Overland Journal Fall 2011

The World’s
72
Overland Journal Fall 2011
Take a motorhome
on your next overland trek…
(Psst...you can if it is a VW Syncro Bus)
Favorite Bus
73
By S. Lucas Valdes and Jad Josey
Overland Journal Fall 2011
The sound
cracked across the valley like a
grenade
going off—BANG!
“What was that?” I thought to myself. Then I heard a more familiar—ping, chug, chug, ping. I cringed.
There is nothing quite like the resonance of a ring and pinion set meeting its demise. I watched
helplessly as my friend Taylor’s VW Syncro lurched to a halt on a precariously steep incline. Jaden,
Taylor’s 11-year-old son, who had been honing his 4WD skills since the tender age of eight, was
having a “training session.” He had revved the engine to about 6,000 rpm and dumped the clutch.
Over the CB radio I heard Taylor say solemnly, “Yeah, it’s just as bad as it sounded.”
This certainly wasn’t good. We were seven Syncro Westys in the middle of nowhere, 600 miles
below the border in Baja, Mexico, and had not seen a paved road for 10 days. The ring and pinion
was most likely destroyed, and we were a two-day drive from the natural hot springs that would
mark the beginning of the end of our journey. The rugged switchback Taylor was perched on had
not been traveled in some time—but this was the reason we chose this route.
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It could be worse, though. My large electric fridge was well stocked
with cold ballenas (quart-sized beers), fresh-caught fish, and tequila.
Beneath the steady Baja sun, the solar panel mounted on the poptop roof could keep us supplied with electricity almost indefinitely—
however, our beer supply, though plentiful, was finite. Our cupboards
were stocked with black beans, tortillas, hot sauce, limes, and jalapeños.
Heck, if we were stuck here all night—all week, for that matter—we
could simply pop the top of our Westy and have a solid night’s sleep.
One of the nice things about driving Syncros: In under twenty
minutes we could “circle the wagons,” be comfortably camped, and
look like we’d been there for weeks. For us, these vehicles are much
more than metal and machine. Hearing the ping, chug, ping—this was
personal.
“I’ll be right there,” I answered into the CB handset. I grabbed my
tools and kissed my wife, Kathy, who had slipped into the rear seat,
pulled two Pacificos from the fridge, and was already slicing a lime into
thick wedges. “Wherever we end up,” she said, “we’ll be fine.” She was
right, of course. And it wasn’t the first time she’d spoken those words.
Kathy and I were married in June of 1985. I knew I’d found the
Overland Journal Fall 2011
right woman when she enthusiastically agreed to a honeymoon that
involved a three-month circumnavigation of the continent in our red
1970 Westfalia camper. We packed everything we owned into a small
storage unit and hit the road, meandering east on a sweeping counter-clockwise route. We ended up in Bar Harbor, Maine, where we
boarded a ferry to Nova Scotia. One afternoon, we found ourselves
hunkered down in the bus somewhere outside of Dartmouth. It was
raining so hard neither of us wanted to get out. We sat in our cozy
travel capsule, writing postcards that doubled as thank you notes for
wedding gifts. Within moments, a storm broke out inside the vehicle—
we were having our first fight. One of us surely would have stormed
off, but there was nowhere to go. We’d committed ourselves to this
home-on-wheels, and we were stuck with one another. Before long,
somehow, we were both laughing. Call it campervan catharsis, but
there was simply no way to stay angry in a vehicle as happy as our bus.
“No matter where we go in this bus,” Kathy said, “things seem to
turn out just fine.” The postcards we wrote that day might have been
stained with tears of anger, tears of laughter, or simply Canadian-sized
raindrops.
American Love Affair
When I was 14 years old, a friend’s dad owned a 1966 Westfalia
pop-top camper. It was a time in my life when the idea of getting out
of the house and away from my family was very appealing, and that
little VW Bus, with its funky two-piece windshield and square pop-top,
looked like freedom. I remember staring at that bus, imagining all the
places I could go—and as it would turn out, I was not alone.
Until the mid-1950s, Volkswagen only made one type of vehicle:
the Beetle. Then came the Micro Bus, VW’s second offering (hence
the Type II moniker). It was then that the vehicular and recreational
worlds collided with irreversible results. Volkswagen produced three
generations of rear-engine vans. The 50s-style “Splitties,” so called
because of their two-piece, split-window design, were produced until
1967. The “Bay Window” was introduced in 1968 and manufactured
for thirteen years, and the Vanagon from 1980 through 1991.
Today, when driving my 1979, or newer 4WD Syncro, I can’t go
anywhere without somebody stopping me to say they knew somebody
who owned one, or they had one themselves. “Wow, is that thing really
4WD?” and “I should have never sold mine!” are common. It might
be a daydreaming teenager, as I once was—or a couple in their 70s
reminiscing about traveling with their kids in a Type II. Admiration for
the beloved bus seems to span all ages and backgrounds.
Youth, Rivers, and Bus Bravado
Classic bus ad images If you were wondering where Hannibal,
Eezi-Awn, and ARB got the idea for a roof top tent, buses were fitted with pop-tops, such as this vintage unit from Sportsmobile, as
early as the 1960s. From its inception, the VW bus was promoted
as a platform for outdoor adventure. With ample room for coolers,
BBQs, and passengers, it was not uncommon to see VW buses used
as everything from campers and beach roamers, to commuters and
construction vehicles.
Youth is the lowest common denominator of poor judgment.
When I began exploring the vast countryside of Baja in a 1979 Bay
Window Bus, I had plenty of the former and a prerequisite amount
of the latter. The year was 1987, and the Bay Window was the most
modern VW bus to date.
We were 150 miles deep into Baja near Laguna Hanson, staring at
a fairly wide river crossing. In the back were my two-year-old son and
my pregnant wife. In the passenger seat was my brother-in-law with a
wide grin on his face.
“Looks pretty deep,” he said. That smile was somewhat maniacal,
but it gave me a strange sense of bravado.
“Yeah,” I said. “But I think we can make it with a good running
start.”
It was a warm fall day and we had been cruising with the sliding door wide open. Our bus was fully equipped, and by that, I mean
that it had a “fridge,” a cook stove, and a pop-top. What it lacked, of
course, was anything resembling a suspension lift, differential lockers,
or self-rescue equipment. Perhaps there is some direct correlation between a “cozy as home” feeling and that of invincibility. We had no
map, very little fuel, our youth, and a sense of indestructibility that was
almost palpable.
I put the bus into reverse, backed up about 50 yards, and eyed
my line across the river. A thought suddenly crossed my mind. “What
about my wife, my two-year-old son, my unborn daughter?” I put the
bus in neutral, pulled the parking brake, slid out of the driver’s seat and
walked around to the sliding door.
“Safety first,” I said, and I slid the door shut.
As I climbed back behind the wheel, my brother-in-law gave me
a nod of approval. It was clear that we were both thinking the same
thing: Got to watch out for the women and children.
Overland Journal Fall 2011
75
The Syncro: part motorhome, part Jeep
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1.
4.
8.
2.
5.
9.
3.
6.
10.
11.
12.
7.
12.
Seatbelts were buckled, the sliding door was closed, and the road to
freedom sat squarely within our view on the other side of the river. I
pushed the accelerator pedal to the floor and wound out first gear, then
grabbed second. We hit the water going about 30 mph—it must have
been a sight to see. Halfway across we lost traction, in layman’s terms,
we were now “floating.” Luckily, we had generated enough momentum
to keep moving forward until the rear wheels grabbed river rocks—we
emerged on the other side.
My hands were shaking with adrenalin. “I think we should get a
Jeep,” my brother-in-law said. He looked only slightly less invincible
than he had on the other side of the river, but I could tell his confidence was rattled. “No way,” said Kathy from the backseat. She was
still smiling. “There’s no place to hang curtains in a Jeep, and no place
to sleep, either.” She had unbuckled her seat belt and began preparing
some sandwiches. “Wherever we end up,” she said, “we’ll be just fine.”
The Water Boxer
With German roots, and based on the 1948 Volkswagen Beetle
motor (right down to the cylinder head bolt pattern), the “Water
Boxer” was the last in a long line of VW’s horizontally-opposed,
four-cylinder engines. It was water-cooled instead of air-cooled
(thus the moniker), beautifully efficient and reliable, and simple to
work on.
Opposite:
1. Upstairs bunk in a Vanagon Westy camper.
2. The interior of a Westy is spacious and has all the amenities of
home.
3. Plug-ins on the front and rear bumpers provide for the use of a
“portable” Warn 6,000 lb winch.
4. The undercarriage, when modified with suitable skid plates, is almost indestructible and fully protects the drive train.
5. The 30° and 45° points are red for a reason. It is the tilting point of
no return.
6. Though hard-mounted showers are available, solar units work well,
take very little space, and are the preferred method of many Westy
owners.
7. The rear seat folded down provides for a full-length bed for two.
8. The “locker indicator” appeared in all Syncros with a rear locking
differential, but only with the right-most knob. This is a true “triple
knob” console for vehicles with front and rear lockers.
9. There is plenty of room under the front seats for air compressors,
solar panel controllers and accessory electronics or radios.
10.All VW buses have 4-wheel independent suspensions and good
ground clearance. This Westy has been upgraded with FOX Shocks
and GoWesty 2-inch springs. The rubber flap with the hole in it is a
CV joint protector.
11.Though the dash is almost nonexistent, the cab of the Syncro is
spacious and visibility is exceptional.
12.A feature of the VW bus is that the engine/transaxle assembly is
directly over the rear wheels, thus providing for near 50/50 weight
distribution.
The Gen III Bus
The third generation of the rear-engine van was the VW Vanagon,
introduced in 1980. The first four years of production featured some
of the most profound examples of engineering schizophrenia in automotive history. The ’80 and ’81 models used the same 75 hp, 2.0-liter
air-cooled engines as the preceding buses. In late 1981, VW decided to
add a radiator and offer a 48 hp diesel—that’s right, 48 horsepower. It
was as though the German engineers thought that 75 might “break”
something. In less than two years, they scrapped the air-cooled and
diesel variants for a new version of the 1.6-liter Beetle engine—watercooled and punched out to a whopping 1.9 liters. Thus the VW “Water
Boxer” was born. But those crafty Germans weren’t done yet. In 1986,
they redesigned the entire cooling system and upped the engine displacement to 2.1 liters—now offering a blistering 90 hp.
Part Jeep, part motorhome—The Syncro
After my Baja river-fording experience, I was hungry for a van that
could provide the same sort of self-contained adventure, but with a
stronger, more capable platform for getting off the beaten path. Maybe a 4WD. Enter the Vanagon Syncro.
There had been rumors about VW producing a 4WD version of
the Vanagon, but the rumor mill is strong and the results often nebulous. In this case, VW came through, and in 1986 introduced the Syncro. The basic platform was there—super rugged and rigid unitized
body design, independent 4-CV joint suspension front and rear, and
a near-perfect 50/50 weight distribution. With a 96-inch wheelbase, it
could be maneuvered like a forklift. However, schizophrenia had run
amok among the array of German engineering head-scratchers.
The original design was to have 2WD and 4WD selection on-thefly, and lockable differentials front and rear. Ironically, VW never produced such a vehicle. Though all Syncros were wired to accommodate
the aforementioned options, most left the factory empty handed. It was
basically an “all-wheel-drive” vehicle stuck in a pseudo-4WD. (A fair
share were fitted with a rear locking differential). The Syncro endured
six tumultuous years (none were sold in 1988), and in 1991, export to
the U.S. ended. It is not clear how many Syncros were produced, but
most agree that fewer than 2,000 pop-top models landed on American
soil—enough to stir the imaginations of VW Bus dreamers like me.
Today, Syncro aficionados can complete what VW had overlooked.
Straightforward modifications include on-the-fly 4WD, locking front
Overland Journal Fall 2011
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The VW Westy has a loyal following and has been utilized for overland travel since its inception. (El Toro, Baja)
78
In all the years of
trekking southward,
we’ve never had to
leave a van behind—
or tow one out.
and rear differentials, suspension lifts, taller tires and larger engines—up
to 2.5 liters. VW Bus nirvana coupled with true 4WD capability. The
dream has become a reality.
Case in point: Even hard-core Jeep guys like my friend Ned Bacon
have become believers. As an auto-journalist, Ned has spent most of
his professional life reporting on the most capable 4WD vehicles on the
planet—his overlanding vehicle of choice… a 1986 Syncro Vanagon.
Syncros posses character that is hard to define. In addition to being
capable and practical, they are a barrel of monkeys to drive. It might
be their size, boxy appearance, or that you sit RIGHT ON TOP of the
front wheels. Driving off-pavement or in town, visibility is simply unparalleled. The fact that the engine and transaxle are in the rear, means
the front suspension is much less rigid than that of front-engine vehicles. This translates to the feeling of riding on air. In my opinion,
the Syncro can stand toe-to-toe with any 4WD vehicle. Of course, I’m
admittedly biased.
Back to the Ring & Pinion
As I climbed under Taylor’s van, I was struck by the peculiarity of
the moment. There we were, hundreds of miles away from the droning Los Angeles traffic—sixteen people, four dogs and seven Syncros.
People were milling around, grabbing lunch fixins’ from their fridges, or
popping up their tops for some midday respite. Damon, a young filmOverland Journal Fall 2011
80
maker collecting footage (and memories) for his upcoming movie, The
Bus, leaned in close with his camera to document our makeshift repair.
An observer from outside our Vanagon clan would surely find this
scene exceptionally hard to grasp, if not downright unbelievable. To
our group, though, this was just another day of exploration, another
obstacle to navigate—we had piloted many in the preceding days.
We had come from an isolated stretch of shoreline known as La
Playa Perdida, (The Lost Coast.) Greeted by empty beaches and abundant fishing, we’d spent the first night camped on a bluff overlooking
the Pacific. Though strong winds buffeted our vehicles throughout the
night, we slept warm and dry in the Westy’s pop-top tents. At some
point in the dark of night, a 40-foot sailboat, piloted by a Canadian
couple, ran aground on the rocky shore not 200 yards from our camp.
In the morning we helped the castaways the best we could; loaning
them a satellite phone and off-loading cargo from the boat they’d called
home for the previous eight years. We were struck by the juxtaposition
of our experiences. However, their enthusiastic attempt to purchase
Editors note: S. Lucas Valdes, owner of Go Westy in Los Osos, California, is
an expert in the field of VW Buses and Syncro Vanagons. He has turned a lifelong passion into a full-time business that employs over 30 people. After a stint in
Baja with Ned Bacon’s Syncro, I was so impressed with these iconic, rear-engine
fun-mobiles, I asked Lucas if he would share his knowledge with us, the Syncrolaymen of the world. The “Bay Window” Bus to his left is the same overlanding
’79 from his “youthful” days. It is now fully restored and semi-retired. Not sure
about the dog…
Overland Journal Fall 2011
Photo by Taylor Grant
Ristau
Photo by Damon
Cataviña, Baja
one of our vehicles only served to highlight the similarities of
our collective situation. Though we politely declined the offer,
it was hard not to think, “they just lost their traveling home,
and they desperately want to replace it with one of ours.”
That night we relocated from our bluff camp to seek shelter
from the relentless onshore wind. Tucking the vehicles into a
tight arroyo for the next few days, we relished in the dexterity
of our Syncros and were thankful to be safe and comfortable
in this remote landscape. The feeling made all the more poignant by the devastation of the shipwreck.
As luck would have it, the ring gear in Taylor’s Syncro
had lost just enough teeth for us to perform a semi-magical
repair. We removed the rear axles and positioned the ring
gear (still with missing teeth) in just the right spot to clear the
pinion. He was able to travel the remaining 800 miles of the
trip with only his front wheels pulling him onward.
One of the most enticing attributes of the Syncro is the
simplicity of its systems. When we head to the backcountry, a small
roof-mounted Pelican case holds virtually every part that is likely to
fail. The comfort and self-reliance born of this knowledge is priceless.
In all the years of trekking southward, we’ve never had to leave a van
behind—or tow one out.
That night we circled the wagons in a wide, dry lakebed, cracked in
almost-perfect geometric patterns. We laughed about the previous 48
hours as we crunched our way around our improvised campsite, pulling firewood from the luggage racks and passing around cold ballenas.
As the sky grew milky with stars, I walked away from the group and
watched the scene play out from afar. The desert was quiet and still. The
pop-tops pointed skyward, canoes, surfboards and kayaks were silhouetted against the dark backdrop of mountains in the distance. Embers
from the campfire floated upward, casting a warm hue on our band of
Westys. I could smell fish frying on an open grill and tortillas warming
on the stove. There I was, surrounded by my family and friends, my
VW Syncro glowing in the firelight. Hundreds of miles from the place
where my mail arrives, I never felt closer to home.