“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?!"
