John Hennessey, the CEO of Mammoth Overland, and his Extinction-Level Event camper, a vehicle designed to withstand the apocalypse.

 John Hennessey, the CEO of Mammoth Overland, and his Extinction-Level Event camper, a vehicle designed to withstand the apocalypse.

Mammoth’s CEO, John Hennessey, breaks down its functions: In the event of an apocalypse, you need air, water, defense, shelter. Sealed like an airplane, it’s apparently impervious to secondhand wildfire smoke, and has a medical-grade air purification system. It carries 22 gallons of water, and has, I’m told, a filtration system that could purify a mud puddle. It has all-steel four-pin submarine doors, with a rooftop escape hatch. There is weapon storage inside—both handguns and rifles. With the press of a button you can shoot bear spray up to 25 feet. There are night-vision cameras on gimbals. You can launch a drone from inside it.

A common critique of overlanding is that it’s just a marketing term for camping. As Chris from Hot Springs puts it, “It’s a lotta guys with rooftop tents and insane amounts of gear they never take out of their garage. A lot of it looks a little too pristine.”

It’s not long before whatever pristine gear folks brought gets thoroughly tested. I’m moving through rows of tents and trucks on a clear, 80-degree morning when lightning cracks and the temp seemingly plummets twenty-degrees in seconds. We’re hit with a full-on Lear-like gale. Wind, hail. Folks run for cover beneath the display awnings. I crack my umbrella, which fails to open, then reach into my pack for my hoodie. I haven’t got it.