Fifteen years ago, almost to the week, I first met Dave Harriton and Dave Yegge — DH and DY, as they’re known in shorthand. Harriton, the founder of American Expedition Vehicles (AEV), and Yegge, the engineer who ensures that all AEV vehicles are built to world-class standards. Back then, we were in Moab filming an episode for the now-shuttered Speed Channel series Dangerous Drives.
A Product Idea Is Born
I had mapped out a route that started in Moab, wound through Lockhart Basin, climbed over Elk Ridge, and dropped into Comb Wash and Comb Ridge. Normally, it’s a leisurely few days exploring Southern Utah’s stark beauty, but that week, nature had other plans. A massive snowstorm swept through, dumping 30 inches — 76 cm — on parts of our route.
By the second night, we were camped along Indian Creek under a moonlit sky, and Harriton, wrapped in layers and bracing against the cold, mused aloud about a camper that could handle terrain like this. Something rugged, weatherproof, and capable of keeping you out of the worst conditions without sacrificing comfort.
The next night, while half the team slept in their trucks, Harriton dug out a snow pit to pitch his tent. His camper idea? Let’s just say it gained a lot more clarity in those frigid hours.
A New Adventure
That trip marked the beginning of one of those rare friendships — the kind where, no matter how much time passes, you continue right where you left off. Over the years, we’ve shared countless adventures. So, when Harriton texted me recently about an R&D trip in Moab after SEMA, I didn’t hesitate.
He mentioned TruckHouse, a relatively new player in the overland world, building carbon fiber campers on the AEV Prospector XL platform.
“I’ve heard of them,” I said. “Not much, though.”
“These guys are doing it the way I would; I want to test the integration of the Truckhouse camper with our Prospector chassis in situations far more difficult than most customers would be willing to take it,” Harriton replied.
That really piqued my curiosity. While I’ve never been a Jeep guy, I’ve always been an AEV guy because of Harriton’s thoughtful and elegant design paired with his attention to detail.
When he sent me a handful of photos, he won my attention. I responded immediately, “Let me know when you’ll be there.”
Behind the Rocks
A shared location pinged through my phone as I was leaving my home in Colorado, a blue dot nestled on the Behind the Rocks trail. I reckoned I was about 2½ hours away and figured I’d catch them somewhere on the trail. Turning off the highway, I glanced at the last pin drop, orienting myself for the route ahead.
Behind the Rocks is a relatively mellow trail, and I made good time. As I came down the rock ledges toward a sandy five-way intersection — out of cell service, of course — I felt a small pang of doubt. Then I saw the massive tire tracks, a breadcrumb trail pointing me toward a camp overlooking Kane Creek.
When I pulled up to the two TruckHouse prototypes, their compactness surprised me. I’d been expecting something massive and unwieldy — more in line with other offerings in this space. Instead, these rigs were sleek and purposeful, their design commanding immediate respect.
Harriton’s words came flooding back: These guys are doing it the way I would. I got it now. After meeting Nico, Matt, and Nelson from TruckHouse, it was clear why we were all there.
This wasn’t just about testing a machine; it was about revisiting an idea first sparked 15 years earlier, camped in the snow on Elk Ridge. Harriton had dreamed of a camper that could tackle Lockhart Basin and beyond, a rig that could get you out of the weather while taking you deeper into the wild. And here it was, rolling across the red rock trails of Moab, a high-tech carbon fiber marvel on the proven AEV Prospector XL chassis.
Long Canyon
We tackled Long Canyon and Poison Spider, trails that tested both the TruckHouse and our collective nerve. Each trail offered a unique challenge, but together, they showcased the cutting-edge technology and thoughtful engineering that make the TruckHouse more than just a camper — it’s an expedition machine.
Long Canyon is as much a test of dimensions as it is capability. There is nothing particularly technical about the route; however, it served as a good test after Behind the Rocks, of rough high-speed roads.
The trail’s famous fallen rock tunnel — a narrow opening created by a massive boulder wedged precariously on a shelf road against the cliff — is a rite of passage. For most rigs in this space, it’s a nonstarter, forcing drivers to double-check clearances or backtrack entirely. But the TruckHouse, with its compact and intelligently designed camper, slipped through with ease.
It’s a testament to the engineering philosophy that prioritizes purpose without excess. This rig wasn’t designed to live in RV parks or ski area parking lots — it was built to thread through places like this, getting one step farther than most.
Poison Spider
From Long Canyon, we transitioned to Poison Spider, a trail that doesn’t suffer fools. Its steep ascents, tight switchbacks, and unforgiving ledges are designed to expose the limits of both driver and machine. This is where the TruckHouse’s true capabilities came alive.
I’m admittedly unseasoned around the full-sized trucks. At the base of the trail, as we aired down, I asked Dave H. what psi was ideal. In his usual confident yet self-deprecating way, he smiled and said, “Not sure. I’ve never had a 13,000-pound truck on this trail; it’s all R&D.”
Yegge nodded his head in agreement. At 18 psi, it was 36% of the recommended 50 psi for the Irok tires. This experiment in tire pressure would come back to haunt us a bit later in the day.
The low center of gravity, achieved by placing the 48V electrical system’s battery banks down low in the chassis, played a critical role. Where other campers would have felt top-heavy and uncertain, the TruckHouse remained planted and confident, even on Poison Spider’s infamous waterfall steps. This advanced electrical system doesn’t just power the rig’s onboard luxuries; it also actively contributes to its stability and off-road prowess.
The Waterfall
The highlight of the trail was The Waterfall — a sheer rock face that stops many rigs cold. This was the kind of obstacle where every aspect of the TruckHouse’s design was put to the test.
The AEV Prospector XL platform provided the foundation, with the custom suspension gripping slickrock confidently. The carbon fiber camper, designed with weight savings and structural rigidity in mind, stayed perfectly balanced as the truck climbed.
Linder was at the wheel, with Harriton and Yegge spotting him like seasoned orchestra conductors, their calm voices cutting through the crackle of the radios. The diesel engine growled low, a reassuring rumble as the TruckHouse crawled forward. The massive tires — perfectly chosen for grip and clearance — rolled over the sandstone with the kind of precision that seemed almost mechanical.
Inch by inch, the rig scaled The Waterfall, its components working in perfect harmony: the low center of gravity, the seamless suspension articulation, and the robust driveline all coming together in a symphony of engineering.
Fully Integrated Off-Road Solution
The TruckHouse wasn’t just passing the tests; it was redefining them. This wasn’t a camper struggling to keep up with an overland rig — it was a fully integrated off-road solution, purpose-built to thrive in places that most people only dream of reaching in such a vehicle.
Long Canyon proved the TruckHouse’s compact agility. Poison Spider demonstrated its technical precision. And together, they showed why this rig is in a league of its own. It’s not just about reaching the campsite — it’s also about earning the right to be there. The TruckHouse made it clear that no trail is out of reach, and with that, we headed to Hell’s Revenge.
Debating the Crucible
With daylight waning, the crew debated taking on Hell’s Revenge. It was ambitious, no doubt, but this trip wasn’t about taking the easy route. Morale was high, and if there’s a trail that separates the capable from the exceptional, it’s Hell’s Revenge.
For any off-road vehicle, it’s a crucible. For something like the TruckHouse — a half-million-dollar prototype blending expedition-level performance with cutting-edge luxury — it’s the ultimate proving ground.
Hell’s Revenge is more than just a trail; it’s a masterclass in technical driving. It begins with a slickrock climb that feels like it’s pulling you straight into the sky. A disorienting, heart-in-your-throat ascent that forces you to trust your tires and your machine. It’s not the kind of place where you warm up; it demands your full attention from the moment you roll onto the sandstone.
Hell’s Revenge
From there, the trail becomes a relentless series of challenges: sharp ledges that require precise tire placement, narrow spines where your mirrors seem to scrape the sky, and off-camber routes that force every ounce of traction out of your rig. It’s a trail that exposes weaknesses, demanding a balance of capability, composure, and raw power.
Linder took the lead again, with Harriton and Yegge spotting him like the trail-tested veterans they are. Their voices over the radio were calm and measured, guiding him through Hell’s Revenge’s signature obstacles. The TruckHouse’s massive 40-inch tires clawed into the sandstone, its AEV platform flexing and gripping like it was bred for this.
Hell’s Gate is the kind of climb that demands respect. It’s not just a test of the machine but a gauntlet for the driver — a climb where precision, patience, and nerve are your only allies. The TruckHouse made short work of the lower sections, its AEV platform gripping the slickrock like it was born here. The cab was quiet except for the low growl of the diesel engine and the occasional crackle of the radio, the tension thick as it approached the crux of the ascent.
And Then It Happened
And then it happened. Halfway up, a sharp hiss cut through the stillness — a bead slipped on one of the tires. The truck lurched slightly, and the crew froze, calculating the next move.
Out here, decisions like this are where experience shows. Turning around isn’t defeat; it’s an art form. Knowing when to call it, when to respect the terrain, is what separates a story worth telling from an expensive cautionary tale.
Harriton and Yegge worked methodically, guiding Linder back down the line we’d just come up. Every turn of the wheel was deliberate, every instruction over the radio precise. It wasn’t about proving what the TruckHouse could do — it had already shown its worth. It was about getting down unscathed.
By the time we were back on flat ground, the alpenglow had faded into a deep, star-strewn twilight. The La Sals, now dark silhouettes against a cobalt sky, stood as a quiet reminder of the landscape’s power and beauty.
Harriton took responsibility for the low tire pressure. As he’s a man of few words, I could tell he was disappointed in himself, not because the TruckHouse didn’t make it, but because he hadn’t checked the tire pressure before the obstacle.
Swapping in the spare wasn’t fast, but it was methodical — every move deliberate, every tool passed hand to hand with the unspoken rhythm of people who’ve done this before. By the time the new tire was bolted on and the jack lowered, the temperature had dropped enough to see our breath in the lamplight.
Satisfaction
Back on all fours, the TruckHouse rolled toward the trailhead the way it came, headlights bouncing over the uneven terrain. There was a quiet satisfaction in the cab, the kind that comes from overcoming a challenge together. The night sky above was endless. The stars were brighter than any of us could remember seeing in months. It was the kind of moment that made the effort — the frustration, the exhaustion — worth it.
As we reached the main trail, the radio crackled to life with one of the Daves laughing, “Well, she’s not afraid to make us work for it, huh?” And with that, we pointed the rigs toward the trailhead, tired but triumphant, already half-dreaming of what the next day’s trails might bring.
TruckHouse: Earned Respect
Hell’s Gate hadn’t defeated us — it had reinforced something we all knew. Out here, the wild doesn’t reward bravado; it rewards respect. The TruckHouse had earned ours, proving itself not just as a machine but as a gateway to these places few dare to go. And as for Hell’s Gate? It would still be there, waiting.
For a rig like the TruckHouse, Moab’s trails weren’t just a proving ground — but a bold declaration: the future of travel has arrived, built to tackle anything in its path.
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