No Bad Rovers at the Campfire

They told me it would be fine. “Just show up,” someone said. “It’s not about polish, it’s about presence.”

Still, I hesitated. My Defender is one of the new ones — all sleek lines, touchscreen dash, and not a dent in sight. It handles like a dream but hasn’t yet earned the character that comes from years of trails and breakdowns. I worried it might stick out. Too clean. Too tech. Too... modern.

But I packed the essentials — sleeping bag, stove, a bottle of single malt — and followed the pin drop deep into the Belgian woods.

I was the last to arrive.

The trail opened into a clearing already humming with life. A semi-circle of Land Rovers stood proudly around a central fire — Series IIs with weathered canvas, Td5s with expedition racks, an ex-military 110 that looked like it had crossed continents. My Defender’s lights swept across the scene as I rolled in, and for a second, I thought of turning back.

Then someone waved me into a parking spot and approached with a mug of steaming coffee. “Welcome,” they said, grinning. “She’s a beauty. We saved you a seat by the fire.”

And just like that, I was home.

By nightfall, I was sitting beside a man who once drove across Norway in a rattling 200Tdi, and a woman who’d rebuilt her Defender from the axles up. We spoke of near misses and border crossings, of that one time in the Alps and the unexpected kindness of strangers. Our vehicles were miles apart in age and design — but around the campfire, they were all the same: companions on the trail, keepers of stories.

Dinner came straight off the fire — flame-seared Belgian beef, charred vegetables, and sauces made with the kind of care that comes from heritage. Someone shared a cast iron stew with foraged mushrooms. Someone else passed me a dram and said, “This tastes like the Highlands after rain.”

That night, I curled up in the back of my New Defender, wrapped in blankets, the faint smell of woodsmoke still clinging to my coat, the firelight still flickering behind my eyelids.

Morning came slow and quiet. Sunlight painted the bonnets of old and new Rovers alike. No pecking order. No comparisons. Just a shared coat of dust and the bond of the road.

Because that’s what Land Rovers & Campfires is: a place where age doesn’t matter. Where Series I and 2024 Defender sit side by side, admired not for how old or new they are, but for the spirit they carry. A place where you show up — however you arrive — and you’re met with stories, laughter, and something warm on the fire.

I came with a new Defender, wondering if I’d feel out of place. I left knowing that the only badge that matters around this campfire is the one on your heart: the one that says adventurer.

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