My first experience with LandRovers came in Africa. As a boy, I read Daktari and marveled at Marlin Perkins' Wild Kingdom. What a life! Running around endless plains chasing zebra and gazelle. Marlin always rode in a strange, rugged truck with a tire on the hood. I had no idea what that truck was at the time. While in the Navy, I got to go to Africa several times. Travel was the only promise kept. When my ship would pull into Mombasa, Kenya, I would buy a load of Tuskers beer, hire the same driver who spoke no English, and we would set out to explore the Tsavo plains in his old LandRover. Zebra we would chase. Gazelle were everywhere. Once a bull elephant chased us! I had never felt such exuberant freedom and unrestricted wild spaces.
After I left the Navy, I began an ordinary life. One of my friends, JT Nesbitt, started riding his MotoGuzzi chopper around the United States, and writing for a motorcycle magazine, Iron Horse. While piloting the Mopackle (his chopper) through Oregon, he began to discern some bad juju was in his crankcase. JT pressed on for several miles until the inevitable happened....Mopackle went kaput. Not one to cry over spilled milk, JT found a bar and a beer. While crying in his beer, he glanced up and saw the Rover across the street. It was for sale. Ever since seeing "The Gods Must Be Crazy" he had lusted for a Rover. So the plan was hatched.
He bought the Rover with the last of his money, and loaded the bike in the back. JT knew nothing about Rovers in particular, nor Brit vehicles in general. Such innocence allows these decisions. The plan was to drive the Rover to California, where he would sell it to a surfer for enough money to fix the MotoGuzzi, and be on his way. Now that would be a great story for Iron Horse!
JT made it to San Francisco, but not without problems. Lucas, The Prince of Darkness reared his ugly head. While descending a mountain switchback, all the lights began to flicker. But JT was not to be stopped in the middle of the night for something like this. The MotoGuzzi ran on a car battery, which he promptly took out and installed in the Rover. Alas, Lucas had the last say. JT did not realize the Rover was a positive ground electrical system. In a shower of sparks and smoke he fried every jury rigged wire in the Rover. In the black of night, he stripped wire from the motorcycle, enough to make the Rover continue with one dim headlight. When he arrived in San Francisco, he learned that he had grossly overestimated the value of the Rover. Due to the extensive frame and bulkhead rust, it had no resale value.
It was time to regroup. With a scored crank, the MotoGuzzi was beyond his ability to repair quickly or cheaply. What he had was the Rover, a slow, rusty noisebox that could ignite and consume all within at any time. With little money and a lot of trepidation, he pointed the grill east and began a slow journey home.