The Defender Diaries, vol. 1

Against all better judgment

It’s a sickness, I tell you, perhaps even a complication of COVID-19. Symptoms include wanderlust, exaggerated daydreaming, and a lapse of reason. I woke up two weeks ago to find a second old Land Rover parked outside our house. I know, I know. A wise, long-time Land Rover owning friend of mine warned me: “You know how owning a Landy, it always seems like there’s something that needs doing? Well, owning two Landies there IS always something that needs doing.” Still, we bought another one.

The vehicle in question is a 1993 Defender 110. It is the lesser seen two-door configuration with no rear seats and a bonnet- (“hood” to us colonials) mounted spare wheel. I was told that originally it was requisitioned by the United Kingdom’s Ministry of Defence (MOD) but then sat, unused, for ten years, because its Ministry of Transport (MOT) inspection history only begins in 2003, when it presumably passed into private hands, possibly at an auction, and began its life of service then. There are some clues that support that hypothesis. Under a corner of chipped white paint, I found Coniston Green, about as “army green” as you can get. And the MOD did favor these two-door 110 configurations. But then, why would the Army want those cool Alpine windows? I’m also told the military never used the 200 TDI turbo diesel motor that is in this one, favoring non-turbo trucks since the added components prevented them from outfitting it with 24-volt power. I may never know. 

Adventure calling.

There are travel stickers on the back window for the Passo di Stelvio in Italy and the Großglockner in Austria. In the under-seat storage box, I found some spare parts and an envelope addressed to someone in Jersey, an island in the English Channel. Previous owners (presumably NOT the military) painted small camels along the roofline. And on the underside of the bonnet are decals for various tuning and racing parts companies, though the engine remains wholly stock. Clearly a varied and mysterious history with this one. But part of the allure of adopting an old adventure truck like this is that we inherit its hazy past but we get to add our own chapters to it. Mud from the Austrian Alps no doubt lies nestled in the underbody, and we will only add our own layer to it, perhaps from Colorado, Texas, maybe even Canada one day. Tierra del Fuego has come up in conversations lately. 

But I digress. Let’s back up and see how we got here. As we’ve all experienced, this was the year when traveling much beyond your own postal code was unwise, unsafe, and frowned upon. Gishani and I threw ourselves into more local and regional activities. We camped, we hiked, we biked, we gardened. And then we took a bit of a road trip south to Iowa in our 1976 Land Rover Series 3. The trip was a revelation. I won’t rehash it too much here, since I covered it in an earlier missive. But the slower pace, the decidedly analog experience, and the conversations it started with people we met en route made us want to do more of the same, perhaps even further afield. The problem was, as admirably as the 45-year old truck performed on the back highways of southern Minnesota, it would be a bit more of a liability on mountain passes and trips would take twice as long with a maximum safe cruising speed of about 45 miles per hour. 

We started looking into other means of doing similar trips, and settled briefly on a small camper trailer, specifically one called the “Scamp," a little 13-foot long fiberglass bubble made a few hours north of our home in Minnesota. We would tow it behind our Volvo SUV and criss-cross the country. I made an appointment to have a hitch installed and we expanded our tiny driveway to accommodate parking the trailer between trips. Then the Defender appeared for sale from a local importer who specializes in these impossibly cool vehicles. We decided to take it for a long test drive, and returned utterly smitten. All plans for the Scamp faded and we began scheming how we could turn this one into a camper. Its diesel motor was well known for its longevity, ample power, and great fuel economy. The two-door setup was ideal for building out a sleeping platform in the back, where we could look at the stars through the Alpine windows. A week later, it came home with us, after a thorough mechanical going-over.

To sleep, perchance to dream.

My optimism perhaps flies in the face of prevalent thinking about Land Rovers, especially older ones. But I have had good luck with my Series 3. In fact, the only time it stranded us was when the axle broke three blocks from home. On our long summer road trip, it was entirely trustworthy, if not quiet and comfortable. This two decade newer Defender seemed well cared for, its MOT inspection history (which you can find online) showed no major issues. And wow, what a difference coil springs and 17 years makes in a truck. To my skewed way of thinking, it is downright luxurious. Power steering! Heat that blows hot! All lights work! It even has more leg room than my old truck. A man could get spoiled. 

Within a week, I had ripped out the moisture trapping soundproofing foam and ugly shag carpeting the previous owners had added, deleted the ne’er-do-well enticing radio, and put new all-terrain tires on it. Then Gishani and I worked with a carpenter friend to build a custom sleeping platform in back, with storage boxes underneath that double as supports. We strung cords along the ceiling for clipping lights and bought a folding memory foam mattress that fits perfectly on the sleep platform. The bed is 75 inches long, exactly my height. At least if we break down, we’ll have a comfortable place to wait for rescue.

The master suite.

In my early experience with both Landies, I’ve already formed some impressions. “Giles” my old Series 3 oozes charm. It’s tiny but capable, sturdy but delicate, conjuring, in my Anglophile mind at least, tweedy weekend jaunts to a park for a walk and a cuppa. The Defender, tentatively nicknamed “Winston," with its black diamond plating on the wings, bull bar on the front, flared wheel arches and massive roof rack, is pure adventure. It looks eminently capable and the grunt and whistle of the turbo diesel inspire confidence. Whereas Giles is 1960s “Born Free," Winston is all “Camel Trophy,” even if our adventures don’t involve fording crocodile infested rivers or winching out of mud trenches.

I’ve been asked if we’ll keep both Land Rovers. Honestly, I don’t know. I hopped in Giles for a spin last week after not driving it for a while. It turned over on the first crank, the sporty Magnaflow exhaust belying its mere 70 horsepower. Driving Giles is a full body experience. With the oversized steering wheel, four-speed gearbox and leaf springs, there’s no such thing as distracted driving. It always brings a smile to my face. Our little parking pad, built for a Scamp trailer, fits Giles perfectly, and the old Scot might finally get a winter’s hibernation off of the icy roads. Winston can pull cars of snowbanks this year, in between wintry camping trips. I’d be sad to part with Giles, but time will tell if owning two is simply “always something to be done,” or ceases to make sense. But in a year when we cancelled trips, postponed my fiftieth birthday celebration, and missed seeing friends, I am chalking this latest indiscretion up to the coronavirus. A pandemic makes for a wonderful scapegoat, if nothing else. And we’re going to find joy where we can, even if that means owning two old, notoriously unreliable British trucks. So begins the Defender Era. May God have mercy on my soul.