It all started innocently enough.  I read some old LandRover magazines (The Review) and heard tales of my dad's wild adventures in a pair of LandRovers in the mid '60's.  Accidents with yoked oxen on the way to Panama, exciting break downs while getting on ferries with only transmission brakes, desert boots melting to the floorboards after driving 65 miles an hour for 24 hours straight, forging parking spaces on the streets of New York City by pushing cars apart in low gear range.  I was young, a freshman in high school, and hooked on the escapist day dreams that are a LandRover.
 

For me, It all began when we bought our first car at the local garage.  LittleCar was in rough shape and had been terribly neglected.  After coming to terms with the amount of missing and worn bits and a serious rear driver's side hit, we decided to try to look for a rover in better shape. Something that could be a more reliable daily driver.  Adds were placed in a number of local newspapers to try and locate that illusive perfect Rover.  The "one."  Instead we kept finding more cars in worse or similar shape and buying them.  Often justifications were made about some part needed to complete or augment LittleCar or then one of the others.  And then we couldn't stop.  Looking back on it I don't understand how or why we bought twelve LandRovers.  Try saying that to a normal person.  All I can say is that it all made sense at the time.  We have managed to sell a few over the years.  I sometimes regret that but thirteen is a really bad number.  Who knows, maybe we should sell some more...