Fit to be tied: Tie-down torture tests the metal of Expeditionware Transport Loops

I’m never sure which alarms me more: a vehicle loaded with completely unsecured cargo and equipment, or one loaded with cargo and equipment secured poorly. After all, the former implies simple ignorance on the part of the owner, and ignorance can be overcome with education. But the latter implies some rudimentary level of awareness—and then a complete failure to do the simple arithmetic that will tell you what will happen to the 30-pound Hi-Lift jack bungeed to your front brush guard should you be, say, rear-ended at a stoplight. No, I am not making this up, and yes, I checked. Two neatly wound bungee cords comprised the total attachment of that jack to that brush guard. I’ve seen another Hi-Lift bungeed to a very well-constructed internal roll cage (talk about Manichaean reasoning), and uncounted tool boxes, fridges, and Pelican cases all held down by what are, let’s be frank, glorified rubber bands.

Bungees have their uses, but heavy cargo in an overland vehicle should be secured with ratchet straps capable of withstanding the forces generated should you experience an unplanned encounter with Isaac Newton. Anything much heavier than a sleeping bag can cause injury or worse in an accident or rollover. (Come to think of it, I wouldn’t want to be clobbered by my 18-pound Butler sleeping bag . . .)

Decent ratchet straps are available at any hardware store. But very few, if any, vehicles come from the factory with tie-down points strong enough and numerous enough to anchor those straps. It’s almost always up to the owner to add proper loops or eye bolts. The conundrum of where to locate them is rarely solved permanently. A few items such as the fridge might have a more or less permanent location, but the distribution of other gear is subject to change, and to the addition of new gear. Bolt in too many tie-down loops and they can be almost as much a hindrance as a help to properly securing stuff. Adjustable rails such as those from Mac’s Custom Tie-Downs add versatility; the anchor plate systems from the same company, which leave only an unobtrusive rounded base when not needed, are useful as well. But both of these need a fair amount of space to install.

A few years ago, while looking for tie-down loops for the rear of my FJ40, I found the Ring Products Transit Loops at Expedition Exchange. The stainless-steel loops were originally designed to be attached to motorcycles to provide easily accessible points on which to hook tie-down straps when transporting the bike on the trailer or in a truck. Lightweight and unobtrusive, they obviated the need to loop cinch straps awkwardly around handlebars or luggage racks. However, with my FJ40 in mind, I realized they looked just the right size to bolt down on top of the join between the body tub and hardtop, using the numerous existing 10mm bolts.

Indeed, such proved the case, and a half dozen of the rings gave me a solid perimeter tie-down system. I added a few more on the wheel wells, then started looking at our other vehicles and realizing there were a nearly infinite number of places the little rings could be utilized to secure a nearly infinite number of  items. They could be installed in very tight spaces, and needed only a single 1/4-inch hole to mount. Visually, a pair didn’t look like overkill when securing something as small as a pack of road flares (with a bungee—a proper use for one), but four of them would lock down an Engel immovably.

And then the company went out of business. Damn.

I moved on to other tie-down systems for other projects—but how I missed those versatile little rings. 

The fellows at Expedition Exchange apparently shared my thoughts, because after trying in vain for years to track down the Ring Products company or principals, they decided they’d exercised due diligence—and had a leftover reproduced at a local machinist. Skimming the EE website a few months ago, I noticed the newly introduced  Expeditionware Transport Loops. Woohoo! I immediately ordered some to look at, and found them to be apparently exact copies. Excellent.

However, as I examined the new loops I found myself, for the first time, wondering about the ultimate strength of such a compact fitting. I’d always assumed that, since four of the originals were designed to hold down a motorcycle during road transport, they were certainly strong enough to secure a fridge or a Pelican case full of tools. But now I was curious about their limits.

With a loop in hand, I looked around our shop and carport for a way to put it to the test. I had neither a strain gauge nor a scale sufficient to register the several hundred pounds I assumed the loop would take before it failed. Bolt it to one of the steel roof beams in the carport and hang successive weights off it? Perhaps, but how to suspend 400—or 600 or 800—pounds in successive increments? Hook one between two Land Cruisers and try to pull it apart? But that wouldn’t tell us what the failure point was, and sounded like a procedure that would wind up either as an object lesson at the next Overland Expo, or a feature on YouTube.

But, hmm . . . the Land Cruiser. I looked at the rear bumper/tire carrier on the FJ40, specifically at the stout, one-inch-thick shackle mounts on either corner. Then I looked at the Hi-Lift jack nearby. That might do . . .

Using a grade 8 bolt and some graduated washers, I affixed the ring to the shackle mount via the smaller of its two holes. Then, with a steel quick-link connector through the larger hole, I attached the ring to the slot on the bottom of the Hi-Lift’s tongue, which I’d position just above the shackle mount.

Now I had a mechanism, but I still didn’t have a means of measuring the stress on the ring. Given that my FJ40 weighs a bit over 4,000 pounds, I decided rather arbitrarily that if I could lift one rear wheel off the ground—or even come reasonably close to doing so—the Expeditionware Transport Loop would have proved its mettle as far as I was concerned. I donned a heavy Carhart jacket, gloves, and safety glasses in case the ring exploded and flung bits of stainless steel hither and yon.

I began working the Hi-Lift’s handle and the loop took up strain. The assembly started to emit ominous metallic creakings, and for the first time I begin to wonder if this was a good idea. How could I expect a tiny ring a few millimeters thick to lift a corner of a 4WD vehicle?

The bumper rose, and the right rear leaf spring started to flex. Now, if I peaked around the Hi-Lift’s main beam, which I was keeping between me and the poor little ring, I could see the latter flattening. Was there some stretching going on as well? The sidewall bulge came out of the right rear tire as the bumper continued to rise with each stroke of the jack handle, but it remained planted on the ground. Now I could clearly see the large hole in the Transit Loop elongating. More creaking, and a ping or two from somewhere in there.

But then—the tire was a few millimeters off the ground. I could spin it with a boot. A single Transit Loop had successfully lifted the corner of an FJ40 off the ground—and one equipped with a massive Stout Equipment bumper/tire rack at that. 

I have no way of knowing exactly how much strain the loop was withstanding at the end, but I’m certainly convinced that, employed in suitable numbers, the Expeditionware Transit Loops are more than up to the job of safely locking down the heaviest fridges, tool boxes, and equipment cases. 

At nine bucks each you can afford to buy a bunch. I guarantee you’ll find uses for as many as you have.

Unless you’re still convinced a bungee or two will suffice. Expeditionware Transport Loops

The Myth of Compression Braking

Recently a remark by an acquaintance triggered me to dredge up a bit of knowledge I came by ages ago, during a short stint driving a diesel tractor/trailer rig for J.C. Penney between Phoenix and Tucson. The fellow, a UK resident, had recently sold his mid-90s Land Rover Discovery V8 with a five-speed manual transmission, and purchased a similar Discovery equipped with a 200 Tdi turbodiesel engine, also with a five-speed. Besides instantly doubling his fuel economy and then some, he’d noticed something else and mentioned it in an email. “I might be daft,” he wrote, “but I swear the petrol engine had better compression braking. But I know that’s impossible. It only had 9:1 compression, and the Tdi is 19:1. Something else must be at work.” 

I wrote him back a short reply: “That’s because diesel engines have no compression braking.” Which caused him to respond, “Now I think you’re daft.” 

My next email was much longer, and read something like this: 

First, the term “compression” braking is a misnomer. While there are several forces at work (including simple internal friction) when a driver lifts off the throttle in a vehicle and the engine slows it, the force often referred to as compression braking is more accurately called vacuum braking. It occurs in a gasoline engine because the throttle, i.e. the gas pedal, works by regulating the amount of air entering the engine—the fuel-to-air ratio is kept relatively constant. The air flow is controlled by a rotating plate or series of plates in the fuel injection’s intake system (or, in older vehicles, in the carburetor). When you lift off the gas pedal, that plate closes off the intake nearly completely. The engine, which is still turning at speed via its connection to the turning wheels, then has to suck air past the closed plate, and that retards the engine, and that is what allows our manual-transmission, gasoline-engined vehicles to creep down quite steep inclines in first gear low range, without the need for brakes. 

A diesel engine is different. In a diesel, the throttle controls the amount of fuel being injected into the engine, rather than the air flow. The air intake system in a diesel is always fully open. Thus, when you lift off the pedal in a diesel-engined vehicle, the fuel supply is reduced, but there is no vacuum effect to slow the engine. Thus, no “compression” braking. 

You might ask, but what about the air still being compressed in each cylinder as the piston rises on that 19:1 compression stroke? Doesn’t that retard the engine? The answer is, yes, it does; however, once the piston passes top dead center, that compressed air is still pushing against the piston, only now it’s trying to speed up the engine, even without enough fuel injected to produce real power via combustion. So the two forces essentially cancel each other (the same effect applies to gasoline engines). 

 Opening photo: A 3.8-liter gasoline engine. This photo: A 3.0-liter Turbodiesel. Which one has more engine braking? 

 This lack of what we really should just refer to as engine braking is why many big diesel trucks, such as that J.C. Penney tractor/trailer rig, employ what is known generically as a Jake brake, after Jacobs, the company that originally manufactured the device. A Jake brake opens the exhaust valve on each cylinder at the top of the compression stroke, so the compressed air is released out the exhaust (with a machine-gun-like hammering that prompts communities to post those signs prohibiting their use within urban areas). That leaves just the compression stroke working to retard the engine—so a diesel truck with a Jake brake really does have compression braking. 

The exhaust brake is another, quieter (although generally less effective) method of engine braking on a diesel truck. This device partially closes off the exhaust, so the air pushed out through the exhaust valve on the exhaust stroke is restricted, slowing the engine and the vehicle. Some trucks now employ both Jake and exhaust brakes to maximize efficiency while reducing noise. 

So that’s why an engine with more compression can have less “compression” braking. 

I checked: Unfortunately, Jacobs doesn’t make a model for the 200 Tdi . . .

Do I really need a winch?

Recently my friend Sergio Mendez Santiago emailed me from Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, where he and his wife, Ruth, are putting the finishing touches on their new Mitsubishi Triton, a fine turbodiesel-powered 4WD pickup (sadly unavailable in the U.S.). Like so many of us setting up a new vehicle, Sergio has been vacillating on the decision of whether or not to install a winch. We both thought it would be a good subject to explore. Since I have a Warn 8274 on my FJ40, and I installed a Warn M8000 on Roseann’s FJ60, I certainly appreciate their value (and I think my objectivity is on solid ground)—however, I certainly don’t think one absolutely needs a winch to be able to undertake even ambitious journeys.

No matter what vehicle you drive, from a two-wheel-drive pickup with street tires to a Jeep Rubicon on BFG Mud-Terrains with diff locks front and rear, a 4:1 transfer case, disconnecting sway bar, etc. etc, you’re going to find yourself in situations for which a judgement call is needed. Obviously the two-wheel-drive pickup will have a much, much lower threshold at which discretion should kick in and you turn around, but the Rubicon will have its own threshold, beyond which you stand a good chance of getting stuck. 

In such cases, a winch can give you the leeway to push the threshold, a little or a lot depending on several factors: 

• Are you with other vehicles that can serve as anchor points for the winch line, or which are equipped with winches themselves?
• If you are traveling solo, are there natural anchor points, such as substantial trees, within reach of your winch line? If not, would it be possible to rig an anchor, such as by burying a spare wheel in sand?
• If the vehicle becomes immobilized, will the situation be immediately hazardous to occupants or the vehicle itself? Examples would be getting stuck in an off-camber situation next to a drop-off, or in beach sand below the high tide line.
• If you are traveling solo, and for some reason cannot self-recover even with the winch, are you a three-hour walk from help, or a three-day trek from civilization?

A winch also provides insurance for situations when you’re simply caught unaware and find yourself stuck—a seemingly firm dry lake bed that suddenly gives way, an innocuous patch of snow that reveals itself as tractionless ice. If you travel solo frequently, and far off the beaten track, a winch offers substantial peace of mind even if you’re not prone to pushing the envelope. And of course with a winch you can assist others, although few people are willing to spend the money solely to be able to act as a good Samaritan.

Speaking of money: There’s more to buying a winch than buying a winch. You’ll need a rock-solid bumper designed to accommodate the winch you’ve chosen. You’ll also need a full recovery kit, including a tree-protector strap, at least two properly rated shackles, a snatch block, a winch-line damper, gloves, and preferably a winch line extension. I strongly recommend replacing the steel winch cable that comes with most winches with a synthetic line, which is far lighter and safer—and more expensive. Even with that weight savings, you’ll probably need to beef up your front suspension to properly handle the mass suddenly placed far out on the front of the vehicle. Finally, you’ll need a heavy-duty battery and charging system in the vehicle—preferably a dual-battery system in case of failure of the primary battery. 

Add up everything and you can figure on tripling the cost of a moderately priced winch by the time you’re finished. (Speaking of which, I urge staying away from the cut-price Chinese clones of Warn and Ramsey winches, for reasons of both quality and ethics.)

Learning about winches and winch lines at OX10.Oh, one more thing: A winch is fully capable of maiming or killing its operator or nearby spectators. So if you do install one, you are obligated to learn its proper and safe use. 

Given the significant expense, the significant associated modifications, and the learning curve, it’s tempting—and a perfectly reasonable strategy—to simply do without the winch; to use prudence when faced with questionable situations, and to make sure you have alternate methods for self-recovery.

To start with, a high-quality air compressor will enable you to properly reduce tire pressure when needed. Obviously you don’t need a compressor at all to lower tire pressure, but if all you have with you is an inexpensive compressor that takes a half-hour to inflate them again, you’re much less likely to air down when it’s called for. Very frequently, if a vehicle becomes stuck in soft sand, all that’s needed to get underway again is to reduce tire pressure to one bar (around 14 psi) or even a little lower. 

A good compressor, like this Extreme Air, is an important tool, especially if you decide to go winchless.A good shovel is mandatory. The cheap little folding “military” shovels are better than nothing, but a one-piece pointed shovel with a stout D or T handle is much better. A KERR (kinetic energy recovery rope) or equivalent snatch strap is also mandatory. Even though we have winches on both our Land Cruisers, the KERR approach is much faster—we used a strap on our last trip twice, once to free a truck from a ditch and once to pull a fallen tree out of the road.

Some people swear by sand mats, others spurn them, still others seem to view them as a necessary overland fashion accessory. The lightweight aluminum replacements for the old surplus steel PSP are much easier to manage, as are even newer plastic designs such as the Maxtrax. But sand mats are still a bulky, mostly single-purpose tool. You must make up your own mind if the terrain you explore makes them worth carrying.

Sand mats, like these plastic ones from MaxTrax, are another good addition to your kit.Another love-it-or-hate-it tool is the exhaust jack, essentially a giant heavy-duty balloon you inflate with the vehicle’s exhaust. An exhaust jack can lift one side of a vehicle clear of even clingy muck. However, I’ve witnessed more failures of these things than makes me comfortable, from incompatible exhaust pipes to failed blow-off valves. Here’s an example from LROTV:

Hi-Lift versus exhaust jack

Put me in the hate-it camp.

Finally, of course, there’s the Hi-Lift jack, the tool everyone loves to hate. Awesomely versatile, fond of jamming, and dangerous if used incorrectly, the Hi-Lift can do everything up to and including winching—if you’re careful. 

I think one of the best uses for the Hi-Lift is as a “casting” jack. Sometimes when a vehicle is stuck in a rut, the only thing needed to regain traction is to move it sideways out of the rut. In such a situation, you can jack up one end of the vehicle until the tires are clear, then simply shove the vehicle sideways off the jack and on to firmer ground. It sounds and looks quite alarming, but is perfectly safe if done carefully. This was the first thing I was taught to do with a Hi-Lift, but the technique seems to have been mostly lost. 

A Hi-Lift can be used to lift buried tires out of sand in order to insert sand mats, but you’re wasting effort if you lift the body of the vehicle and have to overcome suspension droop. Better to use the optional fitting made to hook onto a wheel; then your efforts will produce immediate results.

Winching with the Hi-Lift is glacially slow, and requires a fair amount of chain and other accoutrements—but it works, and its very slowness gives you time to think and avoid unsafe moves. There are several kits made to turn the Hi-Lift into a winch; this video is about the most succinct I’ve seen on the actual process:

Winching with a Hi-Lift 

So there’s my stance. A winch is a valuable accessory, but I would never let the lack of one stop me from exploring—in fact my FJ40 had no winch for the first 20 years I owned it, including all the time I was guiding other vehicles into remote beaches in Mexico, and towing a trailer full of sea kayaks. If you wonder whether it’s possible to accomplish higher-level expedition travel without a winch, I give you Tom Sheppard, who has soloed 100,000 miles of the Sahara in a succession of Land Rovers and a Mercedes G-Wagen—not one of them burdened with a winch.

Do I really need a winch?

Recently my friend Sergio Mendez Santiago emailed me from Puerto Vallarta, Mexico, where he and his wife, Ruth, are putting the finishing touches on their new Mitsubishi Triton, a fine turbodiesel-powered 4WD pickup (sadly unavailable in the U.S.). Like so many of us setting up a new vehicle, Sergio has been vacillating on the decision of whether or not to install a winch. We both thought it would be a good subject to explore. Since I have a Warn 8274 on my FJ40, and I installed a Warn M8000 on Roseann’s FJ60, I certainly appreciate their value (and I think my objectivity is on solid ground)—however, I certainly don’t think one absolutely needs a winch to be able to undertake even ambitious journeys.

No matter what vehicle you drive, from a two-wheel-drive pickup with street tires to a Jeep Rubicon on BFG Mud-Terrains with diff locks front and rear, a 4:1 transfer case, disconnecting sway bar, etc. etc, you’re going to find yourself in situations for which a judgement call is needed. Obviously the two-wheel-drive pickup will have a much, much lower threshold at which discretion should kick in and you turn around, but the Rubicon will have its own threshold, beyond which you stand a good chance of getting stuck. 

In such cases, a winch can give you the leeway to push the threshold, a little or a lot depending on several factors: 

• Are you with other vehicles that can serve as anchor points for the winch line, or which are equipped with winches themselves?
• If you are traveling solo, are there natural anchor points, such as substantial trees, within reach of your winch line? If not, would it be possible to rig an anchor, such as by burying a spare wheel in sand?
• If the vehicle becomes immobilized, will the situation be immediately hazardous to occupants or the vehicle itself? Examples would be getting stuck in an off-camber situation next to a drop-off, or in beach sand below the high tide line.
• If you are traveling solo, and for some reason cannot self-recover even with the winch, are you a three-hour walk from help, or a three-day trek from civilization?

A winch also provides insurance for situations when you’re simply caught unaware and find yourself stuck—a seemingly firm dry lake bed that suddenly gives way, an innocuous patch of snow that reveals itself as tractionless ice. If you travel solo frequently, and far off the beaten track, a winch offers substantial peace of mind even if you’re not prone to pushing the envelope. And of course with a winch you can assist others, although few people are willing to spend the money solely to be able to act as a good Samaritan.

Speaking of money: There’s more to buying a winch than buying a winch. You’ll need a rock-solid bumper designed to accommodate the winch you’ve chosen. You’ll also need a full recovery kit, including a tree-protector strap, at least two properly rated shackles, a snatch block, a winch-line damper, gloves, and preferably a winch line extension. I strongly recommend replacing the steel winch cable that comes with most winches with a synthetic line, which is far lighter and safer—and more expensive. Even with that weight savings, you’ll probably need to beef up your front suspension to properly handle the mass suddenly placed far out on the front of the vehicle. Finally, you’ll need a heavy-duty battery and charging system in the vehicle—preferably a dual-battery system in case of failure of the primary battery. 

Add up everything and you can figure on tripling the cost of a moderately priced winch by the time you’re finished. (Speaking of which, I urge staying away from the cut-price Chinese clones of Warn and Ramsey winches, for reasons of both quality and ethics.)

Learning about winches and winch lines at OX10.Oh, one more thing: A winch is fully capable of maiming or killing its operator or nearby spectators. So if you do install one, you are obligated to learn its proper and safe use. 

Given the significant expense, the significant associated modifications, and the learning curve, it’s tempting—and a perfectly reasonable strategy—to simply do without the winch; to use prudence when faced with questionable situations, and to make sure you have alternate methods for self-recovery.

To start with, a high-quality air compressor will enable you to properly reduce tire pressure when needed. Obviously you don’t need a compressor at all to lower tire pressure, but if all you have with you is an inexpensive compressor that takes a half-hour to inflate them again, you’re much less likely to air down when it’s called for. Very frequently, if a vehicle becomes stuck in soft sand, all that’s needed to get underway again is to reduce tire pressure to one bar (around 14 psi) or even a little lower. 

A good compressor, like this Extreme Air, is an important tool, especially if you decide to go winchless.A good shovel is mandatory. The cheap little folding “military” shovels are better than nothing, but a one-piece pointed shovel with a stout D or T handle is much better. A KERR (kinetic energy recovery rope) or equivalent snatch strap is also mandatory. Even though we have winches on both our Land Cruisers, the KERR approach is much faster—we used a strap on our last trip twice, once to free a truck from a ditch and once to pull a fallen tree out of the road.

Some people swear by sand mats, others spurn them, still others seem to view them as a necessary overland fashion accessory. The lightweight aluminum replacements for the old surplus steel PSP are much easier to manage, as are even newer plastic designs such as the Maxtrax. But sand mats are still a bulky, mostly single-purpose tool. You must make up your own mind if the terrain you explore makes them worth carrying.

Sand mats, like these plastic ones from MaxTrax, are another good addition to your kit.Another love-it-or-hate-it tool is the exhaust jack, essentially a giant heavy-duty balloon you inflate with the vehicle’s exhaust. An exhaust jack can lift one side of a vehicle clear of even clingy muck. However, I’ve witnessed more failures of these things than makes me comfortable, from incompatible exhaust pipes to failed blow-off valves. Here’s an example from LROTV:

Hi-Lift versus exhaust jack

Put me in the hate-it camp.

Finally, of course, there’s the Hi-Lift jack, the tool everyone loves to hate. Awesomely versatile, fond of jamming, and dangerous if used incorrectly, the Hi-Lift can do everything up to and including winching—if you’re careful. 

I think one of the best uses for the Hi-Lift is as a “casting” jack. Sometimes when a vehicle is stuck in a rut, the only thing needed to regain traction is to move it sideways out of the rut. In such a situation, you can jack up one end of the vehicle until the tires are clear, then simply shove the vehicle sideways off the jack and on to firmer ground. It sounds and looks quite alarming, but is perfectly safe if done carefully. This was the first thing I was taught to do with a Hi-Lift, but the technique seems to have been mostly lost. 

A Hi-Lift can be used to lift buried tires out of sand in order to insert sand mats, but you’re wasting effort if you lift the body of the vehicle and have to overcome suspension droop. Better to use the optional fitting made to hook onto a wheel; then your efforts will produce immediate results.

Winching with the Hi-Lift is glacially slow, and requires a fair amount of chain and other accoutrements—but it works, and its very slowness gives you time to think and avoid unsafe moves. There are several kits made to turn the Hi-Lift into a winch; this video is about the most succinct I’ve seen on the actual process:

Winching with a Hi-Lift 

So there’s my stance. A winch is a valuable accessory, but I would never let the lack of one stop me from exploring—in fact my FJ40 had no winch for the first 20 years I owned it, including all the time I was guiding other vehicles into remote beaches in Mexico, and towing a trailer full of sea kayaks. If you wonder whether it’s possible to accomplish higher-level expedition travel without a winch, I give you Tom Sheppard, who has soloed 100,000 miles of the Sahara in a succession of Land Rovers and a Mercedes G-Wagen—not one of them burdened with a winch.

What is the best simple, portable power pack?

Do you have a recommendation for an (affordable) portable power pack, the kind that can jump-start a dead vehicle battery and power A/C off it? Basically a portable car battery. I had a Statpower Portawattz for the last 10 years that has served me well, but I am looking to replace it. It was around $100 +/- and looking to stay in that range. Thought you all might be able to recommend a brand.

Eric Wallace

Research Specialist, University of Arizona School of Natural Resources

Land Rover's Terrain Response explained

Greetings! 

I recently purchased a 2011 Land Rover LR4 HSE with the heavy-duty package.  I’d like to know in detail how the Terrain Response system works so that I can make full use of it.  Simple labels on the settings, like “Snow,” “Sand,” etc., are not enough! In particular, I’d like to know all of the vehicle’s attributes that are controlled by the Terrain Response system (such as throttle response, transmission, brakes, electronic traction control) and how each is modified in each of the settings.  

I have tried to get this information from Land Rover USA and from my dealer with no success.  Surely this information is available. How can I find it? 

Thanks!

Jan N,  Los Alamos, New Mexico, USA

Equipment review: micro stoves, part 1 of 3

Let’s be frank here: Adventure motorcyclists are essentially divided into two species—those who ride a BMW R1150GS or R1200GS, and those who ride anything else (including other BMWs). We can argue about whether or not the big GS bikes are the best adventure motorcycles on the planet, but you can’t deny they’re the most prominent, and their fans make the most zealous Sturgis-tattooed Harley rider seem fickle.

To continue the Linnaean angle, the mega-GS riders I know generally separate into two sub-species when considering camping equipment: They either think, I’m riding a zillion-pound motorcycle. What difference does it make what my equipment weighs? Or, I’m riding a zillion-pound motorcycle. I need to save every gram I can on equipment. 

If you’re a member of the former group, and you’re in the market for a stove, I can happily recommend a three-burner Partner Steel model, which will strap on your rear luggage rack with room to spare. A 20-pound propane tank should give you plenty of cooking fuel. For the latter group—or any of you who ride mere mortal motorcycles, I offer a review (the first of three, with a final winner to be chosen) of two micro stoves.

We've Come a Long Way

My first backpacking stove was a beautiful little white gas SVEA 123, considered “light” at the time despite being made from solid brass, which has a density not far this side of neutron star core material.

How times have changed. Compare the 18-ounce heft of that SVEA with the 1.9 ounces of a Snow Peak LiteMax Titanium stove. Sure, the LiteMax has no built-in fuel tank, but add a full canister of isobutane/propane mix and you’re only up to 8.5 ounces, less than half the mass of the empty SVEA.

However, as important as weight is to a motorcycle traveler, it’s not the only consideration when choosing a stove. Stability, efficiency, wind resistance, boiling time, and simmering ability all factor in as well.

Furthermore, weight can be deceptive. Canister stoves are virtually always lighter than liquid-fuel stoves even with a canister attached, since they require no pumping mechanism—but for most trips you’ll need more than one canister, and the weight (and bulk) of them adds up quickly.

Then there’s disposal: Recycling spent canisters is an on-again, off-again possibility in many communities. Sometimes they’re just trash. (JetBoil makes an excellent tool for puncturing empty canisters, required for recycling in most areas.)

First in a Series of Stove Duels

I decided to take a highly opinionated, who-made-you-the-expert? stab at pronouncing which is the best lightweight stove on the market. However, rather than review every single one of the dozens of models available, I’m cheating a bit—I’ve chosen what fairly broad experience has led me to believe are:

• Two of the best top-mounted canister stoves
• Two of the best remote-canister stoves, and 
• Two of the best liquid-fuel stoves. 

The winner of each duel will face off in the final.  

I looked at top-mounted canister stoves first. The major advantages and disadvantages of this style can be summarized thusly:

Advantages:

• Extremely lightweight and compact
• Extremely simple to assemble and operate
• Quiet and clean-burning
• Excellent simmering ability
• Most affordable to purchase

Disadvantages:

• Least stable of three stove types
• Marginal cold-weather performance even with mixed fuel
• Canisters are bulky on long trips
• Susceptible to wind (and care must be used with wind deflectors to avoid overheating of the canister)
• Generally slower boil times than liquid-fuel stoves (although speed of assembly and lighting compensates)
• Difficult to quantify remaining fuel
• Fuel costs are higher
• Canisters often not available in developing countries

Of all the top-mounted canister stoves I’ve used, I like the Primus Express Stove and the Snow Peak GigaPower the best, for their light weight, simplicity, and affordability.

Primus Express Stove (on Snow Peak canister), $54Snow Peak Gigapower (above right), $40 ($50 w/pietzo)

The Express also comes in a titanium version, but the scant .4 ounce saving (2.5 versus 2.9) isn’t worth the extra $20 to me—that’s a set of titanium utensils which would save more weight. Snow Peak has the fine newer (and slightly lighter) LiteMax, but I prefer the four-trivet stove base on the GigaPower, and it folds more compactly as well.

There are other good stoves out there. The JetBoil is absolutely fabulous at boiling water quickly, but I find the system cumbersome for general cooking duties, and even its titanium versions are fairly heavy. The MSR Pocket Rocket was a contender, only passed over because—just once—I had one of its three trivets fold up on me while I was setting a pot on top, and almost lost the whole thing. Another near miss was the Optimus Crux Lite—an excellent stove that is a champ at simmering, except I’ve occasionally had the flame die unnoticed when on its lowest setting.

So—let’s decide between these two. Both are designed to use standard Lindal-valve canisters, and each company’s proprietary canisters contain an isobutane/propane mix, which enhances low-temperature performance (pure propane would be best as its boiling point is -40ºF versus butane’s +31ºF, but pure propane requires a stout steel canister).

Primus Express

Snow Peak Gigapower (above right)Weight difference is negligible: 3.25 ounces for the Snow Peak versus 3 ounces for the Primus. However, my Primus includes a piezo igniter; the equivalent GigaPower is 3.75 ounces. So a slight .75-ounce nod goes to the Primus here.

Both stoves are effortless and speedy to employ. Less than 30 seconds out of the stuff sack for either and you’re cooking.

I timed boiling for each, using 500 ml of water (note my commitment to scientific rigor by using 500 milliliters rather than a crude pint) in my favorite do-it-all solo pot/kettle/bowl, an MSR titanium Titan.

The GigaPower accomplished the task in 3 minutes, 13 seconds; the Primus was slightly quicker at 3 minutes, 7 seconds. Again, a slight nod to the Primus. (I used Snow Peak canisters for both to eliminate differences in fuel. I suppose Primus could protest, but since their stove was faster anyway . . .) Both stoves simmer extremely well, but the burner of the GigaPower spreads the flame over a wider area, so it wins there. 

Stability on top-mounted canister stoves is marginal at best. You should always provide a flat, firm surface for this type of stove. (I discovered the Snow Peak Baja Table while I was sea kayaking. It’s a cunning aluminum contraption that’s just high enough to get food prep and cooking off the ground, and which doubles elegantly as a cocktail table for a Kermit Chair.)

The Primus has a wider trivet assembly then the GigaPower, but the latter has four trivets versus three, which I find adds security. More importantly, the Primus, at 14.5 centimeters tall, sits 1.8 cm higher than the Snow Peak—almost three-quarters of an inch. That might not seem like much, but with these tippy stoves every bit helps. Win to Snow Peak.

What else? The wire-loop valve on the Snow Peak sticks out farther than the plastic knob on the Primus, so you don’t have to get your hand so near to the flame to adjust it. Both stoves fold very small, but the GigaPower collapses into a symmetrical shape, while the three trivets on the Optimus protrude somewhat even when folded, creating slightly awkward storage inside a pot.  

Since I already knew I liked both these stoves, choosing between them was difficult. I’d happily carry either, and do. But when the time came to pick one, my hand finally strayed to the Snow Peak GigaPower. Its balance of features and performance tipped the scales ever so slightly.

Next time we’ll look at two of the best remote canister stoves on the market. 

Snow Peak

Primus

Overland Tech: Battery welding in the field

Welding with automotive batteries is one of those near-mythical skills, like seating a tire bead with starting fluid, that most people never even attempt. But unlike explosive bead-seating, which a quick YouTube search will confirm can go wrong easily, battery welding is pretty straightforward. Recently, Doug Manzer had an opportunity to try it in the backcountry of Utah. 

Doug and his 11-year-old son, Nick, were on a solo-vehicle trip in their Toyota FJ Cruiser, towing a military M416 trailer modified by Doug for camping duty. While climbing a series of 90-degree rock ledges, both front spring mounts tore off the trailer’s frame. Inspection revealed that insidious rust had weakened the mounts. 

Doug had seen Matt Savage’s video of battery welding on one of Overland Expo’s 60-Second Overlander spots, and realized he had the perfect opportunity to try it. However, he only had two batteries with him, and was lacking a few other needed items, so he and Nick left the trailer and made the three-hour drive to the nearest town, Green River, for supplies. 

Click for larger imageBack on site, Doug hooked up his existing AGM batteries, including the main Odyssey, in series (positive to negative) with a purchased lead-acid battery, to create a 36-volt power source. He used a standard jumper clip on the positive terminal and a welding rod holder on the negative end. A C-clamp and the Toyota’s receiver hitch served as a makeshift vise for cutting 2 by 5-inch rectangles of flat steel to create a spring mount reinforcement. 

In his first attempt, using 6011 and then 6013 rods, Doug actually found the arc too hot and focused. A 316 rod turned out to be perfect for the thick, mild steel. A few rough but strong beads later, and father and son were on the trail again. So adequate did those welds turn out that all Doug did on returning home was to clean them up a bit. He’s certain the battery-powered field repair is far stronger than the factory mounts.

An interesting postscript: The Odyssey battery, reinstalled in the FJ Cruiser, started it right up after welding duty. But a check of the new lead-acid battery at home showed it to be 90 percent discharged. Chalk up one more anecdote for the superb Odyssey.

(Editor’s note: For those intrigued by the concept of battery welding, but inexperienced at using sticks, check out the excellent Ready Welder, a wire-feed unit capable of welding steel up to 1/2 inch thick using three batteries.)