It's amazingly nontechnical, it's literally just lights taped to a truck. According to Marshall "It's not very scientific, it's a hideous site in the daylight, there's black tape and wires in the daytime." But at night it's amazing. Marshall has used eight trucks and added dozens of strand since, though it's always a 2WD Chevy/GMC with a regular cab and eight-foot truck bed "the way a truck ought to look."
By his own estimate there are 50-to-70 strings with a mixture of 50 and 100 lights each, making a conservative estimate of 3,000 lights. There are no LEDs, just the cheap $0.89 strings, though he'd like to add some to take pressure off the taxed generator
What a selection! Marvel at the 47-page menu of hot entrees, most of which are sourced from other, better restaurants. While you can't beat the price, remember that you get what you pay for: The food is often reheated and many of the "celebrity chefs" who dabble in the kitchen don't appear to know how to cook. Remember to pay cash, as the staff has been known to "aggregate" patrons' credit card numbers.
While the dishes are sometimes unappetizing, the kitchen will occasionally convince you that everything you know about curly fries is wrong. The opinionated waitstaff makes it clear that they know what you want better than you do; don't be surprised if your order of chicken elicits a riff on why you actually wanted trout. We hope the owners know what they're doing, because the business model—the food is free, but there are ads on the plates, glasses, tablecloths, and forks—seems iffy at best.
The couple wakes up every morning in their queen-size bed, which takes up one-third of the living space.
They then walk five feet toward the tiny kitchen, where they pull out their workout clothes, which are folded neatly in two cabinets above the sink. A third cabinet holds several containers of espresso for their only kitchen appliance, a cappuccino maker.
The challenges he faces are monumental. So monumental, in fact, that Arctic explorer Sir Ranulph Fiennes has written to Ed to warn him that the stage in front of him - the deep Brazilian jungle - will be 'difficult'. You can take it that this is something of an understatement, given that it comes from a man who once sawed off his own fingers after they became frostbitten.[...]
His average day would kill most people. Up at dawn, he walks for around eight hours, until 3pm. At this stage of the journey he will be lucky to have covered 7km in that time. This is jungle, real jungle - and you pay for every step with willsapping swings of the machete.
It's like clearing the thickest hedge you could imagine for a whole working day. Only this hedge is filled with razor grass - which is pretty much as the name implies, grass that will cut exposed flesh to ribbons - huge thorns and spines on trees sharp enough to go straight through a carelessly placed hand, deadly snakes, poisonous spiders and foot-long centipedes so venomous that they can blister your skin with a touch. Oh, and the odd man-eating big cat. Specifically, jaguars.
