re-draw rate of the display. When driving, the screen does not refresh in the nice smooth flow we have come accustomed to on phones and tablets, but rather each re-draw is a bit of jerky, and, while not functionally problematic, it is unfortunate for a brand new device with an otherwise very nice display.

The firmware that came loaded was version 2.1, and I found I could not calibrate the electronic compass without it crashing software. Updating to version 2.3 of the firmware solved that issue, but there are still some others. One of the most-used functions on the old 276C was the Enter/Mark button that could be held down to drop a waypoint at the current location. I used it all the time for marking intersections, gates, restaurants, embassies, you name it. While the function exists on the 276Cx, the waypoint is, bizarrely, not created at your current location, rather at some other random-seeming location back on your track log, sometimes miles back. The only way I found to fix this was to offset the current location by a few meters using the cursor, and then drop the waypoint at that location. Certainly not the easy seamless feature it was on the original 276. Also, worryingly, I found that the track log would stop recording when I switched from the map page to any other page, such as the trip computer. When I returned to the map page the track log would resume, but my seamless track log (one of my most lauded 276 features) was broken. 

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 New is the on-board barometric altimeter and its elevation profile page

My final gripe is the information provided for the active track log. I love the addition of elapsed time, moving average, min and max elevation etc., but I really miss the progress bar that marks how near-to-full the active track log is. Even a percentage would be welcome, but the new active track page does not show anything like that except total track points—which we can relate to the 20,000 point maximum for a saved track if we remember the 20,000 part. 

I really hope these issues can be fixed in software and will just require a firmware update. On the hardware side, I’m a little leery of the touch contacts interface on the on the mounting bracket. It provides power and communication to the GPS, but I have never been a big fan of touch contacts as opposed to a proven plug and pin contact for reliable connection on overland vehicles. Only time will tell on that, and I will report back because I think the 276Cx is going to replace my 276C as the primary navigation tool on all my upcoming trips.

If Land Rover could produce as solid a contender for the new Defender as the 276Cx is for the 276C, then all would be right with the world. Small issues notwithstanding, the GPSmap 276Cx is now the best GPS on the market for overlanding; a direct replacement of the GPSmap 276C. Bravo Garmin.

Find the 276Cx here.

Why are there oranges in my tires?

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You’ve no doubt seen racing drivers on a warm-up or yellow-flag lap weaving from side to side to keep their tires warm. The reason is that the rubber compound in race tires is formulated to be at its stickiest at race speeds and elevated temperatures. At cooler temperatures it quickly hardens and loses grip. 

You could fairly state that designing a racing tire is simple compared to designing a tire for a street car or SUV. The racing tire only has to last long enough to finish the race, and often not even that long. Fuel economy is well down the list of priorities; ride comfort and noise aren’t even on it. 

Not so with a street or SUV tire. Consumers want it all: long tread life and superior cornering traction, high fuel economy and safe braking performance, good off-pavement traction and low noise on pavement. A bunch of mutually exclusive characteristics. As you can imagine, a tread compound hard enough to last 40,000 or 50,000 miles and exhibit low rolling resistance to save fuel has a difficult time also providing above-average cornering and braking traction. Thus since the dawn of pneumatic tires manufacturers have juggled rubber and petroleum compounds to arrive at the best compromise for the application.

A few years ago Yokohama threw a new ingredient into the mix: orange oil, which, just as its name suggests, is derived from the oil in orange (and other citrus) peel—the specific compound desired is called limonene. Why citrus oil? One reason is to save on petroleum, of course, making the tire more “green.” But Yokohama claims a far more immediate benefit. According to the company, the tread compound in a tire constructed with limonene has the ability to instantly change viscosity in response to temperature. During normal driving the viscosity is high, resulting in low rolling resistance and long tread life. But during braking or cornering the viscosity shifts to a more sticky state, enhancing grip.

Proving or disproving this through independent testing might be difficult, since Yokohama does not offer otherwise identical tires with or without the orange oil technology. Most likely only a long period of consumer feedback and real-world tread-wear results will show if the concept is sound or just a marketing gimmick. The company gave me a set of the new Geolandar AT GO15 tires for our Ford F350 pickup, and so far they are performing excellently, with decent off-pavement traction and fine on-road characteristics. I just towed a 9,000-pound trailer full of Overland Expo equipment across the country, and had zero issues with handling or braking—including a couple of abrupt maneuvers to avoid insane suicidal drivers on the freeway through Dallas at rush hour (not fun at the wheel of 15,000 pounds worth of kinetic energy). The tread still appears within new specs, so I won’t be surprised if they last the full 50,000 miles promised by the guarantee. (The lighter-duty P/E Metric versions of the tire have a 60,000-mile warranty.)

I can’t find any other manufacturers using orange oil technology yet. I’m not sure if this is because Yokohama has managed to protect their use of it, if the others are sitting back to see how it goes, or if they are frantically testing their own citrus concoctions. Time will tell. 

Solutions to problems that never existed

Human ingenuity is a wonderful thing.

Usually.

In the world at large, we can be grateful for those inventions that have benefited mankind and transformed lives: home espresso machines, noise-cancelling headphones, the Porsche 911. Oh, and dialysis machines and stuff.

In the overlanding world we have much to be thankful for as well: the 12V fridge of course, but also LED lighting, MotionX-GPS Pro, diff locks, Star Walk . . .

Then there are . . . the others. Products that make one—or at least me—think, What were they thinking? See if you agree/disagree with any of these. No offense taken or given if you don’t. further suggestions welcome.

Spork

Here’s a brilliant concept: “Let’s make a fork with triangle-shaped tines incapable of penetrating anything firmer than a cube of rotten tofu, and a spoon with built-in drainage cuts in the end so any liquid picked up in it dribbles out on the user’s shirt. Then let’s combine them in one utensil!” And they're everywhere. Even Snow Peak, purveyor of many otherwise stellar products, wastes bits of the world's finite supply of titanium on their own version.

I know genuinely smart people (including blood relations) who claim to be fans of this idiotic device. I’m convinced they are simply mortally embarrassed at having been fooled into parting with good money for one, and are determined to bluster on and insist it’s a fabulous tool. It’s not. It’s dumb. Buy a fork, and buy a spoon (Snow Peak makes nice ones). Your shirt will stay cleaner, and you can eat steak instead of rotten tofu.

Incidentally, if a normal spork is too mundane for you, there’s the Tactical Spork from Ka-Bar:

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Single-use soap

You know how difficult it is to get the last few uses out of a bar of soap when it’s been reduced to a sliver? How about paying for a pack of them? The entire concept of “single-use” soap is flawed to begin with. Single use for what? Washing your hands? What if your hands are really dirty? A shower? What if your “single-use” soap runs out when you’re only half clean? You get another, and have a half-use soap sliver left over? All this ran through my mind the first time I saw these things on a camping equipment site. Subsequent consideration hasn’t softened my stance.

One thing’s for sure: You’ll get taken to the cleaners while you’re getting cleaner. I found a pack of single-use soap “leaves” (actually shaped like leaves; cute) on Amazon. Twelve bucks for a pack of 20. That’s 60 cents every time you wash your hands.

Mini survival kits

Here’s the situation: You’re planning to head out into the wilderness with your 4x4/motorcycle/bicycle/backpack. And it crosses your mind that you might find yourself in a situation in which you lose everything—don’t ask how—and will have to stay alive, feed, water, and warm yourself, and find your way back to civilization by relying solely on the contents of the survival kit you grab before your 4x4/motorcycle/bicycle/backpack falls off the edge of a 5,000-foot cliff/is stolen by bandits/burns to ashes. So, of course that survival kit needs to fit inside a Peppermint Altoids tin, right? What’s in there? Let’s see—a razor blade for a knife, to skin the rabbit you catch with the included .00006” diameter “snare wire,” a condom to carry water (my favorite!), safety pins for. . . for . . . well, I’ve never been sure what for. A “fishing kit”: ten feet of ten-pound-test monofilament and three #12 hooks. A micro ferrocerium rod fire striker, of course, because no self-respecting mini survival kit would come with anything as plebeian and effective as windproof matches. And a button compass to precisely determine the difference between northish and sort of south.

At least the Altoids kits are cheap. I reviewed another mini survival kit here that was not.

The words “mini” and “survival kit” do not belong in the same sentence. If your life is going to depend on a single container of equipment, there is no reason it needs to fit in your back pocket. The best “pocket” survival kit for a large portion of the developed world is an iPhone. If you go more remote, carry a real kit with useful components.

“Spec-Ops” survival knives

I’ve ranted in detail about these before, here. Suffice to say, burdening yourself with one of these cartoonish monsters unless you have a very, very high chance of needing to “egress from your downed helicopter’s canopy,” chop through a concrete block, or take down a sentry with an occiput strike, is just silly. A good bushcraft or standard hunting knife will perform far better for 99.999 percent of the things you really need a knife for—including survival.

Pop-up tents

You know the kind I’m talking about—a flat disk of fabric-covered springy wire; you fling it open and it either becomes a tent or a windshield shade (“Dammit, we left the tent at home again!”)

These things are a tent connoisseur’s ultimate nightmare: Sea kayaking the arctic coast, I stop to pitch camp to sit through a rapidly approaching Force Five storm, and when I pull my bombproof, four-season Hilleberg tent out of its stuffsack it has transmogrified into a Barney-purple and Minions yellow pop-up dome tent. I wake up in a cold sweat. “Tent dream again?” Roseann says sleepily.

I’ve actually used one—it came with a hired Land Cruiser in Egypt. It would collapse in a breeze that was insensible to a wet finger, and its admittedly instant pitch was more than offset by the fact that it required two people, five arms, and eight tries to accomplish the six-sequence coiling motion needed to return it to its case. Stupid.* Read more here.

*Note that I make an exception for pop-up shower/toilet enclosures, which do not need to keep you dry and safe in a storm or wind.

A million miles of faffing about

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Whether your vehicle is advanced . . .

Some time ago I decided to tally the miles I’ve driven in my entire life, beginning with my first car, a 1971 Toyota Corolla (116,000), progressing through the two J.C. Penney furniture-delivery trucks on which I put, collectively, over 250,000, on to my FJ40 (316,000 and counting), etc. etc. I was not surprised to find the total well over a million miles.

So you can assume I have my driving environment completely sorted by now, right? Nope. I am always finding myself short something I could really use immediately, or if I have it it’s buried in the back cargo area somewhere. During that million miles there's no telling how much time I've wasted faffing about, as the English say. So I decided to make a list.

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 . . . or basic, you can optimize your driving convenience.

• High-quality window cleaner: Even if you’re conscientious enough to put window cleaner formula in your vehicle’s washer bottle instead of plain water, it won’t be strong enough to deal with the really impacted bugs you murder at highway speeds. Yet most common household window cleaners contain ammonia, which dries out rubber seals on vehicles and should never be used on windows with aftermarket tint film. Premium cleaners such as Invisible Glass work well and won’t harm tint film. The corollary to this is, keep your wiper blades in good shape. Test them periodically, before you get caught in a downpour and find they chatter uselessly back and forth. 
• Blue shop towels: These aren’t actually the best for cleaning windows (some pros insist newspaper is the best, followed by a microfiber towel for drying), but they have so many other uses that the versatility wins.
• Dial-type tire pressure gauge: Eschew the cheap pencil gauges and do it the professional way. Tires have become so reliable that they’re easy to ignore, but maintaining proper—and consistent—pressure reaps benefits in safety and economy. If you spend more money on a gauge you’re more likely to use it. I’ve found the models from Accu-Gauge to be good for the money.
• Flashlight/headlamp: LED of course. I like models that combine a low, 10 or 15-lumen setting for reading or doing repairs with a serious, over 200-lumen high beam. You can go the lithium route and not have to worry about replacing batteries for a very long time, or take the available-anywhere-on-earth-and-cheap AA approach.  
• Knife/fork/spoon set: This might seem odd, but I’ve frequently found myself buying some snack on the road better eaten with utensils, and having a set easily accessible is nice. I keep a Snow Peak titanium set in the center console. Steel would be fine, but the titanium saves on GVW and enhances fuel economy. Just seeing if you were paying attention.
• First-aid kit: Keep it in the vehicle and don’t cannibalize it for other uses so you find yourself without the basics when you need them.
• Lens cleaner cloth: A detail, but nice to have and more effective than your shirt. Tucked in a little ziplock in the glasses compartment of fancy overhead consoles, or in the registration pocket of the sun visor.
• Hand cleaner/degreaser towlettes: Not the ubiquitous Wet Wipes; I’m talking about those infused with proper degreaser, such as the Fast Orange or Scrubs wipes. You can get them in a bulk dispenser tube or little packets.
• Nitrile gloves: Degreaser towlettes are all well and good, but it’s better not to get greasy in the first place. I keep a couple pairs in the Land Cruiser, 40 or 50 in the Land Rover ;-)
• Work gloves: The newer fabric mechanic’s gloves are okay, but I still prefer leather.
• Mini binoculars: As a naturalist and birder I of course own a de rigueur set of absurdly expensive German-made binoculars, but I keep an inexpensive compact 8 x 20 set from Pentax in the glove box for impromptu observing. If they’re stolen I won’t be tempted to slit my wrists.
• Flares: Either the traditional fire-and-brimstone type or the battery-operated LED versions. Foldable reflective triangles are also suitable.
• Ground tarp: Years ago I bought a military surplus canvas folding stretcher. It’s incredibly stout, has handles up and down the sides, and folds flat. It’s perfect for working under a vehicle. And, of course, it would serve as a stretcher if needed.
• Insulated water bottle: Leave a steel bottle full of water in your parked vehicle in Arizona in summer and it will soon be hot enough to brew coffee. The insulated versions are far better.
• Notebook/pen: Mileage, fuel purchases, fuel economy, restaurants, birds sighted, road conditions—there’s no end to the stuff crammed into my notebook. The Field Notes brand is a superb source for indestructible products.
• Multitool: Despite that 60-pound tool case in the back, I like to have a multitool to grab for quick non-critical fixes or tasks. 
• Ice scraper: Yes, we have these in Arizona.
• Bug-out bag: Actually an article on its own—a day pack stocked with supplies you might want if there is ever a need to precipitously abandon your vehicle. Sign up for Mark Farage’s excellent discourse on this at the Overland Expo.

Any other suggestions? Comment or email me.

Airing down—and up—the pro way

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One of the most frequent questions people ask me is, “What’s the the best thing I can do to improve my vehicle’s off-pavement performance?” Many of them seem distinctly disappointed when I answer, “Air down your tires.” I’m sure they’re hoping I’ll facilitate some expensive and impressive modification—diff locks, external-bypass shocks, three-piece titanium wheels, something that would justify putting a stylish brand sticker in a window. But the fact is that nothing is easier to do or more effective at providing several instant benefits than reducing your normal street tire pressures to suit the immediate conditions. I’ll repeat: Nothing.

First, lower pressure increases traction by increasing the contact area of the tire and allowing it to better deform around obstacles and grip them. Flotation in sand is enormously enhanced with the longer footprint provided by lower pressure (not so much greater width as many suppose).

But the advantages don’t end there. Lowering pressure alleviates stress on the vehicle by effectively reducing the spring rate—the tires flex enough to absorb impacts that would otherwise have to be dealt with by the springs and shocks. That translates to much greater comfort for the driver and passengers.

Finally, the above characteristics contribute to reduced impact on the trail. We saw first-hand evidence of this on a recent crossing of the Simpson Desert in Australia, via the Madigan Line—so-called after Dr. Cecil Madigan, who led the first scientific expedition across the area in 1939. The Madigan Line cuts directly across the huge field of parallel sand dunes that characterizes this part of the Simpson—1,130 sand dunes to be more or less precise. The dunes themselves are stabilized and well-vegetated, but the bare track still needs to ascend and descend each dune, and despite the very sparse traffic on this route the final approaches and crests are often cratered with “hoon holes,” where those who disdain airing down—or even engaging four wheel drive—have left huge divots from futilely spinning tires or frantic, lunging ascents.

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Graham and I actually aired down our Land Cruisers prior to hitting the dunes, on the stretch leading to the old Andado Station, a fine track but well-known for its long stretches of corrugations (or washboard as we refer to them in the U.S.). I reduced our pressure from 40 psi, which we’d run on the paved Stuart Highway to Alice Springs, down to 32, and Graham did likewise (he’d found his tubed tires on split rims at a harsh 50 psi). It took much of the sting out of the sharp undulations and eliminated the skip-fishtailing that can occur with higher pressures. (An Australian writer described those corrugations as “brutal.” All I can say is he needs to see the corrugations on the seven-mile dirt track to our house in Arizona. Or those on the road from Namanga to Amboseli. But that’s another story.)

Once in the dunes, we further reduced pressure to around 22 psi. This is well above the 14 we might run in very soft sand, but it worked perfectly on the combination of flat, compacted inter-dune track and the chewed-up ascents and descents. We even summited the famous Big Red dune outside Birdsville with no drama.

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Once past Birdsville, on the high-speed gravel Birdsville Developmental Road, we re-inflated—and that’s where the catch is for many people who grasp the concept of airing down, appreciate its advantages, but rarely if ever do it.

Why? Because a lot of those people carry a compressor that cost them as much as a couple of pizzas and is about as effective at actually adding air to a tire, despite the “150 PSI!” claims on the box. A single 45-minute session laboriously moving four tires from 25 psi to, say, 28, while their $29.95 compressor buzzes and vibrates in circles like an enraged chihuahua, and that’s it. The thing gets tossed in the bottom of the tools, to be used in the event of an actual flat, if at all. The same people likely used the point of their Swiss Army knife to depress the valve to deflate each tire, another laborious procedure. It’s little wonder they inflate the tires on their new truck to 40 psi and never budge from that.

We knew better. And we were, after all, in Australia, home of some of the best expedition equipment manufacturers on the planet. In Sydney we had picked up a pair of ARB E-Z deflators, and two ARB portable Twin compressor kits (CKMTP12). The single-cylinder ARB High Output compressor on our Tacoma has been working perfectly for several years operating a locker and inflating tires, so I was eager to compare the more powerful Twin in field use. 

Airing down takes less than a minute per tire with the E-Z deflator, which unscrews and captures the tire’s valve core, allowing a much greater volume of air to exit the valve stem, and gives you precise control with its sliding actuator. The only faster way I know to air down four tires is with a full set of the superb set-and-forget CB Developments Mil-Spec automatic deflators—but that full set will cost you $400, versus $40 for the ARB unit. An E-Z choice, if you will.

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Regarding portable 12V compressors, as with so many other products it’s been my experience that you get what you pay for. The $30 units that plug into a cigarette lighter simply won’t cut it for field use. I know people who’ve been happy with the ubiquitous Masterflow MT50 and its variations, which are available for less than $100; these clip directly to the battery, meaning they can draw more amperage, but they are still achingly slow, and I can recall at least three failures related to me by users. Simply put, if you’re going to go the pro route for airing down (and repairing) tires, you need a pro-level compressor. You do not want to get caught after a section of soft sand with all your tires at 14 psi, no way to inflate them, and 30 miles of rocks ahead. (Especially when it's been six days since you've seen another human.)

Ignore the psi rating—virtually any pump will produce more than enough theoretical pressure. It’s the cfm (cubic feet per minute) rating and duty cycle you need to evaluate. The cfm is self-explanatory. Duty cycle refers to how long the unit can run before it needs to shut down and cool off. A 25-percent duty cycle means the pump can run for 15 minutes out of an hour. It’s easy to see the relationship: A high cfm rating means little if the duty cycle is poor, and a 100-percent duty cycle means little if the cfm rating is below standard. Furthermore, some compressors display an impressive cfm rating at zero psi, but will fall off significantly with higher pressures. Look for factory specs that list both. 

The Australian-built ARB Twin boasts a 100-percent duty cycle, produces 6.16 cfm at zero psi and an impressive 4.68 cfm at 29 psi. How does this relate to the real world? Back on the Birdsville Developmental Road to air up, I hooked up the Twin’s leads to our Land Cruiser’s battery, flipped the rocker switch, connected the chuck to the first tire (still at 22 psi), settled back on my heels to wait a couple minutes, and, er, what? The tire seemed to rise awfully quickly. I disconnected and checked the pressure: 42 psi. I was only aiming for 38 . . . 

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I bled a bit out and moved to the other three tires. I didn’t set a watch to any of them, but it certainly took no more than a minute per tire to reinflate from 22 psi to 38. That rivals my benchmark for powerful compressors, the Extreme Outback ExtremeAir Magnum. And the ARB doesn't have a single "Extreme" in its name.

As a reliable and durable tool for remote use it would be hard to imagine a better configuration than the ARB Twin, given the extensive redundancy: Two all-ball-bearing motors, two cylinders, two inline fuses, and internal thermal protection for each motor. Twin air filters are washable sintered bronze, not paper. It’s highly moisture and dust resistant (the cooling fan is actually sealed to IP55 specs); the cylinder bores are hard anodized and the piston seals are Teflon-impregnated carbon fiber. In addition, the portable kit incorporates a four-liter aluminum air tank, which enables the system to run most air tools (it’s regulated to 150 psi). For the distinctly premium price, I wish the kit came with the ARB inflator that incorporates a dial gauge, rather than the simple clip-on chuck that is standard. But the waterproof case is strong, and the organizer pockets keep hoses and accessories neat—an underappreciated feature on expeditions where entropy nudges things toward clutter. The battery clamps are sturdy, the inline fuses easy to access if necessary, and there's a solidly mounted quick-release fitting for the air line next to the (lighted) power switch. You’ll know you’re dealing with a substantial piece of equipment when you pick it up—the whole package weighs 33 pounds, about as much as a Hi-Lift jack. The compressor alone weighs 19.4. 

If you prefer a built-in compressor (I normally do, but we haven’t yet decided on the final configuration in the Troopy), the air filters of the Twin can be relocated, rendering the entire unit submersible. ARB was not messing around when they designed this compressor.

The Twin is a significant investment ($830 for the kit; $520 for the compressor alone). But consider these two facts: 1) As stressed above, varying your tires’ pressures to suit conditions will do more than anything else to enhance your vehicle’s off-pavement prowess, your comfort, and the condition of the trail, and 2) Tire failure is by a significant margin the number one reason for breakdowns in the bush. With a high-quality compressor such as the ARB Twin you have both scenarios covered with professional-level ease.

The first rule of bush driving . . .

 . . . no matter if it's in Africa, South America, or Australia, is, you never, ever drive at night.

The second rule is, you always wind up driving at night. It's happened to us more than we care to admit, both through our own misjudgment or rushed scheduling and through circumstances we couldn't control (those bandits in Loliondo come to mind . . .). 

We just experienced the, er, former situation on our way from Port Augusta, on the southern coast of Australia, to Alice Springs, in the Northern Territory. The Stuart Highway is a good, fast (110 kph) road, but driving it in the daytime reveals the extent of the Kangaroo Karnage that goes on at night, when they are most active. And we had three hours of at-the-limit full-dark driving to do to get where we "needed" to go. It was a nerve-wracking drive with the ever-present risk of a large marsupial bounding across in front of us, and I especially don't imagine one wants to hit a kangaroo at the apogee of a jump.

Fortunately we had installed a pair of ARB Intensity AR21 LED driving lamps prior to the journey.

In the past I'd been wary of LED driving lamps, having tried too many that exhibited annoying color fringing or too-high color temperature, or spotty pattern. Not these—they displayed zero fringing, and the pattern, despite being the "spot" version, created a perfectly even flood of daylight far down the road and well onto the verge. This was not the typical UV scattering that fools one into thinking an LED light pattern is better than it is; it was genuine illumination, and my blood pressure stayed 20 points lower than it would have been without them. (The only downside, which is true with any driving lamp, is that when you flick them off for oncoming traffic it appears your vehicle's standard headlamps are now powered by votive candles.) 

The Intensity AR21 lamps are without doubt the best driving lamps I've used, eclipsing previous benchmarks such as the 130-watt IPFs on my FJ40, and even the legendary rally standard from decades ago, the Cibié Super Oscar. And the icing on the cake, of course, is that LEDs draw far less power than halogen lamps or even HIDs. I'll be installing them (or the even larger and brighter Intensity AR32s) on every 4x4 vehicle we own.

I'm tempted to say screw the aesthetics and bolt a set on the 911 . . .

Your very own Troopy? (Or Hilux, or . . .)

What is the best expedition vehicle in the world?

Of course there isn’t one.

“Best” as applied to an expedition vehicle means different things to different people, and can vary even then in different situations with different logistical requirements. And any vehicle one might name out of “the usual suspects” will have strengths that might suit one situation along with weaknesses that might not suit the same situation. The Jeep Wrangler Rubicon Unlimited, for example, combines unmatched technical-terrain performance with a poorly laid-out and small cargo area and low GVWR. The venerable (and no longer made) Land Rover Defender 110 combines an excellent layout and capacity for cargo, an economical turbodiesel engine, and all-coil-spring ride comfort with outdated and cramped driver and passenger accommodations and a history of bipolar build quality. The Mercedes G-Wagen (the diesel-powered world-market version) combines mightily overengineered running gear, excellent traction, and a high GVWR with a fearsomely high price and potentially overcomplex electronics. 

Then there’s the 70-series Land Cruiser Troop Carrier, or Troopy as it’s known. Arguably the most primitive of the bunch—the only one still riding on leaf rear springs—its reputation hinges more than anything else on unmatched reliability and durability. Tens of thousands of them have shrugged off tens of millions of miles of abuse from safari guides and non-government agencies, hammering on faithfully regardless. Years ago Roseann and I, through the auspices of a crooked fixer, led a safari in remotest Tanzania in a wreck of an early (all-leaf-spring) example. It had layers of flaked tan repaint on it; the ancient 103-horsepower 2H diesel engine wheezed and blew Vesuvius-sized clouds of smoke; there were no seals left on any opening and bulldust choked the interior to the point of actually reducing visibility for the driver; the alternator died during a night drive out of potential bandit country in Loliondo and we had to light our way with a flashlight. We loathed that vehicle by the end of the trip—yet it just kept running the entire time, and for all I know still is. Many thousands of miles in much nicer examples have reinforced our admiration for the Troopy—especially those powered by the later (post-1990) 1HZ naturally-aspirated six-cylinder diesel. This has proved such a dependable workhorse that it is still in production 25 years later despite the advent of the much more sophisticated and powerful twin-turbo V8 diesel. The 1HZ is reserved for markets such as Africa where power is less desirable than simplicity. 

But reliability isn’t the only strength of the Troopy. Open the 60/40 split rear door and you are greeted with a cargo bay large enough to return echoes. It is literally cavernous, and the Troopy’s GVWR rating matches it. You could stash enough actual troops and armaments back here to engineer a coup d’état (and it’s probably been done . . .). For mere safari duty there’s room for all the gear you could possibly need for an extended stay away from supplies. And speaking of capacity, many if not most Troopies are equipped from the factory with dual fuel tanks totalling an astounding 47 gallons.

The driver and passenger seating area is spacious and visibility all around is commanding. Seating is comfortable if you get the individual buckets, not quite so good for the passenger with the split bucket/bench. Power-assisted steering and brakes make driving the beast easier than it would seem, and once loaded with guerrillas, AK47s, and RPG-7s the ride is really not bad at all. Finally, a comprehensive selection of bits to augment the strengths and correct the weaknesses of the Troopy is available from high-quality suppliers such as ARB and Old Man Emu.

For those of us in the U.S. there was just one problem: The 70-series Troopy was never imported here, nor was any Toyota with the 1HZ engine. However, notice the date the engine was introduced—1990. That puts Troopies (and the companion pickup configuration) equipped with the 1HZ inside the envelope of the 25-year exemption for importing vehicles to this country. 

This was uppermost in our minds as we recently began planning a trip to Australia, where the 70-series Troopy is practially the official national vehicle for any travel off tarmac. Looking at ads on such sites as Gumtree brought up a good selection of vehicles, although many of them had obviously seen a lot of miles in the bush. Also, somewhat counterintuitively given Australia’s huge inland desert, rust is an issue—about 99.9 percent of the country’s population lives along the coast, and beach driving and saltwater fishing are popular pastimes. Prices for early 90’s Troopies ranged from around $5,000 (AUS) for dodgy runners up to $25,000 for pristine examples. Given the current favorable exchange rate (1$ AUS = $.75 US) this left a fair number of possibilities.

With some diligence and luck we found an extremely clean, low-mileage, one-owner 1993 model listed for sale at a dealer in Darwin, and after a few emails back and forth to confirm details, it was ours.

Given its slightly later manufacture date, we’ll have to wait a couple years to import it, but we have plans for the interim . . .

Meanwhile our friends Graham Jackson (director of training for the Overland Expo) and his wife, Connie, searched for and found their own Troopy, with higher miles than ours but equipped with dual locking differentials and a drawer system. Both vehicles are now on their way to the Expedition Centre in Sydney, where owner Daniel will be installing a few modifications before we arrive. Then we are off to the Simpson Desert for a solid shakedown run.

If you’re interested in importing a vehicle directly to the U.S. and having most of the work done for you, look at AustoUSA.com. Phil Newell there is experienced in the entire export/import process. Of course Troopies are not the only potentials for one’s own version of the “best” expedition vehicle. There are plenty of Hiluxes, Prados, and Land Rovers available as well, including many that were purchased by visitors, fully kitted with roof tents, fridges, etc., taken on a trip, and then ut up for sale when the owners returned home. This opens the possibility of landing in Australia and picking up a fully prepared vehicle for your own journey for about what it would cost to rent one from the many outfitters there. The AustoUSA site lists all the costs to have a vehicle delivered to the U.S., including shipping, customs, etc. There is literally a “click to purchase” button.

Tempted?

Origami camping

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I’ve written before about Montague folding bicycles (here). We’ve had one for seven years now and, while it’s far from the most highly specced mountain bike you can buy for the price, its ability to fold into a compact package, yet ride like a “normal” rigid-framed bike is unparalleled. 

There was just one problem—we only had one of them. And the effortless way it fit behind the front seats of our 2012 Tacoma Extracab made us think that two of them might actually be able to ride there.

Theory confirmed. We recently bought an example of the current Montague Paratrooper Pro, which boasts several improvements over our original. Most notable is a clever rear rack that pivots completely under the rear wheel to serve as a stand when folding or even working on the bike (although it’s not really stable enough to be a parking stand). The Pro also now has fenders, a very worthwhile addition, and a rear disc brake instead of the cantilevers of the old model. This is a questionable asset; I’ve noted before that I’ve yet to use a mechanical disc brake that works as well as a good cantilever. This one is no exception, but it’s what buyers expect.

And both bikes snuggle securely into the Extracab space behind us—noting, please, that we are both in the 5’7” to 5’9” range heightwise, so I cannot guarantee that you six-footers will have the same luck. We put the front wheels into a case inside the Four Wheel Camper, which makes the process much easier. 

Now we have two bicycles that ride securely inside the truck, no intrusive (and expensive) hitch mount needed, vastly reduced danger of theft, and no worrying about reduced departure angle or dust-coated bikes after 20 miles of dirt road.

Along with our pop-top Four Wheel Camper, and our recently acquired Klepper folding kayak, we've assembled quite the origami recreational kit.