Feature: Where the Wild Things Are
February 1, 2008
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And our rough and tumble expedition into the
insect-infested rainforest of western Belize feels like a war game, as we travel
from Sacbe to Oxwitza, a pair of equally obscure jungle towns. Like sitting
ducks, our procession of Land Rover LR3s and Range Rovers slowly wends through
dense undergrowth. It’s not called a rainforest for nothing, looking every bit
like the set from Jurassic
Park. A drizzle has produced a thick yet slick mud, and
the primary challenge is maintaining whatever momentum I can muster to clear the
next rolling incline. Every once in a while, my driving instructor (a.k.a. handy
backseat driver) urges me to whipsaw the steering wheel back and forth as a
method of gaining traction. But mostly, we follow the ruts made by the lead
vehicle.
An hour later—and only three miles in—as we trample into the
thickest part of the jungle, a shot rings out. Armed bandits spring to mind, but
the blast originates from the front left wheel well of my LR3. Almost
immediately, an error message lights up the dashboard. As it turns out, a pointy
stick—of which the jungle maintains a seemingly endless supply—has punctured the
LR3’s trick air bladder suspension, dropping the lofty sport-utility vehicle to
rest on its bump stops. Low-riding Land Rovers may be all the rage on city
streets, but this concession to urban chic proves impractical off road. So
rather than follow our intended course, which would only result in even more
rugged terrain, we are forced to turn back. Game over.
For the next seven hours, Land Rover’s team of off-road experts
winch the disabled SUV from rock to rock and from tree to tree, which proves to
be a slow, laborious method of travel. Occasionally, someone whacks a vine or
wayward branch with a machete in order to get a better angle on a tree trunk.
I have time to consider the architectural achievements of the
ancient Mayan civilization—namely, the enormous pyramids being unearthed in
places like Caracol—which were built by people who tamed the forest to gather
giant rocks from around the region. You would have a hard time fitting even one
of those carved boulders into the back of a Range Rover. And, even with hill
descent control activated, I’ve learned it’s no small feat getting a
sport-utility vehicle to cover wet ground. The idea of moving all that raw
material without the aid of motorized transport and winches is nearly
unfathomable.
Hours pass with almost imperceptible progress, except that
ever-expanding sweat stains eventually consume the crews’ entire uniforms, from
their khaki-colored mosquito-repellent shirts to their water-resistant cargo
pants. The effort to drag a broken vehicle out of the muck is truly something to
behold. The day, along with the hobbled LR3, drags on until our convoy finally
emerges from the forest at nightfall, and turns back on the highway from whence
we had originated earlier in the morning.
Sometimes you conquer the jungle, and sometimes the jungle
conquers you.
For those who don’t consider gun-toting bandits, tropical
insects and suspension-maiming foliage part of the off-road fun—I might put
myself in this category—Land Rover offers the Land Rover Experience Driving
School at three locations in the relatively civilized calm of North America.
You’re unlikely to encounter anyone more dangerous than a golfer who lost his
way, and should the mechanical gods become mischievous, you can rest assured
that a five-star resort is only a short walk away.
Land Rover, 800.346.3493, www.landroverusa.com
Land Rover Experience Driving Schools, 800.239.0533, www.landroverusa.com/drivingschools
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