Influencer II
- 2,192
- First Name
- Mike
- Last Name
- Johnston
- Member #
25039
- Ham/GMRS Callsign
- KN6OIW
This weekend I rolled out of the McDonald’s drive thru feeling like a responsible adult who definitely has their life together. Then my truck decided to audition for a disaster movie.
Both tailpipes started belching smoke like I was Uncle Buck. At the next light, a nice guy pulled up, lowered his window, looked at my rolling fog bank, and said, “Damn, son. You ok?”
Reader, I was not ok.
At roughly 87,000 miles, the two turbos on my 2019 Raptor were cooked. Toast. Finished. Ford is replacing them now, which is great, because I was about five seconds away from pushing the truck into the desert and starting a new life as a man who roams the earth on foot.
This was not our first dramatic episode.
At 50,000 miles, Ford had to fix the famous cam phaser problem. Back then, starting the truck sounded like a broken chainsaw getting mugged by a blender for 10 to 15 seconds. It was the kind of noise that makes neighbors stare through blinds and quietly update their fire insurance.
Then last year, right at the start of my Arizona BDR trip, the truck went into limp mode. Limp mode is what happens when your vehicle decides it is no longer a vehicle. It becomes a cautious accountant. The Ford dealership in Sierra Vista, Arizona said it was a simple oxygen sensor. That diagnosis felt like finding out the shark in the water was actually a confused dolphin. Relief.
And honestly, besides those moments of mechanical theatre (and a few self inflicted wounds), this truck has been an absolute animal. It is a beast right off the factory floor. Point it at dirt, rocks, washboard, or bad ideas and it just goes. Long expeditions, short weekend trips, it has been the most fun vehicle I have ever owned.
Now let me defend my so called crime against humanity: yes, I took it to a Ford dealership for these repairs. Save your tomatoes. Here is the real survival tip for overlanders.
Buy the extended warranty.
I did the 150,000 mile extended service and powertrain warranty. It paid for almost everything. Without it, the cam phasers would have been about $6,000, and the new turbos roughly $8,000. I paid around $2,800 for the warranty. The oxygen sensor was the only thing that did not get covered ($500).
When I bought the truck, it was used and basically a pavement princess. The dealership still offered the warranty. And even if you buy from a private seller, there are legitimate places that will sell you one. Not the ones calling every week with a robot voice and the moral presence of a cigarette butt. I am not selling warranties. I am trying to stay out of troll jail. Or, if you are a helluva shade tree mechanic, then you don't need to worry.
So, this brings me to the morale of this post. A few weeks back I was hanging out with old friends at the Barrett Jackson auto auction in Scottsdale, Arizona. They asked me the big question.
Would I buy another Ford Raptor for overlanding?
I did not even blink. Hell yes.
But I would do one thing differently right away. I would respect the weight limit like it is gravity, because gravity always wins.
These trucks are not designed to haul heavy builds in the bed forever. If you load it up like a rolling storage unit, you are going to sag that rear end. I have seen plenty of Raptors driving around with the back end dragging low like a tired dog. Those leaf springs will bend and wear out over time. If I bought another one, I would plan for upgraded leaf springs based on my build, early, not after the truck starts squatting in public. If you know me, you will recall the infamous Moab leaf spring explosion.
This truck has not lived a soft life. It has clawed its way from the California Sierras to the eastern Appalachians on dirt, rock, sand, and whatever other bad choices I pointed it at. It has run the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) route from Mexico to Canada, yes that is the trip in the video @Kent R posted, the one where the scenery looks like a postcard and the decision making looks like a warning label.
We have done numerous Backcountry Discovery Routes, too. The kind of trips where the map is optimistic, the weather is personal, and every rattle in the cab feels like a confession.
And then there are the truly dangerous missions. A few deeply suspicious Safeway trips. The parking lot gauntlet. The curb ambushes. The rogue shopping carts rolling around like they are on a payroll. Off road is easy. Safeway is where the real predators live.
So yes, despite the smoke show at McDonald’s, despite the chainsaw soundtrack, despite limp mode trying to ruin my trip, I would still buy another one.
Because when it is working (which is 90% of the time), it is ridiculous in the best way. I still lie awake at night thinking about those aluminum front control arms, like they are waiting in the dark to snap and turn my weekend into a roadside documentary.
Both tailpipes started belching smoke like I was Uncle Buck. At the next light, a nice guy pulled up, lowered his window, looked at my rolling fog bank, and said, “Damn, son. You ok?”
Reader, I was not ok.
At roughly 87,000 miles, the two turbos on my 2019 Raptor were cooked. Toast. Finished. Ford is replacing them now, which is great, because I was about five seconds away from pushing the truck into the desert and starting a new life as a man who roams the earth on foot.
This was not our first dramatic episode.
At 50,000 miles, Ford had to fix the famous cam phaser problem. Back then, starting the truck sounded like a broken chainsaw getting mugged by a blender for 10 to 15 seconds. It was the kind of noise that makes neighbors stare through blinds and quietly update their fire insurance.
Then last year, right at the start of my Arizona BDR trip, the truck went into limp mode. Limp mode is what happens when your vehicle decides it is no longer a vehicle. It becomes a cautious accountant. The Ford dealership in Sierra Vista, Arizona said it was a simple oxygen sensor. That diagnosis felt like finding out the shark in the water was actually a confused dolphin. Relief.
And honestly, besides those moments of mechanical theatre (and a few self inflicted wounds), this truck has been an absolute animal. It is a beast right off the factory floor. Point it at dirt, rocks, washboard, or bad ideas and it just goes. Long expeditions, short weekend trips, it has been the most fun vehicle I have ever owned.
Now let me defend my so called crime against humanity: yes, I took it to a Ford dealership for these repairs. Save your tomatoes. Here is the real survival tip for overlanders.
Buy the extended warranty.
I did the 150,000 mile extended service and powertrain warranty. It paid for almost everything. Without it, the cam phasers would have been about $6,000, and the new turbos roughly $8,000. I paid around $2,800 for the warranty. The oxygen sensor was the only thing that did not get covered ($500).
When I bought the truck, it was used and basically a pavement princess. The dealership still offered the warranty. And even if you buy from a private seller, there are legitimate places that will sell you one. Not the ones calling every week with a robot voice and the moral presence of a cigarette butt. I am not selling warranties. I am trying to stay out of troll jail. Or, if you are a helluva shade tree mechanic, then you don't need to worry.
So, this brings me to the morale of this post. A few weeks back I was hanging out with old friends at the Barrett Jackson auto auction in Scottsdale, Arizona. They asked me the big question.
Would I buy another Ford Raptor for overlanding?
I did not even blink. Hell yes.
But I would do one thing differently right away. I would respect the weight limit like it is gravity, because gravity always wins.
These trucks are not designed to haul heavy builds in the bed forever. If you load it up like a rolling storage unit, you are going to sag that rear end. I have seen plenty of Raptors driving around with the back end dragging low like a tired dog. Those leaf springs will bend and wear out over time. If I bought another one, I would plan for upgraded leaf springs based on my build, early, not after the truck starts squatting in public. If you know me, you will recall the infamous Moab leaf spring explosion.
This truck has not lived a soft life. It has clawed its way from the California Sierras to the eastern Appalachians on dirt, rock, sand, and whatever other bad choices I pointed it at. It has run the Continental Divide Trail (CDT) route from Mexico to Canada, yes that is the trip in the video @Kent R posted, the one where the scenery looks like a postcard and the decision making looks like a warning label.
We have done numerous Backcountry Discovery Routes, too. The kind of trips where the map is optimistic, the weather is personal, and every rattle in the cab feels like a confession.
And then there are the truly dangerous missions. A few deeply suspicious Safeway trips. The parking lot gauntlet. The curb ambushes. The rogue shopping carts rolling around like they are on a payroll. Off road is easy. Safeway is where the real predators live.
So yes, despite the smoke show at McDonald’s, despite the chainsaw soundtrack, despite limp mode trying to ruin my trip, I would still buy another one.
Because when it is working (which is 90% of the time), it is ridiculous in the best way. I still lie awake at night thinking about those aluminum front control arms, like they are waiting in the dark to snap and turn my weekend into a roadside documentary.
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