OVERLAND METAMORPHOSIS

Two-wheeled nomads become four-wheeled nomads for an unforgettable European adventure.

For nearly a decade, my partner and I combined our childhood love for diving and photography—but it was time to hang up the fins and take pictures of the world above the waterline. We decided to embark on a motorcycle trip from Antarctica to the Arctic.

We sold our country cottage, pared down possessions to a few boxes and packed what we thought we’d need for such an adventure. We have lived a few trips, but this one took the prize—a life-changing, two-wheeled, four-year journey ensued.

Empowered as I became, motorcycle travel occasionally took its toll. Upon reaching a trailhead in the mountains, for instance, we’d crave time to go trekking, to give ourselves a break from munching hundreds of miles. Yet, rarely could we find a place to secure our gear and valuables, let alone the bikes.

Added to that was the inability to carry enough provisions in two panniers to stay offgrid longer than 48 hours. We ran out of water all three times we descended on Death Valley and found ourselves at the mercy of four-wheeled travelers. Thankfully, we managed, but we were forced to forego exploring those faraway places.

Trading Two Wheels for Four

While I ache periodically for my bike, our most recent endeavor, which started in June 2019, entailed a cape-to-cape 4WD photographic expedition. From the UK, we wended our way through Europe to Nordkapp in Northern Norway, ferried over to the windswept Faroes Islands in the shoulder season, and moored up in Iceland just before the onset of winter early October for a two-and-a-half-month stint of sublime craziness.

As tempting as it was to jump back in the saddle, we needed a mode of transport that provided a higher level of comfort and refinement, something self-sufficient beyond a charging point on the bike and with more refrigeration than a double-walled water bottle. Plus we wanted something that would allow us to lock up and walk away from.

A 4WD pickup truck seems glaringly obvious now—especially with 2020 plans to traverse the warm African continent.

We sought judicious advice from those who had done precisely what we intended to do. Tapping into the expertise from industry pros, we followed our instincts and sourced a 2015 Toyota Hilux 2.5L turbo diesel, affectionately known as White Rhino. On par with an underpowered Tacoma, it was priced at a reasonable $20,500 CAD. Admittedly, the fuel economy could be better, but at Africa’s prices that won’t matter as much. Plus, the Hilux is common over there, which should hopefully make the maintenance and any repairs relatively straightforward.

Aboard the White Rhino

While the ability to carry adequate supplies to stay off the beaten path adds a newfound harmony, it wasn’t the only contributing factor in switching to four wheels. The fully featured splendor afforded by our berth, solar and lithium power, main sockets all over the rig, a shower, gallons of refrigerated magic, a kitchen and drawer-loads of lockable storage, not to mention an awning, put us in overland heaven. On the bikes, we could pack only the items that mattered, and were multi-purposed and miniaturized; in White Rhino, the light and tight mindset still exists, but we could pack some nice-to-haves as well.

Alas, we didn’t reach some places on our Americas trip because of my, ahem, riding abilities, particularly in the first year when I was still learning the technical ropes. However, our new beast—ready for adventure with BF Goodrich K02s on sturdy ICON Vehicle Dynamics’ wheels with their compatibly beefy after-market suspension, recovery equipment and a snorkel—will take us anywhere we want.

Gloriously, our backsides have kissed saddle soreness goodbye. Instead of feeling wiped out after 300-plus miles, we emerge full of vigor. Vulnerability induced excitement aside, two wheels always poses more risk than four among other road users.

Growing Pains

Undoubtedly, it’d be naïve to think we wouldn’t encounter an array of challenges born from a 4WD journey. Entertainingly, we have paid it forward nine times to date in the Nordic countries as we deployed the winch to rescue tourists getting their 2WD cars stuck off-road.

Another tale from the trail began when we pulled the handbrake up for the night in southern Iceland. Mindfully, we faced the rooftop tent’s hard shell into a light wind, granting us optimal protection. We climbed inside and battened down the hatches. Ensconced with earplugs in, I fell into a fitful sleep—the canvas flapping like bees’ wings, the wind rustling through the glaciated valley past us.

Nonetheless, we were startled awake by an incredible gust that blasted the supporting ladder of our RTT, which was connected to the hinged floor, clean off the ground, throwing it back down at an awkward angle. As the platform launched skyward, it took tension out of the canvas around the supporting steel bar, which collapsed and came crashing down on us.

Catching on, we’re now dialled into 24hour weather notifications. When inclement conditions are due to prevail, we take refuge in the double cab, dive into the four-season sleeping bags and almost fully recline the seats. The sleeping arrangement is akin to flying economy on a budget flight, but it’s infinitely better than trying to sleep while 110 mph (177 kmh) storm-force gales rip our bedroom to shreds.

That said, this style of camping meant that when it dipped below freezing, we opened our eyes to striking patterns of ice – on the inside of the windscreen. A diesel Webasto heater eventually rectified that, but until that point, you have to invest in the trip over gear and equipment. Laying an insulated seat pad in each foot well underneath large dry bags containing our down jackets, coupled with hot water bottles and fleece liners inside our sleeping bags, kept Jack Frost from nipping at our toes.

While Iceland kicked the hell out of us weather-wise, it was one of the greatest privileges of my life to be there, exploring the fierce drama of its untamed coastline and otherworldly interior in a 4WD. It will also be my curse—the yardstick against which every other adventure in my life will be judged. It’s a window back on the glacier-studded landscapes the Vikings once roamed.

Next Trip: Africa

Having evolved after every trip, we prioritized our wants and needs for the next one. What matters to us is that we’re out there unearthing the planet’s natural beauty. Right now, there is nothing more appealing than staying selfreliant—come freezing one’s maracas off in the volcanic highlands, or having the mind and cobwebs blown in a wind-tortured valley.

Later this year, we’ll melt like a stick of warm butter under a hot-as-blazes African sun. Yet, all other things being equal, our house-on-wheels— built more for more temperate climes—will come into its own. After loading up on gear and new aspirations, it’s time to thank White Rhino for lifting the roof off our brains in facilitating a new era, to stuff ourselves with everything an unscripted, four-wheeled life has to give.

You can follow Lisa and Jason’s adventures @ fourwheelednomad on Instagram/Facebook and fourwheelednomad.com.

About the Authours

British born and location independent, Lisa Morris and Jason Spafford are avid wildernessseekers. Remote exploration is the couple’s driving force, enabling their passion and skillset as content creators. Jason is an accomplished professional photographer and dabbles in filmmaking. His internationally published portfolio is layered in two decades of adventure travel, landscape and commercial works.

Lisa tells tales from the trails, freelancing for publications worldwide. Currently, a Cape-toCape expedition sees the duo in White Rhino, a Toyota Hilux; roaming the Nordic countries and African continent. Jason and Lisa can be found on Instagram @fourwheelednomad.