The Future of Overlanding: Drones & Exoskeletons
Let’s be honest. The romance of the trail is a lie. A story we sell ourselves in the gear shop to justify the price tags. We fetishize the struggle, this idea that you earn a summit view with nothing but grit and Gore-Tex. We talk about “finding ourselves” out there, as if enlightenment is hiding behind the next godforsaken switchback.
The reality, five miles in with forty pounds digging into your shoulders, is that you’re not a spiritual wanderer. You’re a beast of burden. And the only thing you’re communing with is the blister on your heel and a deep, primal hatred for gravity itself.
For decades, the fix was always just… better. Better shocks, lighter tents, more efficient solar, all part of the constant gear refinement we chase. We got damn good at perfecting the art of suffering well. But that was just evolution, and evolution is too slow. The revolution isn’t coming. It’s already here, being beta-tested in pockets of the globe while we were looking the other way. I dabbled in the E-overlanding vs the classic petrol and diesel fueled adventure here.
The grind of the ascent? Tourists in China are renting AI-powered exoskeletons to make a mockery of mountains that would leave the rest of us puking in a bush. The weight of the pack? For years, Boston Dynamics’ robotic dogs have been hauling military gear over terrain that would snap your ankle. The tyranny of the road? Passenger drones are already certified over there, an “Uber for the sky” that makes the very idea of a road—or a driver—obsolete.
These aren’t separate toys in some rich guy’s catalog. They’re puzzle pieces. And when they snap together, the picture they form is the end of the world as we know it. The very meaning of “remote” and “inaccessible” is about to be erased.
Hiking Exoskeletons: The End of the Backpack
The backpack is a simple, elegant, and miserable piece of technology. An anchor of regret reminding you of every stupid decision you made while packing. The extra camera lens, the hardcover book, the good whiskey. It’s a nylon inquisitor asking with every step: "Was it worth it? Are you sure? Feel this strap on your collarbone and reconsider."
For generations, the only answer was to suffer better. Buy the lighter pack, the titanium spork, the whole nine yards. We bought into this puritanical bul*%$#+ that misery builds character. That the agony sanctifies the view.
What if you could just… make the weight disappear?
This isn’t a fantasy. You can buy the solution right now. It's a quiet, profound act of technological heresy. Companies like Dnsys and Hypershell are selling honest-to-god hiking exoskeletons. Not clunky Iron Man suits; sleek, carbon-fiber rigs you strap to your waist and thighs. The Hypershell GoX offloads up to 30 kg of weight, its quiet motor powering your stride. It doesn't launch you up the hill. It just negates the burden. A ghost in the machine carrying your foolish decisions for you, turning a soul-crushing ascent into a walk in the park.
Let's be clear: this is a cheat code for the wilderness. An affront to every grizzled veteran who measures trips in blisters and ibuprofen. It spits in the face of earning your landscape. It’s an abomination against the romantic, suffering-addled spirit of mountaineering.
And Side Quest Overland desperately wants one.
Robotic Mules: Your New Pack Animal Doesn't Bray
Even with an exoskeleton, you’re still hauling the gear. Why? For centuries, we used some poor, stubborn beast of burden. Now, the mule is electric, unnervingly silent, and looks like a headless dog from a nightmare.
And let’s be brutally honest about who this really replaces. It’s the final answer to the grumpy trail equestrian. You know the one. Perched six feet up on their high horse, literally, glaring down as if your dusty boots are an insult to their noble journey. They pass in a cloud of dust and superiority, leaving churned-up trail and organic landmines in their wake.
But who are we to talk? We’re all out here to get away from everyone else. Hauling our baggage. Physical and emotional. Into the backcountry for a moment of peace. Some use a horse; we use a ridiculously over-specced 4x4, the foundation of what we define as overlanding. The trail doesn’t belong to any one of us.
The robot, though… it doesn’t just change the equation. It throws the whole damn textbook out the window. It has no ego. It leaves no droppings. It just is.
You’ve seen the videos. Boston Dynamics’ Spot. A four-legged robot that handles any terrain you can, carrying the gear that would normally live in your pack. Imagine it: hiking through the mist, the only sound the eerie, whirring pitter-patter of your mechanical sherpa trotting behind you with the tent, the stove, and that oversized bottle of bourbon. It needs no food, no rest. It feels no pain. It is pure, relentless utility. Your gluttony for gear, given four legs and a battery pack. It’s not a prototype anymore. It’s on the market. And it is profoundly weird.
Overlanding Drones: The Jeep is Dead. Long Live the Drone.
The soul of overlanding has always been the vehicle. The rolling altar we worship at. The Land Cruiser, the Sprinter, the Jeep. We spend fortunes chasing mechanical grace—the right suspension, the perfect tires, the winch to pull us out of our own bad decisions, a process familiar to anyone who's followed a detailed vehicle build. Our rigs are a symphony of rattling gear and squeaking polyurethane, each pinstripe a story, each scar a badge of honor. A culture built on the beautiful, brutal friction between machine and landscape.
But every religion has its moments of doubt. For us, it’s the obstacle you can’t conquer. The river a foot too deep, the washed-out bridge, the rock garden that threatens to peel your axle open like a tin can. That’s the moment the romance dies. You’re not an explorer; you’re just a guy with a $100,000 truck stuck in the mud, facing the long, quiet humiliation of turning back.
The next generation of off-road vehicle doesn’t care about any of that. It has no wheels to get stuck. It sees your impassable canyon as a minor inconvenience. It doesn't conquer the obstacle; it dismisses it.
Companies like EHang and Joby Aviation are building electric Vertical Takeoff and Landing (eVTOL) aircraft. Stop thinking of them as air taxis. Start seeing them for what they are: the ultimate all-terrain vehicle. A pod that leapfrogs a mountain range, drops you on a remote riverbank, and picks you up a week later. It doesn't need a road or a trail. Losing the road, the whole point of the thing, is a profound and unsettling idea. You trade the struggle—the satisfaction of picking the right line, the tension of the winch—for effortless, silent, sterile access.
It’s an abomination. And every time I’ve spent three hours digging out of a mud pit, it’s an abomination I would have sold my soul for.
So, What's the Verdict?
This isn't vaporware. This isn't fantasy. It’s here. The future kicked the door in while we were busy with our liturgy of gear—the endless debates about rooftop vs. ground tents, fridge brands, and the pros and cons of packing for a long trip. We were perfecting the details of a world that’s being rendered obsolete.
Which brings us to the gut-check. When does this stop being a curiosity and start showing up at Overland Expo, displayed where the EarthRoamer used to be? When do you see a powered exoskeleton humming on a mannequin at REI, right next to the Smartwool socks?
This collision is coming. And it forces the question: is this the evolution of adventure, or the end of it?
We built an entire identity around the struggle. The satisfaction of a recovery, the ache in your thighs, the pride of being self-sufficient in a world that wants to coddle you. This new tech offers a seductive bargain: keep the reward, eliminate the work. All of the glory, none of the guts.
So, what are we really after? Was the hardship the point all along, or just a barrier to a better campsite? Are we adventurers, defined by grit? Or just tourists who finally invented a better way to the photo op?
Where do you stand? Do you draw a line in the sand, a purist clinging to the nobility of the struggle? Or are you like me, staring at this comfortable, glorious, soul-selling future, and thinking… maybe just one hit couldn’t hurt?
If you’ve made it this far….let the debate begin. 👇
