It's just after 9 a.m. on Sunday morning, and apart from an occasional bird song and the sound of a metal spoon lazily stirring coffee in a stainless steel cup, the campsite is silent. A few people-the smart ones-are still tucked away in their warm sleeping bags, but others are quietly preparing breakfast, walking dogs, or checking out the long line of dew-covered Jeeps parked nearby.
A minute later, there's one thing disturbing the morning serenity, and it's kind of hard to ignore: a 28-year-old madman in an overbuilt, bright-yellow Jeep TJ attempting to drive up and over a 6-foot-high sand-cliff. No matter. That's what we're here for.
A small crowd gathers on the cliff top as the driver, undaunted, readies his Jeep for battle. The electric supercharger whirs to life, both differential locks smoothly engage, and the transfer-case lever slides into 4-Lo with a satisfying gear-notch clunk, a sound that-for those who know-hints at what's to come.
Wearing a muscle shirt, a dark blue "Jeep" cap and Oakley sunglasses, the driver beams a quick smile at his friends, takes his foot off the brake pedal, and disengages the clutch. The front of the Jeep shudders forward in locker-induced anticipation like an overexcited, well-trained dog held on leash. Without flinching, he puts the pedal to the floor mat and the inline-six roars to life with that deep, distinctive air-thirsty rumble. All four wheels respond instantly, spraying a steady stream of soil, sand, and beach grass, and the big Jeep lunges toward the cliff like a soldier determined to dodge every bullet and make it up, come hell or high water.
Without warning, the frontend lifts, and both wheels claw uselessly at the sky, but the madman persists. Somehow the rear wheels keep churning that wall of earth, fighting for every inch, pushing the Jeep higher and higher. Then, a shuddering crunch: wheels, axles, and skidplates come down hard. But it's all good: No damage, no problem. The cliff has been conquered, the Jeep is victorious, and the driver and his friends are jubilant. Cameras click, people applaud and "Woot!," and the next Jeep-a blue Cherokee with a 6-inch lift, custom suspension, and a little V-8 power courtesy of a heart transplant-lines up to repeat a ritual that will be seen and heard many times today but with vastly different, though no less entertaining, results.
The Jeep Owners Club (JOC)...
The Jeep Owners Club (JOC) of Japan comprises some 200 Jeep fanatics who 'wheel their flatfenders, CJs, YJs, and Cherokees along the thousands of miles of fire roads, logging roads, and Jeep trails that crisscross the mountainous interior of Japan's main island, Honshu, as well as the remote beaches of northernmost Hokkaido.
A typical Sunday wheeling with friends on the sand dunes of Oregon, the beaches of California, or the lake shores of Colorado? Not exactly. This very American ritual is taking place halfway around the world, on the northern Japanese island of Hokkaido. These hard-core cliff-crawlers are members of the Jeep Owners Club of Japan (JOC), a group of more than 200 Jeep loyalists doing its thing in the land of the Land Cruiser.
The JOC was established as a place for Japanese fans of American Jeeps (from the earliest Willys-Overlands to the latest DaimlerChryslers) to get together and share ideas, swap stories (and parts), and drive their modified rigs on some of the toughest terrain this side of Iwo Jima. Membership is open to anyone-as long as they drive a Jeep-but the JOC isn't for Judo-moms or SUV poseurs. This is a club for serious Jeep aficionados, people who think a bad day on the trail-even one that includes winching, minor body damage, and the occasional rollover-is better than a good day anywhere else.
JOC founder Toshihiko Sasaki...
JOC founder Toshihiko Sasaki rates his Jeep Cherokee over the plethora of native Pajeros, Patrols, and Land Cruisers.
Japan may seem like an unlikely place for a Jeep club-after all, it's tiny, overpopulated, and paved, right? Wrong. At just over 177,000 square miles, Japan is only slightly smaller than California and larger than Great Britain. The population is concentrated in urban centers, so outside the mega-cities, the countryside is rural, rustic, and remote. Sprawling forests cover more than 65 percent of the land, mountains and hills account for more than 80 percent, and residential areas-cities, towns, and villages-make up just 5 percent. Bear warnings are common in spring and the winter climate is severe, especially in Hokkaido, where snow falls by the truckload. In this sense, Japan is one big country, especially for those who know where to go and how to get there.
In addition to superhighways and bullet trains, all of this rugged, hilly terrain is connected by a network of rarely-used dirt roads, Jeep trails, and farmland green-lanes. Combined with spectacular natural scenery, dozens of off-road parks, 4x4 specialty shops, and countryside that is open to the public and used responsibly-not locked behind gates and over-protected-and Japan seems more like a four-wheeler's paradise than an overdeveloped Megalopolis.