Edition: U.S. / Global

DRIVING; Drawn to a 1980's Camper With the Soul of an S.U.V.

Published: July 18, 2003

BOUNDING and bouncing through the dusty backcountry of the Hollister Hills in central California, Ron Lussier demonstrated a rugged bravado that would do the steeliest off-roader proud. ''You know,'' he said, ''roads like this are really the only valid reason for owning a Humvee. They're completely silly in cities or even driving down the freeway. But get back here in one, and you can have some serious fun.''

After easily clearing a three-foot berm on Bonanza Gulch Road, Mr. Lussier headed for an alarmingly steep route, marked by a sign with a single black diamond, indicating a particularly tough off-road drive. Not convinced that his vehicle would make the ascent, I climbed out of the passenger seat and clambered up the road, occasionally on hands and knees, to watch his attempt. He released his clutch and lurched upward. Four knobby tires clawed the ground, and in about 20 seconds he made it, leaving several hooting onlookers, including me, astounded. Mr. Lussier was not driving a Hummer; he was in a 1991 Volkswagen Vanagon Westfalia Syncro camper.

That's right: camper. After this grueling backcountry jaunt, the Syncro converted into a well-equipped R.V. -- a trick no Hummer has ever mastered. And Mr. Lussier, a photographer from San Francisco, settled in for the night.

Produced in Germany and sold in America from 1986 to 1991, the Syncro Vanagon, a four-wheel-drive version of the standard, boxy 1980's Vanagon, is now exceedingly rare, and rarer still are the camper models -- the fully outfitted pop-top version made by Westfalia in Germany and the hardwood-trimmed models modified by Adventurewagen or Country Homes in the United States. The Syncro has a military-inspired undercarriage and a jacked-up drive train with a special gear for climbing hills; on the camper models attachments fold out, slide out and pop up to create sleeping space.

More than 50 Syncro owners, who had largely met through Syncro.org or an Internet mailing list, gathered a few weeks ago in an oak-shaded campground in the Hollister Hills State Vehicular Recreation Area to compare notes and put their vans through the paces on challenging and beautiful backcountry roads. The vans are an anomaly amid the Jeeps, Land Rovers and four-wheel-drive pickup trucks that usually ride this terrain. ''People do get pretty surprised when they see us back here,'' Mr. Lussier said as he rolled back into camp after our white-knuckle ride.

No one, not even Volkswagen, seems to know for sure, but hard-core Syncronauts estimate that only about 5,000 Syncros -- 1,500 campers and 3,500 passenger vans -- were sold in the United States. Well-preserved camper models now sell for almost their original sticker price of around $18,000 and are appreciating in value.

The couple -- a married former Roman Catholic priest and a former nun -- who sold Mr. Lussier his Syncro told him they had driven it from California to Alaska, where they lived in it. Mr. Lussier once shipped it to Venezuela and drove it through Brazil. Now, with upgraded shocks, wheels and a gleaming paint job, it is in superb condition. ''I don't believe in mollycoddling it,'' he said. ''You've got to use it. Otherwise, what's the point in having it?''

Brian Smith, 44, of Oceanside, Calif., has a 1987 Syncro camper that he has customized with a microwave, toaster oven, camp heater and external generator. ''I swear to God if someone offered me $50,000 for this car,'' he said, ''I wouldn't sell it.'' He added: ''I drove it down to Tulúm in the Yucatán and camped right on the beach. I went through Chiapas and saw the waterfalls and rain forests. You can go and camp 10 feet from the water, completely self-contained.''

These Syncro enthusiasts were preaching to the converted. Last year I purchased my own 1986 Syncro camper, paying $12,000 to a family in Los Angeles who had named it Cecilia. For me, Cecilia represented the ultimate journalist's tool. In it, I could get nearly anywhere to cover a story, and I wouldn't need a hotel. I could fix a cup of hot coffee, plug in a power inverter to run my cellphone-connected laptop and type away.

Of course, there was also the promise of camping adventures with my wife, Quinn, which we have pursued with abandon across California's outback. And like many other Syncro converts, we soon began to wonder why there weren't more of these versatile vehicles on the roads.

As Christian Bokich, a brand marketing strategist at Volkswagen, and Thomas Niksch, a mechanical engineer who runs a German Syncro enthusiasts' Web site (www.syncro16.de), tell the story, the Syncro was both behind and ahead of its time. At $18,000, the camper model was expensive for 1986, yet it had only a 90-horsepower engine, better suited to a Beetle than a 4,000-pound van. It was complicated to manufacture, and Volkswagen was concentrating at that time on building a new minivan. The company was loath even to promote the Syncro, though magazines like Car and Driver gave it glowing reviews.

''I've had a lot of contact with managers from that time,'' Mr. Bokich said. ''They said that the biggest challenge was that people weren't getting the message about the Syncro.''