As our departure date draws closer, we’ve been busy as bees getting everything in order. Packing, cleaning out the van, searching for living arrangements, combing over bus routes from Mexico City to potential “final destinations”, exchanging Canadian dollars for Mexican pesos; we’ve been very preoccupied. And then, my heart catches in my throat at the realization that this time, we’re on our own. We’re leaving, inarguably, the most valuable member of our adventures behind. The van.

It’s not an exaggeration to say that we feel naked going without her (like most prized vehicles, boats, etc., the van is, naturally, a she). Savana has been our port in the storm, our getaway vehicle, our safe haven in an unpredictable world. Most of all, she’s been our home. Tiny, frustrating at times, always a little messy, but home nonetheless. We sort of feel a little guilty leaving the GMC behind. When we allow ourselves to stop and really think about it, it’s quite terrifying actually. Without the van, we won’t be able to hop in the front seats, all our belongings in tow, and drive away from an uncomfortable situation. Now, we’ll be stuck in whichever place we find ourselves in, with no quick escape. Like I said: SCARY.

I’m not going to write a whole post lamenting about our circumstances. And of course, I’m grateful that we still get to GO. Instead, this post is going to sing the praises of our Golden Moose.

Here I am admiring the most bad ass unimog I’ve ever seen, belonging to the lovely couple: @liveandgive4x4

Over the years, we’ve run into a lot of people travelling in their vehicles. With an increasingly out-of-reach real estate market, and the slow awakening of individuals who realize they don’t want to spend their lives behind a desk, it’s quite common to run into all varieties of "van lifers” or at least “RVers” out there on the road. And while some of these road warriors get around in huge unimogs, rugged land cruisers or other very off-roady types of vehicles, we’ve seen an increasing amount of the ubiquitous Sprinter Vans - or their Dodge and Ford versions (the Promaster and the Transit) - cruising the highways of the west. These are beautiful machines. Many of them, tall enough for Braden to stand in, with full(er) kitchens, dining tables, and perhaps even a shower. Needless to say, they’re quite a LOT bigger than Savana. But you know what? Most of the people we’ve talked to with vans like these bemoan the unreliability of their van. We’ve heard of transmission problems, starter problems, gasket leaks. We’ve also heard horror stories of break-ins (the damn things are so beautiful they attract unwanted attention). Most surprisingly, we’ve heard Sprinter owners express envy at OUR little van. Ah, the ease of having something a little smaller - with decently higher clearance - to get into tighter, more remote areas. It’s true, if you’ve ever really looked at a Sprinter, most of them (unless their owners could afford a fancy, very expensive upgrade) have comically dinky tires for their size. And even though ours is two wheel drive, it’s REAR wheel drive (big difference), with a locking differential in the back. For those of you who are like I was four years ago before I lived in a van and had no real idea about the mechanics of vehicles, most two wheel drive cars only spin one wheel to propel you forward. That rear-locking differential means that both rear wheels spin (actually two wheel drive), meaning there’s a greater chance one of them is going to catch some traction if the other one is spinning wildly out of control, say, on ice or sand. You wouldn’t think it’d be that big of a deal, but oh boy, are we grateful of the rugged capabilities our little Savana has.

Ah, the ease of having something a little smaller - with decently higher clearance - to get into tighter, more remote areas. It’s true, if you’ve ever really looked at a Sprinter, most of them (unless their owners could afford a fancy, very expensive upgrade) have comically dinky tires for their size. And even though ours is two wheel drive, it’s REAR wheel drive (big difference), with locking differentials in the back. For those of you who are like I was four years ago before I lived in a van, that rear-locking differential means that there’s a greater chance one of them is going to catch some traction if the other one is spinning wildly out of control, say, on ice or sand. You wouldn’t think it’d be that big of a deal, but oh boy, are we grateful of the rugged capabilities our little Savana has.

When we began our trek, the road was clear, but as we climbed into the Sierras the snow and ice rapidly accumulated. This was only hour three of our twelve hour adventure into our favourite hot springs the US has to offer.

Our little home on wheels has seen plenty of adventure. Like the time we met up with Braden’s parents heading into a secret little hot spring oasis for Christmas in the middle of a vast desert on the east side of the Eastern Sierras. The last time we’d been there, the roads were clear. This time, they were covered in over a foot of snow and ice. The road was sixty miles of switchbacks crawling up and down a south pass through the Sierras. Tight corners and steep declines around three-hundred foot drops is bad enough with good tires and snow chains. We, idiotically, had neither. We couldn’t fathom just how bad the road could be; after all, we’d been in there before without issue. Twelve hours of inching along at 10kms per hour (80 kms less than our cruising speed) had us biting our nails. Shoveling snow and asking for a tow out of some seriously sticky situations humbled our asses pretty quickly. But, after a lot of work, a ton of skillful driving by Braden, and some help from new friends, we arrived to our little oasis in time for a late night soak. The drive in was too harrowing to film but we pulled it together on the way out, and you can get an idea of what the road was like on our video here, or check out our Instagram post about the road here.

And then there was the time Braden and I decided to take a (much) less travelled route in Sonora, Mexico. We get tired of highways pretty quickly, and the secondary road, according to google maps, had a few scattered towns on it, plus, it was supposed to be a huge short cut. A very few kilometers in, the road turned into dirt, which then turned into sand, and eventually, there was no road anymore at all. The towns we saw on Google maps were non-existent, but we did find some abandoned buildings riddled with bullet holes and vandalized with spray paint. The scene left us with a pretty bad feeling in our stomachs. Around us was an endless expanse of desert. We had to drive into that desert, following the ancient tracks of some other vehicle. The sand “road” at this point was impassable, a surefire way to get ourselves stuck in the middle of nowhere. What was supposed to be a two hour drive took us three days of careful navigating. We spent hours walking ahead, scouting out the desert for the best route to take. Eventually, with little water left in our stores, we came to an impasse. We would have to get back onto the sand road if we wanted to get out. The stretch we faced was only about twenty meters long, but it was just where we found an abandoned vehicle which had since been “recycled” by someone out there in the desert, and pocked with bullet holes. Our hearts were in our throats. The van’s a heavy SOB, 7000+ pounds. We didn’t know if we’d make it. Braden took an angled run at the stretch of white sand. From the hard packed desert, he brought the van up to speed, hoping to not lose momentum. We caught air and smacked down into the road creating a cloud of dust. But, we MADE it. It’s the most relieved we’ve ever been on the road, and we feel a little sheepish doubting the van’s ability to get us through. You can check out the video here, or check out our Instagram post about “El Camino Del Diablo” here.

Not all of our adventures are frightening of course. In fact, most of them aren’t. Despite some sketchy roads, they van has taken us to some of the most beautiful places on the planet. We’ve seen the red rock scapes of Utah, the bayous of Louisiana, the peaks and jungles of Mexico, the volcanos of Guatemala, and the tropical reefs of Belize. We’ve seen monkeys, and sharks; eaten tamales and chocolates hand made by warm, motherly Mayan women; experienced altitude sickness sleeping on top of volcanoes, and woke up to vistas of cities nestled in the mountains, red monoliths rising up like sky scrapers from a flat plateau, and palm trees swaying in the ocean breeze. We’d have seen none of these without the van.

This time, our experience will be hugely different. We’ll know what it’s like to LIVE in Mexico, like a Mexican person. We’ll get to know the streets and neighbourhoods, we’ll shop for our fruit, vegetables and tortillas at small markets, we’ll buy our drinking water. Most importantly, we hope to make friends. This time around, we will rarely (if ever) find ourselves with miles of open space around us. We might never see the milky way through the light pollution. We likely won’t fall asleep to the sounds of coyotes or waves crashing on the beach. But, we’ll wake up to the friendly call of the tamale and tortilla vendor. We’ll stroll the streets at dusk with other locals, congregating in the zocalo (town square) for a late night snack or a date with friends. We’re excited and grateful for this new opportunity. But, of course, we hope that one day we’ll be able to get back into the van and take her into the wilds of North and Central America. Until then, we’re content to do things a little differently.