Words: Dan Pilling - Photography: Ivan Llagan
“The danger of adventure is worth a thousand days of ease and comfort.”
Paulo Coelho
That quote is swirling around my head as we meet to travel to the world’s largest automotive trade show, SEMA. If you enter the journey into your sat nav, it’s a four hour straight shot to the Strip, but straight shots rarely make for great stories. Instead, we’re going the hard way, through some of the most stunning scenery and toughest terrain.
This two day off road run was curated by the Petersen Automotive Museum with support from Optima Batteries and led by a trio who looked as comfortable in the desert as some of us do at Sunday brunch: Randy from KC HiLiTES, Dustin from Rugged Radios, and Martin from SoCalX. If SEMA is the ultimate gathering for automotive professionals, the journey to get there should be just as memorable as the show itself.
A quick briefing sets the tone: stay together, be respectful of the land, and, delivered with a smile, “don’t do anything that becomes a story for the wrong reasons.” With that, the convoy starts to form up and roll out.
The twenty seven car lineup was wonderfully diverse. Yes, the usual suspects, purpose built Jeep Wranglers with recovery gear on display, lifted 4Runners with souvenired scars from previous adventures. But there was also a brand new Lexus GX that looked like it had just rolled out of the showroom, as well as a late model Defender on steelies, ready to show that it wasn’t purchased just for the school run. The award for the most outrageous vehicle went to the Petersen for bringing a recently donated F150 prerunner. “It’s like bringing a bazooka to a knife fight,” one participant commented. Only time would tell if it was a case of all the gear and no idea.
Before heading off road, we aired down our tires, a crucial step for improving traction and ride comfort on loose terrain. Within minutes of leaving the pavement, we were creating a dust plume visible for over a mile. “We’re making our own weather system back here,” someone remarked over the radio. They weren’t wrong, the convoy looked like a horizontal sandstorm with KC running lights.
Day 1 served as a boot camp for desert driving and vehicle familiarization. The terrain wasted no time reminding us it needed to be respected. Loose gravel, sand, plenty of sand, technical rocky sections, steep climbs, and a few rare patches where the instructions were “you can open it up here.” The first hour was a learning curve where even the experienced drivers reacquainted themselves with the simple truth that momentum is your friend in the sand, and the occasional “maybe there was a better line through there” moment. By afternoon, rigs were climbing with more confidence and tackling obstacles that hours earlier had created long stares and deep breaths. Worried looks turned into wide smiles.
Just after sunset, the convoy rolled into AutoCamp Joshua Tree, our stop for the night. Picture polished Airstream trailers set among fire pits, like something from the 50s, the sunset soaked desert serving as our backdrop. This was not quite rugged camping, not quite a resort, but a comfortable middle ground that felt well earned. Day 1 had been a success. We had met that morning as strangers, we were now something closer to a team.
There was a buzz at dinner that night, sharing stories of close calls, best lines, and a new appreciation for how capable our steeds were. A few lighthearted awards were handed out, including “the vehicle we would most want to be in when escaping a velociraptor” and the “Ted Lasso Award” for the rig that showed us the most belief. Laughter and banter carried us into the evening as the desert sky turned black and star studded.
Day 2 was an early start, before the sun had the chance to claim the horizon. If we were going to get to Vegas before sunset, we would have to leave early, support each other, and, of course, savor the experience. If Day 1 was about learning our rigs, Day 2 was about using what we had learned.
The convoy felt different rolling out, tighter, more confident, almost instinctively cohesive. You could sense it in the spacing and the radio chatter. Some of the team now had nicknames. Off Roading Tortoise quickly became my favorite.
The morning’s first challenge was sand, deeper, softer, and more persistent than before. The rule in sand is simple, commit. Lift off the throttle at the wrong moment and momentum evaporates like water on a hot rock. Next came a steep sandy climb that demanded both nerve and technique. Martin gave instruction with the tone of someone who’s seen plenty go wrong: pick your line, build confidence, and once you’re in it, stay in it. One by one, the rigs lined up and took on the challenge. Top marks should go to the steelie Defender that looked like a majestic swan on the river Thames, barely any slippage and exceeding all spectators’ expectations. As for the Petersen bazooka, it handled slopes like a camel crossing the desert, sure footed and clearly in its element.
Midday delivered a surprise time capsule moment as we stopped for lunch on part of Route 66, in a small museum style town that looked lifted from a postcard. Vintage signage, memorabilia, and a tour of the Goffs archives provided us with a lunchtime education. Dust covered off roaders parked between relics of travel from decades past made for a contrasting tableau, the old highway spirit meeting modern off road adventure. It was the perfect reset, a chance to breathe, take photos, and appreciate that it wasn’t just about terrain, it was about connecting threads of automotive culture old and new.
A tighter, more technical section followed, a squeeze that had drivers folding mirrors and being more precise in their choice of path forward. Spotting became communal and the radio airwaves were full of supportive comments. This was a group operating at its new potential.
The afternoon delivered a final mix of terrain changes before the desert eventually softened into signs of civilization. Then in the distance, a vision of shiny light, it was like something from Mars. We could see the Ivanpah Solar Electric Generating System, causing us to wonder how close to Vegas we really were. As the distance grabbed our attention, we transitioned from dirt to tarmac, other vehicles coming the other way became a more regular sight, and it was clear our journey was almost over. There was almost a level of disappointment in the group when we realized our adventure was coming to an end.
Convoying into Vegas had a surreal quality. The hotel valet was sharing its supercars with a column of desert tested trucks that looked like they had taken a wrong turn out of a Baja stage. Pedestrians pointed, cameras were lifted, and somewhere between the neon and the dust, it hit us. We hadn’t just reached SEMA, we had earned our arrival. Our objectives for the trip were to stay safe, create memories, and develop new friendships. A big thank you to everyone who made that possible. Next year we may take the highway, but where would the fun be in that?
