Our Pedigree: A Life with Land Rovers
I grew up with Land Rovers. Not the Instagram kind, not the showroom kind — the real kind. The ones that rattle, leak, and pull to the left when it rains. The first car I ever drove was my dad’s 1965 Series 2A, on a bumpy field somewhere in the English countryside, probably wearing oversized wellies and a grin. That drive wasn’t just a rite of passage; it was the start of something that would shape the way I travelled, explored, and eventually built rigs of my own.
My dad had many Land Rovers over the years. There was a 1950s Series One that seemed to run more on patience than petrol. A few Series 2As that came and went, each with its own quirks and character. And the ultimate conversation starter — a Forward Control 101. If you know, you know. It was loud, boxy, and unapologetically weird. But to me, it was perfect. Growing up around these machines, it was impossible not to get hooked.
From early on, Land Rovers weren’t just vehicles in our family — they were the default setting. They were farm workhorses, snow-day saviours, weekend escape vehicles, and sometimes, just something to spend a Saturday fixing. Whether it was helping my dad bleed the brakes, topping up oil, or trying to figure out why something stopped working (again), those early experiences laid the foundation for how I approach overlanding now: practically, patiently, and with a healthy dose of humour.
Land Rover Life, American Edition
When I moved to the US, the love for Land Rovers came with me. Over the years, I owned three Range Rover Classics. One of them I built out specifically for off-road travel — or as we now call it, overlanding. Back then, the term wasn’t in every social media bio. It was just what we did: we packed a truck, headed west, and drove until the map got vague and the views got better.
In the US, I also pulled many a Series truck out of barns and garages, stripping parts and rebuilding them into one good, running, Series 3. It was the sort of hands-on experience that teaches you how to work with what you've got. One of my more rewarding projects was a full rebuild of a 1968 Series 2A 109 that had been abandoned for over 15 years. It had been home to generations of mice who'd eaten most of the interior, nested deep in the frame, and left more than a few surprises. But after a lot of elbow grease, I brought it back to life and eventually sold both of those rebuilds to help fund the 1988 Classic's many trips out west.
I took that Classic across the American West more times than I can count. Colorado, Utah, the Dakotas, New Mexico — places where the trails are long, the nights cold, and the people you meet along the way tend to be the kind that know how to change a tyre in the dark. I also made an annual pilgrimage to the Ottawa Valley Land Rover Club events. If you’ve ever been, you’ll know it’s not just about the trucks. It’s about the shared stories, the trailside fixes, the campfire chat, and the shared respect for machines that are equal parts rugged and ridiculous.
Over the years, I added to the list. A P38 came and went. for a short time, I had a ‘97 V8 Defender, the last of the line that were imported into the US before they stopped due to regulations. I sold it for $5k more than I bought it. Then an early L322 came along. I even owned an Evoque for a while — proof that Land Rover love comes in many forms, even if that one never got near the mud.
Back to the UK: Defender Dreams and L322 Reality
When I returned to the UK, there was only one way to celebrate: buy a Defender. And that’s exactly what I did. A 2010 Defender 90 Puma, which I kitted out properly for overlanding. Roof rack, drawer system, power upgrades, lighting — the works. It was everything I’d wanted in a go-anywhere setup, and I used it properly. Wales, Scotland, the Pyrenees. It did the miles, took the hits, and made the memories.
Then I got an offer I couldn’t refuse. One of those phone calls where someone says, “If you ever sell it...” and before you know it, the keys are gone. It stung a bit, if I’m honest. But in hindsight, it opened the door to what became one of the best vehicles I’ve ever built: my current L322.
People raise eyebrows when you say you’re building an L322 for overlanding. "Too complex," they say. "Too heavy." "Too unreliable." Maybe. But I love it. It’s comfortable on the road, surprisingly capable off it, and when set up right, it ticks more boxes than most people expect. I like to be different.
When I had the Defender, people would point, have photos taken not to it, I figured when the L322 came along, how wrong I was. That seems to even more people who point, stare, wave, maybe because they are not expecting what they see. Even so, it’s very special.
I’ve taken it across Spain and Portugal multiple times, through river crossings, dusty trails, steep switchbacks, and everything in between. And with each trip, it’s earned more respect.
Why It Matters
This isn’t just a list of cars I’ve owned. It’s a timeline of learning. Every Land Rover I’ve had — from that first Series 2A to the current L322 — has taught me something.
How to improvise a fix when you’re miles from help.
How to pack light, think ahead, and check your fluids.
How to plan a route, but be ready to change it.
How to build a rig that works for you, not the internet.
Overlanding4WD is built on that foundation. Not theory. Not fantasy. Real vehicles, real trips, real advice. I don’t claim to know everything, but I’ve put in the miles, made the mistakes, and found a rhythm that works.
Land Rovers are a big part of that story. They’re not perfect. They break, they leak, they argue with technology. But they also carry history, character, and charm. And when they’re dialled in, there’s nothing quite like them.
Carrying It Forward
I still love spotting an old Series truck in a field. I still turn around when a Defender rumbles past. And yes, I still have a soft spot for the absurd practicality of the 101 Forward Control. That will never change, and every now and again I catch myself waving at them, knowing full well, they won’t wave back at the L322, although, some do wave, or flash their lights.
The rigs may evolve, but the heart stays the same. Whether you’re new to Land Rovers or grew up in one like I did, I hope this story helps explain where Overlanding4WD comes from. It’s more than a brand. It’s a way of thinking. A way of travelling. A way of solving problems with a socket set and a stubborn streak.
And it all started with a muddy Series 2A, an old field, and a kid who just wanted to drive.
The rest, as they say, is history.