Overland, underprepared

The first week was a trial by fire – metaphorically and almost literally. Blue Tit blew an exhaust manifold, accidently ran out of fuel and leaked coolant – none of which I was remotely equipped to fix. But she was just getting started. Our first major breakdown came in the Alpes-de-Haute-Provence, where two men in a battered estate car pulled over to ‘help’. Every self-preservation instinct I possessed told me to batten down the hatches, secure the perimeter and standby to repel boarders.

But as it turned out, this father and son duo came equipped not only with stories of dodging gunfire while emerald mining in the jungle (really), but also a genuine desire to help. Spinning a tale to the Anglophobic French flatbed driver that the son and I had recently become engaged, the ‘special’ €600 recovery fee quickly disappeared. One awkward but grateful hug with my new ‘fiancé’ later and we were back on the road. This was a pattern that endured over the following months – breaking down, not getting engaged, might I add.

Over the next few weeks, I started understanding Blue Tit’s quirks. We camped in the Alps, watching the sunset over snow-capped peaks, listening to cowbells while sipping the cheapest rosé money could buy. I learned to clean the carburettor jets on a dirt road in rural Italy, aided by a local mechanic whose primary job became ‘chief bonnet holder’ while I worked and an entire family watched spellbound emitting frequent ‘mamma mias’ – or maybe that bit was just in my head. We climbed mountain passes so slowly we were overtaken by cyclists. We tootled, we explored, we cooked and we slept, all in and on the mighty but less than entirely trusty Tit. And despite it all, I never wanted it to end.

But end it did, though even that turned out to be a beginning. Because just after I’d come home from the trip of a lifetime, I accidentally went viral.

I’d started posting about my trip on Instagram (@overintherover), mostly to document it for myself and friends. However, I then posted a rather silly video contrasting a very-well coiffed model pointing out various features on a gleaming Bentley with me, little old Tati, in my oil-stained overalls doing the same with Blue Tit. And to no one’s greater surprise than mine, it ended up reaching rather a lot of people. Over 23 million views last time I looked.

Out of nowhere and within a week, 50,000 people were following my account. So I sat down with my parents to try to work out what to do next. Delete the account was my preferred course of action, but my parents concluded that if I was being myself and having fun, why not just keep making silly videos?

Being home after that trip was strange. I didn’t want it to be over, but I also craved some home time. Even so, I knew from the moment we returned that after a few months of a solid roof and a warm bed, I’d want to do it all over again next summer. Just with fewer breakdowns. For the next nine months I juggled university, the constant and incessant breakdowns, and the beginnings of figuring out how to do this social media thing as a job.

I watched hours of YouTube tutorials, scoured forums, read very dusty books, asked for a lot of help and spent more time under Blue Tit than I did in my lecture theatre. I learned how to replace ignition coils, diagnose carburettor issues, and swap out spark plugs before they left me stranded. It was sometimes deeply frustrating and cold, but there was something incredibly satisfying about getting my hands dirty, methodically ticking off faults, often all by myself.

So, as soon as I graduated last year and had submitted my dissertation – How does the diaspora of Land Rovers reflect events in world politics? – Blue Tit and I headed for the Dolomites. No new countries, but a new record: only half of one breakdown. Spending less time with my head in the bonnet, I was able to properly enjoy the scenery in a way I hadn’t before. I hiked Mont Luco, explored Switzerland, and made new friends – both the goat and human varieties.

The videos I was making were gaining traction. In a very 21^st century move, I told my family I was going to give myself one year to be a full-time content creator. Eight months later, I’m writing this mid-way through a 3000-mile solo trip across the United States, driving an Ineos Grenadier from Aspen to California via Montana’s snowy mountain peaks and the spine of the Rockies. I am sitting at some random girl’s kitchen table, a girl I now call a friend, looking out onto Salt Lake City. The tent is dry after last night’s snow storm in Yellowstone, and I’ve even had a shower!

The opportunities social media has brought me have been incredible. I am lucky enough to have test driven everything from a Suzuki Jimny to a new Porsche 911 GT3 RS. And I’ve been invited to events like the Goodwood Revival, the British Grand Prix and even the F.A.T. International Ice Race in Austria. These experiences have deepened my interest and hunger to learn about cars and ensured a desire to keep exploring everything the car world has to offer.

But, of course, despite being on the road as I type, my mind is already on the next trip. This summer, I’m planning another. Car-wise I have something new (and very exciting) in the works, but for now, that’s staying under wraps.

The past two years have been a whirlwind, and I still can’t believe this is my life today. From knowing nothing about cars to fixing my own breakdowns in the middle of nowhere, to now travelling the world and sharing these adventures – it’s been an unexpected but incredible wave to surf. And right now I’m just hoping it never crashes. I look forward to sharing more of my adventures with you on Ti soon.