Note: This is more or less a continuation of my Little Blue Feather blog. While I didn’t mention what I was actually dealing with, prayer-wise, in Little Blue Feather, I’ll explain it in greater detail here. Not so much about the discovery of the Blue Jay feather, but the pains in my heart that led me to that moment, the things I asked and talked to God about, and what happened between Dad and I the next day.

It was nearly dark enough to see the stars by the time I left the peaceful little alcove I discovered the Blue Jay feather, but I felt no fear or urge to move faster. Considering how skittish I’ve always been, it was unusual for me to feel so comfortable out in the Valley alone in the dark. But, I didn’t exactly feel alone. God’s presence still walked by my side, as though He was escorting me back to the safety of my Xterra parked a half-mile down the trail. 

Birds of all kinds noisily flicked across the skies above me, catching moths and other nighttime bugs before settling into their nests within the rocks and trees for the night. Crickets and frogs serenaded in the grasses and down by the fast-flowing creek that split the valley plains in two. I could hear people laughing and sharing stories in the distance, not too far from where I was. In fact, I was walking by people’s backyards. I really wasn’t in a remote part of the valley, though wildlife and untouched nature were still all around me. 

For a brief moment, I caught a glimpse of a curious coyote trotting across the trail ahead of me and then bounding up and over a bluff. Then, within a nearby grove of Gamble Oaks, I heard a Great Horned Owl call. I paused to get a better look, but I couldn’t see the bird in the darkness. Though, I could almost feel it staring into my soul from within the Gamble Oaks. Finally, just as I crested a small knoll and was within twenty or so yards from the Xterra, a muley doe and her two fawns gracefully leapt through the foliage single-file, heading towards a sheltered draw to bed down for the night. 

Inside my Xterra, I turned the ignition key and thanked the Lord for such a beautiful nightly hike, and an even more beautiful conversation. But, God wasn’t about to let me just drive home. George Jones’ version of “Have a Little Talk with Jesus” began to play through my radio, striking chills of awe all throughout my body. Of course, I put that shit on repeat and tapped my free foot to the music while driving the long way home. I didn’t want that night to end, but it had to, as I had to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to go off-roading with my dad. 

“So! Where’re we headed today?” I asked, jittery from excitement and anticipated. 

“I wanna go on that same trail we did last time, but this time starting at Pickle Gulch and heading up ‘stead of down.” Dad replied, scowling with focus as he programmed our route into his GPS app, “I also wanna take that road all the way from Pickle Gulch to Rollinsville. If we’ve got time and the weather’s not too bad, I’d like to try Rollins Pass again. See if we can get past that canyon we always got stuck at, and find that little lake that’s supposedly on the other side of the Pass.”

“Sounds like a plan!” I grinned, “Hopefully, it ain’t too wet up there. I don’t want to get stuck, slide off the mountain, or get struck by lightning.”

“We’re not gonna get struck by lightning…” Dad rolled his eyes. 

“How do you know?” I questioned, smirking.

"I just do!" Dad replied as he handed me his phone, "Keep an eye on that map, will ya?"

With a tank full of gas, enough Diet Coke and Mountain Dew to kill a horse, some snacks, and hearts full of adventure, we headed northwest towards Black Hawk. For the most part, we stayed on the sideroads, not wanting to death-wobble our way down the highway if we could help it. As we passed by a church on Simms, I heard Dad grumble, "Hmmm... interesting."

"What?" I asked, taking a swig of my drink. 

"That church's got a Pride flag on their sign... That's neat." He said. 

For a moment, I sat in silence wondering what was going on in my dad's mind. He wasn't usually one to notice such things as a tiny rainbow flag behind the glass of a yellowed church sign, let alone comment on them. But, when something like that catches his attention, his sighs and mumbles precede the start of an interesting conversation, especially when it comes to politics and religion. 

"Ah, nevermind." Dad shook his head, to my disappointment, "Hand me that Snickers bar if ya can."

"On it!" I nodded as I turned towards the back seat and began to rummage through our snacks for one. 

"So, where shall we go from here?" Dad asked as we quickly approached Belleview, "Willow Springs to Morrison, or Kipling to Morrison?"

"Your call." I replied as I handed him his open chocolate bar. 

"Willow Springs it is!" Dad announced as he jerked the wheel to the left and cut across three lanes of traffic and seemed to get up onto two wheels around the turn. I nearly went flying. 

"Jesus, Dad!" I half-laughed, half-cried. 

He just giggled mischievously as he revved up the engine to maximum RPMs before shifting into a higher gear. I quickly repositioned myself while the road was still straight, jerking my seatbelt so it would lock in place. Dad, still ornery and jacked up on caffeine, drove like the Jeep was more of a go-kart, just to get a rise out of me. Of course, by that, I mean I was laughing and hollering like a hyena, high off of the chills 'n thrills of my dad's jeep-driving skills (or, should I say, "skills"). 

We charged past downtown Morrison and across the valley by Red Rocks, then veered onto Rooney road that ran past Thunder Valley Motocross Park. From there, we got onto some mountain sideroads on the western side of Golden, and after another twenty minutes of my dad's nearly reckless driving up to and through Blackhawk, we finally got to the trailhead at Pickle Gulch. 

We knew the trail would likely be wet and eroded due to this summer's heavy thunderstorms. But, we didn't expect to get stuck in a massive 4X4 traffic jam, which stretched all through the Pickle Gulch campgrounds to Missouri Gulch Road. 

"What the hell is this? Downtown Denver?" I snarked. 

"Yeah, no kidding!" Dad chuckled as he pulled off to the side of the trail and parked. 

I pushed open the squeaky jeep door and jumped out without looking. Ice cold water soaked into my socks from the tops of my boots, and my jeans were stained in mud. I scowled as I trudged through the mud to drier ground. As I pulled my jeans over my boots, I quietly wondered how the trail ahead would be like. According to the traffic and my soaked socks, it would be a tough trail to ride. It might even be impassible. But, Dad and I would only know for sure if we tried it. 

Dad had hiked up the trail to see what the holdup was, while I remained with my shoulder leaned up against the Jeep. I lifted my eyes towards the sky and felt my heart sink a bit. The sky was a dark blue-grey, heavy with potential rain. The wind was starting to kick up too, bringing the scents of ozone and mud with it. I then began to study the jeep drivers around me, trying to find any looks of concern or second-guessing among their faces. But, nobody except me seemed to notice what the weather was doing. They didn't seem to care. 

Dad came jogging back down the trail a little while later, followed by a Jeep Rubicon soaked in mud. 

"That guy was just tryin' to get down the trail. Nothin' crazy." Dad relayed to me, "Still, I wanna air down the tires."

Dad opened up the driver's side door of the Jeep and reached for a small bag in the back seat. After rummaging around for a moment, he pulled out a small tire pressure meter. He then knelt down and air downed of the tires just enough to give us a little more traction. I watched over his shoulder as he brought the PSI in each tire from 40 PSI to 25 PSI. 

"Hmmmm...." I grumbled under my breath as I watched the tires visibly deflate, "Are you sure it's okay to bring the PSI down that low?" 

"Of course!" Dad replied, "25 PSI may even be a little too high depending on how the trail goes. We could easily bring 'em down to 15 PSI, but 25'll do for now."

"Alright, then." I shrugged as Dad screwed on the valve stem on the fourth tire, "Shall we?" 

"We shall!" 

Dad and I climbed back into the old YJ, and carefully maneuvered around some of the other jeeps that still sat idling along the side of the trail. But, we soon hit another snarl, just outside of the Pickle Gulch campground. 

"Oh... great..." I growled. 

"Someone's trying to come down..." Dad mumbled. 

He was right. Barely visible through the firs was a rugged Nissan Frontier making its way down the slippery, steep incline ever-so-carefully. Dad and I stared in silence as the truck carefully found its way down, occasionally scraping its undercarriage against the rocks below it. The noise made both of us cringe. Yet, the truck still got down to flatter, smoother ground. Dad and I both sighed with relief, and our convoy of 4X4's was allowed to continue. This time, uphill. 

I got nervous when the Toyota Trailhunter ahead of us struggled up the slick flat rocks on the first major incline (out of many) on that trail. But, with some calculated maneuvering and high RPMs, the Trailhunter made it. Now, it was our turn. 

"Alright, kiddo!" Dad shouted, "You know the drill!"

Excitedly, I leaned out my window and watched the front and back tires on my side of the YJ. Our plan was to stick as far to the right side of the trail as possible, where we'd have smaller, jagged rocks and plenty of soil to keep our traction as we crawled up the slick slope. If we stayed closer towards the center of that section of the trail, then we'd skid and slide, much like the Trailhunter did. So instead, as long as at least half of the tires were in the dirt, we'd be fine. 

"You're good, you're good." I called as we made our way up the slope, "There's a tree limb up ahead. Keep the tires straight and you'll run right o'er it. That's it. There we go!" 

The jeep survived its first set of obstacles with ease. We didn't slip once or need to keep the RPMs too high. It was almost as though that Jeep was made for those trails! Plus, with the tires aired down, the ride up those rocks felt smoother and more controlled than they would've had we kept the tires inflated all the way.

"Wow!" I raised my eyebrows, "That was actually a lot easier and smoother than I thought it would be."

"Mmmhmmm." Dad nodded, "That's why we air down the tires on these things." 

We carefully rounded a bend and immediately came upon our second major obstacle. Over years of use and erosion, the narrow trail had cut pretty deep down into the earth. The Trailhunter ahead of us had flexible axles and lockers. Our '92 YJ, however, had neither. 

"That thing's got a bit more flex to it than ours has..." Dad mused. 

"Well, it's too late to back out now..." I nodded back, "Maybe stick to one side of this trench here to prevent the tires from flexin' too much."

Dad carefully aimed the Jeep towards the left side of that gully till the tires on my side of the Jeep were perfectly wedged into the center of the trench, keeping the Jeep stuck to the left side of the trail like a spider on a wall. To me, it felt like the smallest pebble underneath one of the Jeep's right tires would tip the whole thing over. Worse, when we hit a soft patch of soil, the tires spun. 

"Back 'er up a bit and charge up more towards my side!" I commanded, eyeing a much more solid patch of soil. 

Dad did just that, but still, the tires spun. It was too slick for us to make it up without lockers. 

"Well... we're takin' the bypass." Dad relented as he backed out about 50 feet, then turned into the equally steep (but much drier) bypass trail. 

Amazingly, we overcame that obstacle too, without tipping the Jeep over, cow-tipping style. Or sliding off the mountain. 

"That was a bit... sketchy." I sighed with relief. 

Dad seemed too focused to hear me. 

For the next five miles or so, we continued to ascend the mountains on increasingly steep and muddy roads through the dense fir forest. The further we went, the less and less 4X4's there were ahead of us. 

"Seems like more and more people are wussing out..." I commented as another member of our convoy pulled off to the side so they could turn around, "Not sure if that's a good or bad thing."

"Well..." Dad sighed, "We'll soon find out."

Specks of rain began to mix in with the dust and mud on the windshield. Nervously, I stuck my head out of the jeep to check out the sky above. Some clouds in that sky were almost blue they were so heavy with moisture. And barely audible below the rhythmic rumbling of the Jeep's engines, and the driveshaft as it creaked, I could hear constant rolling thunder from above. The wind was picking up quite a bit, too, swaying and hissing through the boughs of the firs. 

"Uhhhh," I silently thought to myself, "Maybe we should turn back. I'm not liking this so much."

Even if I'd voiced my concerns and my dad had listened to me (which, more often than not, he doesn't), we couldn't have turned around. The trail was narrow, steep, muddy, and rocky. The trees were dense. And we were on the side of a mountain, with one side (my side) sloping down at a 40% grade (at least), and the other was an even steeper grade going up. There was no turning back or wussing out, lest we roll down the mountain to our deaths. 

At least the wildflowers were pretty. 

But, just when I was thinking about what I ought to put in my Will, we rounded another steep bend and made it to a familiar clearing, where many Forest Service roads criss-crossed at a crossroads, and several fellow off-roaders had set up camp. We pulled over into an empty campsite, and I got out to stretch my legs and explore my surroundings while Dad gazed over his maps to see where we'd head next. 

In that meadow, the air was completely still, but not in a comforting way. The blue-grey clouds in the sky were churning and growing darker. Thunder rolled in the distance. The air almost felt electric in a way. It wasn't yet dangerous, but it was certainly tense. But, again. At least the wildflowers were pretty. 

To distract myself from my phobia of thunderstorms, I began to wander through the open meadow, kneeling down occasionally to take close-up pictures of my favorite wildflowers. Fluffy wild honeybees were busily buzzing from one patch of flowers to the next, as though they had a pollen quota to fill before the sheets of rain to the west reached the meadow. 

Mountain Bluebirds and cute little Chickadees fluttered from one grove of pines to the next. Many landed by some campers who were finishing up their lunch, hoping and waiting for bread crumbs. 

Occasionally, well-fed chipmunks popped out of their dens and out from under fallen logs in search of food. But, the squirrelly little things would immediately dart for shelter at almost every little noise and movement, knowing damn well there were hawks and owls nearby who were perched up in the trees, ready and waiting for a chipmunk to snag. 

But, just as I was beginning to fully relax and immerse myself in God's beautiful creation, a sudden gust rushed through the grass, followed by a startling crack of thunder. 

"Shit!" I thought to myself as I bolted for the jeep like a spooked pronghorn. 

I made it inside the safety of our little metal box on wheels just as the first huge raindrops began to fall. 

"Oh good." Dad smiled, "It's finally getting exciting!"

"The hell do ya mean by that?" I scowled. 

"The rain!" Dad replied, "It's gonna be so fun to blast through the mud."

"Glad you think that." I rolled my eyes, "Cuz we're probably either gonna get stuck, slide off the mountain, get struck by lightning, get crushed by a widowma-"

"Oh, c'mon!" Dad laughed, "Where's your sense of adventure?!"

"It damn sure isn't here. I think I value our safety a little more than whatever you think is fun, y'know?"

"Boo! You're no fun!" Dad snickered, "Here! Take the maps and lead us to Rollinsville. We're gonna make it there or die tryin'!" 

"Lord, forgive him, for he knows not what he does..." I growled to myself, half-joking. 

"Oh, shut up! We'll be fine." Dad laughed, "We've only slid four or five times. What can possibly go wrong from here?!"

We bid the Trailhunter's convoy a farewell, and headed northwest towards Rollinsville. By then, the rain had picked up substantially, lashing the windshield as the wind drove it sideways. Dad, giggling like a little schoolgirl, sped up every time we came upon a puddle in the trail, splashing mud and rocks everywhere, including onto me. Oh well, I wasn't expecting to come home mud-free anyway. My socks had already been soaked through before our off-roading even began!

"Why don't you get some tunes playin'!" Dad shouted over the roar of the jeep's engine. 

I nodded, reaching for the dashboard speaker. Playing some good ol' boy music would surely ease the tense anxiety in the air. That, and my dad loved nothing more than to annoy/embarrass me by singing along to "Ol' Slew Foot" in the most obnoxious, off-tune voice he could muster. 

"He's big 'round the middle and he's broad across the rump, 

Runnin' ninety miles an hour and takin' thirty feet a jump. 

He ain't never been caught, ain't never been treed, 

Some folks say he looks a lot like me..." 

Rain and mud continuously lashed at the jeep, occasionally seeping through shoddily drilled drainage holes in the vinyl floor, and soaking both Dad and I through the leaky side windows. While Dad was having a total blast without a worry in the world, I was really starting to worry, especially because the skies seemed to be only growing darker and angrier. I feared my phobias might actually become true. 

However, in true Colorado fashion, with a couple heavy gusts of wind, the storm suddenly stopped as though Jesus Himself had come down to command it to cease. Sunlight beamed down from a clearing in the skies. Its warmth was welcomed, especially as it helped to dry things up. Even better, on the side of the trail I saw an abandoned cabin, which we obviously had to get out to explore while it was warm and dry. 

Dad pulled off into the trees, and we then hiked over to the cabin, cautious but curious. 

"Wonder how long's it been abandoned." I mused aloud, cautiously prowling around the side of the cabin to peer inside through what used to be a window. The roof had mostly collapsed and all that remained was an old rusted box spring. 

"At least thirty years or more, I'd guess." Dad replied. 

"Huh..." I growled, "Interesting."

We wandered around to the back of the cabin, where we found the foundation of what used to be an outhouse. But, aside from that, it seemed like nature had largely taken back the old miner's cabin. There wasn't much to see besides the shell of the cabin and the surrounding firs and aspens (and, of course, those pretty wildflowers). Bored and jittery, Dad and I raced to the Jeep and got back to charging over the muddy trail. Just in time for the skies to darken yet again.

"Uh oh..." I sighed. 

"What?" 

"It's gonna rain again."

"Ahhh, we'll be fine," Dad assured, "A little rain never hurt anyone."

Just then, lighting struck the next mountain over to the west, followed by a great boom of thunder not two seconds later. 

"But lightning has." I nodded as the wind picked up ahead of the storm, "As have falling trees."

"We're not gonna get struck by lightning." Dad rolled his eyes, "If we did, it would go through the Jeep and not through us."

"What about a widowmaker though..." I pondered as I watched the pines hiss and sway. 

"That's what the roll cage and hardtop's for!" Dad laughed, "Get some music going again and quit worrying about the weather. This Jeep'll go through anything we throw at it."

"Anything?" I side-eyed my dad. 

"Damn right!"

"Well... Hope ya got it right with God then." I shook my head as I reached for the Blutooth speaker. 

We were alone on the trail. Either we were far ahead of everyone else, or everyone else was smart enough to call it a day with the weather looking as it was. But, Dad was hellbent on getting to Rollinsville, even if it killed us. So, I just said a silent prayer, asking God to not let our pride and stupidity lead to our ultimate demise. 

It didn't take long for rain to lash at the windshield yet again, or for massive puddles of mud to form on the trails. It was getting really sketchy. So sketchy, in fact, that my dad began to cackle like a hyena; it's a nervous tick of his. 

Scarier still, the mountainside trail became narrower and tilted towards the base of the mountain. Gravity was clawing at our Jeep, trying to drag it down the mountain. Dad and I both fell silent as the Jeep fishtailed downward every now and then. If Physics got its wish, we'd both get to meet Jesus, and I'd gladly throw my dad under the bus when God asked the inevitable question, "So... what got you two here today?"

Because it was actually getting scarily bad even for us, Dad reached for his phone and spoke out an emergency message to some friends and family while we still had signal. 

"If you don't hear back from me by five this evening, call 9-1-1 and tell 'em we're between Rollinsville and Pickle Gulch. Shit's gettin' real sketchy and we're alone."

"Dad, what the fuck?" I whispered, biting the inside of my lip till I tasted blood. Shit really was getting real. 

He didn't respond. 

"Make sure I don't run into any of the trees on your side of the Jeep..." Dad mumbled a few tense moments later as he struggled to see through the blinding rain. 

I leaned out of the window yet again, clenching my teeth and bowing my head against the wind-driven downpour. But, I wasn't just bracing against rain, wind, and mud. Hail began to pelt the earth around us, making it even more slick, and the trail was really beginning to tilt. We couldn't even stop to take a breather, as we would slide sideways and downward every time Dad let off the gas. For the first time in a long time, I was seriously worried about meeting my Creator. Well... I wasn't scared of the death part or even the part where I got to meet God, but I damn sure didn't want to die by rolling down the mountain in a rugged old YJ. That would be one hell of a harrowing experience.

Strangely, instead of utter fear, I felt determined more than anything to get onto more solid ground. So, while Dad fought with the gas and clutch and navigated the narrowed trail, I kept my head out the window and called the shots, "Turn the wheel o'er here. There's a big ass jagged rock ahead. Bring the wheel this a-way and you'll dodge it. Give it gas! Woah, easy there, easy, ho, ho..."

"What am I, a horse?" Dad facetiously asked at some point. 

"For now, yeah..." I nodded, smirking, "Aight, there's a fallen tree up ahead, slow 'n steady now..."

The Jeep creaked and cracked like a ship on rough seas as it climbed over the rocks and trees in the slick mud. Occasionally, the trees became so narrow that the front and rear bumpers of the jeep would scape against them, leaving impressive gashes in our wake. The center console between Dad and I was hot like a stove, as the RPMs were running high and the driveshaft yoke was working overtime. If there was a positive in that situation, at least the heat that radiated from the floor helped us dry off and stay warm. Even better, all of the gauges on the dashboard were showing normal temperatures and pressures. The only gauge that was freaking out was the gas gauge, but we'd filled up the tank fully just before setting off onto the trail, so I wasn't worried about that so much. We had enough gas to comfortably cross the Continental Divide and make it to Glenwood Hot Springs if we wanted to. 

"I'm glad we didn't take the Xterra..." I shook my head as the YJ nearly took out an entire young fir tree, "We'd have to crush the wheel-wells to get through this shit."

"Yeah?" Dad mumbled. 

"Mhmm..." I nodded back, "And prolly bulldoze our way through too. Like a goddamn bull moose or some shit. The Xterra would get pretty fucked up, and Mom would kill me..."

"Yeah?" Dad mumbled again. Clearly, my ramblings were going in one ear and out the other, so I fell silent and just focused on guiding my dad when necessary. 

I turned up the Blutooth speaker so that the music could help us stay calm and focused. Fittingly, Johnny Cash was singing, "Ghost Riders in the Sky", as we continued on through that mountain hurricane, fighting gravity and the weather to stay on solid ground. I stayed leaned out the window watching the tires, as Dad remained at the helm, and Johnny Cash sang that eerie song. 

Miraculously, after fifteen minutes of stiffly negotiating the dangerous trail as the storm raged on, we came to flatter, wider ground and could finally take a breather. Dad got out to take a piss, while I got out to stretch my back and legs, as well as scout the trail a little ways to see what we were still up against. By then, it was still pouring rain and was almost too cold for just my one hoodie, but at least the wind and hail had subsided. 

Ahead of us, the trail was still muddy and full of pits, rocks, and potholes. But, it was flat and had plenty of room on either side of the trail to keep us from breaking our necks on the way down the mountainside. Sure, it was steep downhill at times, but nothing quite like we'd encountered on the way up. I breathed in a sigh of relief, taking in the wonderful scents of rain and mud. 

The worst was over. Hopefully. 

Our outdoor time was short. Cracks of startling thunder and the occasional heavy gust of wind reminded us that it was pretty damn dangerous to be outside. Well... our whole adventure had turned into a death wish at that point. But, Dad and I were determined to emerge from the wilderness alive and unscathed. We put our heads together, looking over paper maps and weather radar apps, till we were satisfied with our next plan. 

The trail ahead of us, while steep and muddy, wasn't nearly as hard or as scary as the trails behind us. In fact, we were pretty close to the base of the mountains. Instead of being flanked by steep grades on either side, we had open meadows of Aspen groves and Willow brush with swollen creeks and bogs weaving around them. There were also campsites, most of which were empty, except for the Forest Service stakes and rough stone campfire pits that marked them. Nobody in their right mind would want to camp in such horrible weather. Hell, nobody in their right mind would've gone off-roading that day. 

Yet, there we were, trucking along after many close calls and brushes with death.