Much hue and cry is dispensed over the fact that most American SUV owners never drive off-road, but, really, where are they going to go? Off-roading devotees know how to get dirty (the Rubicon, Moab, designated OHV trails), but the notion of being able to take your all-conquering, all-terrain rig "anywhere" is a fantasy. Try it-say, a spontaneous detour across an untrammeled expanse of river bed-and nine times out of 10 you'll quickly be stopped by a cop, a park ranger, or the barrel of a pump-action Mossberg.

It's different in Mongolia. The Asian nation of Genghis Khan, landlocked between Russia to the north and China to the south, proffers an environment worthy of Apollo 11 astronaut Buzz Aldrin's description of the moon: magnificent desolation. Little arable land, forbidding mountains to the north, the vast Gobi Desert to the south, and some of the most extreme weather on earth-no wonder that, despite being larger than all of Western Europe, Mongolia is inhabited by fewer than three million people (nearly 40 percent of whom are concentrated in the capital, Ulan Bator), making it the most sparsely populated independent country on earth. Paved roads? Rare sightings indeed once you're out of the big city. Trails? Well, tire tracks, mainly. Have an itch to take your SUV up there? Hey, let's go. Last one to the mountaintop is a Bactrian camel.

For the hardy, Mongolia is a giant SUV playpen. Next summer, in fact, the country will host the finals of the third Land Rover G4 Challenge, a three-week "race" between 18 national teams (one male and female each) from around the world that combines off-road driving with sports like mountain biking, rock climbing, and kayaking. The entrants, who range from pro marathoners to weekend adventurers, compete only for personal satisfaction. (Land Rover will donate a vehicle to the Red Cross or Red Crescent of the winning country and raise more than $1 million for the International Federation of those societies.)

I recently joined a dozen Land Rover team members in Mongolia amid their arduous, months-long pre-G4 reconnaissance runs. Using GPS, trail maps, and input from our two Mongolian guides (who obtained valuable local info from nomads), our crew, caravanning in diesel-powered LR2s, LR3s, and Defenders, roamed the area in and around the Gobi for five days in search of suitable G4 routes.

Talk about SUV bliss. From dawn until dusk we followed rocky trails across arid steppes, climbed dunes, crossed rivers, inched over boulders, and winched each other out of deep muck. Sometimes we saw no other humans all afternoon. Then, on a featureless plain of rock and withered grass, we'd run into a boy tending a huge flock of goats and sheep, his tented ger home visible on the horizon. Compared with his hard-scrabble existence, our boil-in-bag dinners and down sleeping bags felt like the Ritz.

In return for its challenges, Mongolia delivers sights rare and unforgettable. A cobalt-blue dome of sky unblemished by vapor trails or smog. Herds of untended camels and Mongol horses. Vistas stretching for hundreds of miles without a speck of human existence. A nighttime firmament in which the white of stars nearly obscures the void of black.

One evening, as we sat by the fire, a motorcycle roared up from below. Aboard were a striking young Mongolian couple with their beautiful child. They hadn't come to shoo us away; they'd brought mares' milk and a dessert of dried curds, gifts of hospitality for camping on their mountain. Without understanding Mongolian, I'm certain they never mentioned the word "permit."

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Far From Everywhere: Land Rovering Through Mongolia