Tag: big lap prep

• What I Learned Testing Our 200Ah Lithium + 40L Engel Setup

  Before I get into this post, I want to take a moment to acknowledge my father‑in‑law, Kevin, who passed away this week at the age of 97. He was a man I admired deeply, and I’m grateful for the part he played in bringing my beautiful wife into the world. To Michelle and her family — all my love. Kev, you brought joy into my life from the day I met you. You are missed.

  Now, back to the journey ahead. We’ve started our nine months of leave and picked up the Ultimate, so it’s time to get some posts done.

  Before we hit the road for the big lap, I wanted to understand exactly how our power system behaves in the real world — not in brochures, not in YouTube reviews, but in our Trailblazer, with our gear, in the conditions we’ll actually live in.

  So I ran a simple test: a 200Ah lithium battery in the car, a 40L Engel running as a fridge on low, and the vehicle left untouched overnight.

  Here’s what I learned.

  The Engel barely sips power in fridge mode

  Overnight, the battery dropped only 1–2%, which works out to roughly 2–4Ah. For a 40L Engel running as a fridge, that’s incredibly efficient — and a reassuring sign that the system is healthy.

  This tells me:

  • The fridge is running efficiently
  • The battery is behaving exactly as it should
  • There are no hidden parasitic drains in the vehicle

  For everyday travel, this is the kind of baseline you want.

  Freezer mode will use more — but still manageable

  When we crank the Engel up to freezer temps and load it close to full, it will naturally draw more power. That’s just physics.

  But even then, with a 200Ah lithium, we’ve got plenty of buffer. The freezer will work harder, especially during the initial pull‑down, but once everything is frozen, the duty cycle settles.

  The takeaway:
  Freezer mode is totally doable — just expect a higher daily percentage drop.

  Safe discharge levels for lithium are generous

  LiFePO₄ batteries are happiest when you avoid the extremes. A good rule of thumb:

  • Try not to go below 20% for everyday use
  • 10% is fine occasionally
  • Anything above 20% is considered very battery‑friendly

  With our usage pattern, it’s unlikely we’ll ever get close to the danger zone.

  The 30A DC‑DC charger gives a predictable recharge rate

  A 30A charger pushes 30Ah per hour into the battery (minus whatever the fridge is using at the time). On a 200Ah battery, that’s roughly:

  • 15% per hour of driving
  • Or 13–14% per hour once you factor in the fridge draw

  This makes planning simple. If we ever dropped to 50%, a few hours of driving would bring us right back up.

  Real‑world conclusion: we’re comfortably off‑grid for days

  Based on the numbers, we can safely assume:

  • Around 15% battery use per day in fridge mode
  • Up to 5 days off‑grid without starting the car
  • Even more if we add the solar blanket into the mix

  And realistically, we’ll be starting the car every couple of days anyway. Add the solar blanket — which we can swap between the Trailblazer and the camper — and the system becomes even more forgiving.

  The system is ready for the lap

  This little test gave me exactly what I needed: confidence.

  We now know:

  • The Engel is efficient
  • The lithium is behaving perfectly
  • The DC‑DC charger gives predictable recovery
  • Our real‑world usage aligns with the trip we’re planning

  It’s one thing to read specs. It’s another to see your own numbers in your own setup. And based on this test, our power system is more than ready for the year on the road.

  March 21, 2026

  big lap prep, engel-fridge-test, lithium-battery-setup, off-grid-camping-power

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• The Search Begins: Shows, Hybrids, and Hard Lessons in Build Quality

  Over 30 years ago, I borrowed Dad’s 1964 Olympic van to camp at Evans Head each Christmas for four weeks. I never gave that van back. Instead, I grew my love of camping by tweaking it — adding a 100mm lift, a new kitchen, redoing the electronics with a 200amp lithium system, and repainting it in classic Kombi cream and blue. It became a home for Michelle and me, and I fantasised about towing it around Australia. The van was often the star of the campsites we visited, always an easy conversation starter. But as our travel ambitions grew, we realised the trusty caravan might not handle the places and roads we wanted to explore. So, the search began.

  When we finally allowed ourselves to dream seriously about doing the Big Lap, the first question was obvious: What are we going to travel in? After thirty years of caravans, kombis, tents, and everything in between, you’d think we’d know exactly what we wanted. Turns out, we didn’t. Not even close.

  What started as a fun idea quickly became a full‑time research project.

  Caravan Shows, Showrooms & the Spreadsheet Era

  I believe like everyone else starting this journey, we headed straight to the caravan shows. Rows and rows of shiny new vans, salespeople with rehearsed pitches, and layouts that all started to blur together after a few weekends.

  At first, it was exciting. Then it became overwhelming.

  So we did what we always do when things get complicated: we built a spreadsheet (thanks Telecom for sending me on all those Excel courses back in the 90’s).

  Weight, layout, build quality, off‑grid capability, resale value, price — if it could be measured, we measured it. If it could be compared, we compared it. And slowly, patterns started to emerge.

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  The Hybrid Temptation: TRex & Cub

  Two hybrids stood out immediately: the TRex and the Cub.

  Both were:

  • well‑designed
  • smartly engineered
  • built with care
  • genuinely capable

  They weren’t gimmicks — they were thoughtful solutions. For a while, we could really see ourselves in one of them.

  But the more we looked around the broader market, the more we realised how rare that level of quality actually was.

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  The Build Quality Reality Check

  This was the shock.

  Outside of the TRex and Cub, we kept running into vans and motorhomes that looked great from a distance… but up close told a different story.

  We saw:

  • flimsy cabinetry
  • staples where screws should be
  • wiring that looked rushed
  • drawers that didn’t close properly
  • heavy builds with poor weight distribution
  • big price tags attached to questionable workmanship

  It became clear that quality wasn’t the norm — it was the exception. And the exceptions came with a steep price.

  We weren’t looking for luxury. We were looking for something that would last.

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  The Slide‑On Detour (and a Few Head Bumps)

  Somewhere in the middle of all this, we even explored slide‑on campers. The idea was appealing: compact, flexible, and perfect for off‑grid travel.

  But there was one problem. A 6ft3 problem.

  I bonked my head in almost every single one. Some were close… but none were quite right. And if you can’t stand up straight in your own home-on-wheels, it’s not the right home.

  So slide‑ons were crossed off the list.

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  The Three Serious Contenders

  After months of research, we narrowed it down to three real options:

  1. Two caravans that actually met our standards

  Good build quality, sensible layouts, and reasonable pricing. They were rare finds — the exception, not the rule.

  2. A Mercedes van we’d fit out ourselves

  This idea had real appeal. We could build exactly what we wanted, with the materials we trusted, and the layout that suited us. The rebuild of the kitchen, beds and clothes cupboards in the Olympic gave me the confidence that I had the skills set to do this, but once we costed it properly — insulation, cabinetry, electrics, plumbing, windows, labour — the numbers came in at $150K.

  That was a sobering moment.

  We realised we were on the verge of spending a small fortune, and still not feeling confident about the outcome.

  The Turning Point

  It was during this period — tired, overloaded with information, and knee‑deep in spreadsheets — that the Ultimate Caravan first appeared on our radar.

  At the time, it was just another option to investigate. We had no idea it would end up changing everything.

  But that’s a story for the next post.

  January 25, 2026

  big lap prep, build quality, caravan research, reflections, shows & expos

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• We are finally getting the chance to do what me and Shelly want to do: The Beginning of Our Big Lap

  Well… here we go. It’s getting real now. We’re just about there, and it’s time to jump.
  It reminds me of that sunset in Vang Vieng, Laos, when we climbed into a hot‑air balloon for the very first time. The sky was turning gold, our nerves were buzzing, and then we met two young travellers who were even more terrified than we were. So, we slipped on our “we’ll look after you” shoes, steadied the moment, and ended up having one of the most unforgettable adventures of our lives.
  This whole Workfree Wandering thing has a similar feel — a mix of nerves, excitement, and that sense of stepping into something bigger than we expected.
  Bring it on.

  The Beginning:
  I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how journeys really begin. Not the day you hitch up the van or roll out of the driveway, but the quiet, older beginnings — the ones that happened long before you realised you were part of a story already in motion.

  For me, this next chapter — time on the road with Michelle and Fizz, circling this great country of ours — starts with two young migrants stepping off a ship in the 1950s. My parents were Ten Pound Poms, part of that wave of hopeful families who traded grey skies for the unknown. They arrived with little more than determination, a few suitcases, and the kind of optimism you only get when you’re brave enough to start again.

  Dad was a mechanic who loved tinkering at home and loved creating stuff. He early on started modifying vans turning them into mini motorhomes. I believe he may have been the first person in Aussie that installed a pop up roof into I think a Morris vans. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was clever, practical, and quietly pioneering, and it kicked off my love of being on the road. Every Xmas we made the trip from Brisbane to Sydney and back again along the coast road. He also gave me the love of camping and having a piece of home with you wherever you are. I belive Dad passed on some of that creativity into me: the idea that you don’t need a spotlight to build something meaningful. You just need to show up, solve problems, and keep moving forward.

  Maybe that’s why this Big Lap feels less like an escape and more like a continuation. A chance to honour where I’ve come from by choosing a life that values curiosity, resilience, and the courage to step into the unknown.

  Over the past year, we’ve been downsizing, sorting, gifting, and letting go — not just of things, but of old rhythms and expectations. My 2019 Holden Trailblazer 7 seater LTZ has been stripped, rebuilt, wired, rethought, and re‑imagined. The caravan is nearly ready. The checklists are multiplying (as they do). And somewhere in the middle of all that, the shift happened: the moment where this stopped being a plan and became a promise.

  A promise to slow down. A promise to meet people who see the world the way we do. A promise to tell the stories that matter — the funny ones, the hard ones, the ones that remind us why we chose this life.

  This blog won’t be a highlight reel. It won’t be curated perfection. It’ll be a record — for us, for family, for anyone who’s ever wondered what happens when you stop saying “one day” and start saying “now”.

  So here it is. The beginning.

  A journey that started on a ship in the 50s, passed through a van workshop, wound its way through decades of work and family and responsibility, and now — finally — leads to the open road.

  Stay tuned for the next post, where we’ll dive into the practical preparations, the gear choices, and the little surprises that come with getting ready for a year on the road. We’d love to have you along for every step of the journey.

  We’re nearly ready. And I can’t wait to see who we meet out there.

  January 21, 2026

  big lap prep, life transition, new beginnings, shell

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