Note: Since I spent Saturday sleeping and taking pills, I've gotten a lot better. I'm still not 100% sure what was really wrong with me, but I'm glad to be almost completely better. To celebrate, my dad picked me up and we decided to go up to the mountains again, and drive up Cascade Creek as far as the Xtrerra could go. We expected it to be rough, but we didn't expect it to be dangerous. 

Cascade Creek started off as the steep, rocky trail we know it to be, but it was easy for the Xterra to drive up for the first few miles. It was quiet, cool, and windy. No one was around but us. In fact, we never saw nor heard another soul during the whole drive. There were tire tracks in the dirt, but they weren't fresh. There weren't any animals around either, except for a single finch that was briefly perched on a branch above the trail. We thought it was strange that no one was around, but other than that, we didn't think much of it. We just continued to ascend the trail which got steeper, rockier, and rougher as we continued. 

After about a mile of rocks, ditches, and fallen trees, we made it to where the road split off in a few directions. One trail was gated off, and the other seemed to be guarded by a property marker, so we took the road that was just to the left ahead of us and wasn't guarded by signs or gates. This road was severely rough and rocky. It was also very steep, to the point where I began to question if this was a good idea. 

"You sure this is the right way? I don't recognize this." I glanced over at my dad. 

"Yeah, it's the right way." Dad nodded. 

"But... what if it's not?" 

"Oh, Maya. Where's your sense of adventure?" Dad blew me off. 

I relaxed and Dad kept going. We were slow, especially since the trail was nearly at a 40% grade (20 degree angle), and only getting steeper as we drove. Dad and I noticed some peculiar noises as we drove up a particularly steep and rocky section of the trail. Once we reached the top of this section, where the land cleared and leveled just enough for us to stop, we parked and got out. We spent ten minutes inspecting the belly of the Xterra. It was a little wet and pretty dusty under there, but the bolts and screws were on tight, nothing had moved or cracked, and it looked just fine. We assumed we were just dragging the muffler against the ground, took some pictures, and kept going. 

As we rounded the bend, we noticed several junk cars and rusted farming equipment dumped in a clearing. There was a barbed wire fence decorated with "No Trespassing" signs and other signs warning potential visitors not to enter that property. Near the junkyard was a shack and trailer. They looked abandoned, but a new(ish) truck parked ahead of the shack told us otherwise. I joked about how a redneck would burst out of his shack with a loaded shotgun aimed at us, and while Dad chuckled at this, our smiles quickly dropped and we turned serious again. The trail ahead of us looked worse than we wanted it to be, but we figured it was relatively safe and easy for the Xterra, as long as we took it slow and steady. 

The Xterra took that trail surprisingly well, despite the boulders, slick sand, and loose shale that made and covered the 40%-45% grade trail. It was certainly rough, and I couldn't hold my phone steady enough for a picture, so I took a video in hopes I'd get some material to screenshot later.

Meanwhile, the noises we assumed were just the muffler getting dragged and beaten, had now turned into bumps and jolts that didn't belong to just a little muffler or the road. I nervously glanced at my dad, and he side-eyed me. 

"You feeling that?" I asked. 

"Yeah." Dad answered as we drove over a boulder and dropped back onto the trail. 

"The hell was it?"

"Dunno." 

"Well, we need to check. Next clearing, we're pulling over and turning around." I said. 

My dad didn't reply, but as soon as the road leveled off again, we got out and spent another ten minutes or so looking over the axles more closely. Nothing was wrong, but as we continued up the trail again, it was apparent something was wrong, but neither of us had any idea what. Dad wanted to keep going, but I somehow convinced him to turn around the next chance we had. I didn't want to stretch our luck too far. We had a long way to drive back, and for all we knew, the Xterra was splitting apart in places we couldn't see. 

Dad kept it in neutral the most of the way down, and for most of that ride we were moving even though my dad had his foot firmly planted on the brakes. During that ride down in neutral, we didn't hear nor feel a single problem. Sure, it was rough, but there weren't any sudden jolts or loud bangs below us associated with any issues. We could still hear the muffler scraping the ground, but it was hardly noticeable. To experiment, Dad put the Xterra in two-wheel drive, and gave it some gas. We didn't notice anything. He put it in four-wheel drive, and a few seconds later, we felt a pretty alarming bump below us. Dad quickly stopped and got out one last time to investigate. There was nothing wrong he could see or feel. 

Finally, we made it to where the trail split in a few directions. Dad suddenly realized something. 

"Remember when you said you didn't recognize the trail?" Dad asked. 

"Mm-hm." I nodded.

"Well, we took the wrong trail. Looks like the gate got ran over or something... It's all twisted in the woods over there. No wonder it was so bad. The actual trail continues where the property marker is!" 

Ahead of us, the property marker pointed us towards a much easier trail. It was still rough and rocky, but nothing like we had just experienced. 

"Should we keep going? I think we should." Dad grinned. 

"Yeah. Let's keep going. The real trail shouldn't be so bad." I smiled back. 

The actual trail was much wider, less steep, and less rocky than the other trail we had taken. It had its boulders and slick spots, but the Xterra made it up without making interesting noises or jolting weirdly. We came to a familiar clearing, where an abandoned mining shack littered with bullet holes stood nearby a rusted gate into an abandoned mine. We got out to stretch our legs and look around. It wasn't too different than two years ago when we first stumbled upon it. The ground was littered with brass shells and empty beer cans that hadn't been there for more than a few days.

After about five minutes of snooping around and making stupid jokes, we decided to follow the trail higher than we've ever gone before. It was very rough up ahead. The road was layered in granite steps covered in loose rocks and dirt, and partially blocked by a fallen tree, and we were burning rubber trying to climb them. It took us several attempts, but by some miracle, the Xterra made it up that part of the trail, leaving behind only skid marks.This made us nervous, however. What lay ahead was anything but smooth. 

The trail wasn't blocked off, but it probably should be. I noticed several depressions in the ground that were very deep and circular. Then I remembered what my mom's boyfriend told me once about similar holes around his mountain property. The old mine we had left behind and were now driving above was still collapsing. Even now, huge holes are opening up at random, and the earth above is so slick and loose that it quickly fills them up. The movement is strong enough to uproot and bury huge trees, which is what we were seeing as we ascended further. 

"Uh... Dad? I think we should turn around, like right now." I murmured as soon as I remembered this. 

"We got this far, I'm not turning back now! Look, the trail evens out just fine." Dad argued. 

"Yeah... But-"

"No buts!" Dad interrupted, "Just relax and have fun." 

"Uh..." 

"Nope!" 

"Well-"

"We're so close!" Dad said, "We aren't turning around now."

I sat back and took a deep breath. I glanced over the side of the mountain, and tried to keep my eyes on that rather than focus on the holes and depressions that surrounded us. I prayed we wouldn't trigger our own personal sinkhole, but I felt better when I glanced around again and didn't see any more sinkholes. That was until the trail made a 180 degree turn, and we drove further above the mine.

The sinkholes were much larger now and we dipped down into several holes on the trail. I didn't say anything though. I just clenched my teeth and leaned out the window, staring at the road as we drove. 

We came to a clearing that was the end of the trail. Here, it was relatively flat, except for the holes and depressions caused by the collapsing mine just below our feet. We took in the views and I picked up several brass shells and showed them off to my dad. My dad doesn't like guns or knows much about them, so he scowled at the shells in my hand and wandered away, as I rambled on about how the 45. caliber is more fun to shoot, but the 308. is more practical in my experience. I dropped the shells and started taking more pictures. It was a beautiful day, and the views were amazing. They made the whole journey worth it. 

I forgot about how scary and unsafe the trail was until we headed out. As we descended into where the trail turned very rough, my dad started to mumble to himself. As the trail got steeper, slicker, and thinner, Dad really showed his fear by slamming on the brakes and instructing me to keep an eye on the road below our tires.

Of course, when a country boy like my dad gets nervous, I get especially nervous. He jumped cars for sport over ridges and hills as a teen, escaped cops and angry neighbors who chased after him when he raised hell in his early 20s. And now he's the one who impatiently urges me to go well over my comfort and ability zone when I'm on the dirtbike or driving.

I stared at him wide-eyed as he stared at the road the same way. My mind was racing a million miles an hour. 

"Uhhhh..." was all that I managed to get out, as my jaw hung open. 

"I knew it! I knew this was a bad idea!" Dad kind of mumbled to himself, though it was loud. 

Ahead of us, it looked like we had two options. We were at the part where the trail was made of huge granite steps. The safe way down was blocked by a fallen tree, and the way we came up would launch us over the mountainside if we made a millimeter-sized mistake on the way down. My dad tried to reverse for some reason, but our tires skidded and slipped. My dad slowly put the Xterra in park and tried to let his foot off the brake, but we slid a little bit, making my dad throw the Xterra in gear again and slam on the brakes in a panic. 

"Oh dear Jesus help us..." I whispered as I stared wide-eyed out the windshield, not breathing. 

"You know how to get back... Right?" Dad asked as he gazed at me. I've never seen so much fear in his eyes. 

"Uhhh... Yeah?" I gulped, "Why?"

My dad shook his head and stared back out the windshield, sighing, "Never mind.... I can do this."

"Wait what?!" 

"Nothing." Dad growled as he slowly let his foot off the brake. 

My mind went blank as the Xterra went over the first step, smashing the front bumper on the second step below us, and scraping the rear bumper on the first. The tires made a sickening skidding sound as loose rocks and sand slid down the mountainside below and ahead of us. Dad forced the wheel to the sharp right and let his foot off the brake completely. The front axle turned into the trail, the left front wheel partially hanging off the mountainside for a brief second, while the left rear tire hung completely off the mountainside. Luckily, we always had at least three wheels on solid ground at a time, and we were in four-wheel drive, so Dad stepped on it, got back on the trail completely, narrowly missed hitting the granite mountainside wall with the front bumper, and finally slid into the lot between the mine and the mining shed. 

Dad and I both took in a couple deep breaths, and then we burst into laughter. 

"Holy shit! What just happened?!" I hollered. 

"I don't know!" Dad laughed back, "But don't tell your mom!" 

We laughed some more, getting more and more hysterical as seconds turned into minutes, until finally we stopped laughing, wiped away a few tears, and relaxed. We still giggled here and there as we tried to piece together what just happened. 

"What the hell were we thinking!?" Dad chuckled. 

"We weren't!" I laughed again, "But thank God we made it!"

"I was seriously gonna send you to get help by the main road, but I decided not to." Dad admitted as his smile faintly faded. 

"I wouldn't have gone." I shook my head, " Even if I sprinted the whole way down, it would've taken too long. We ride together, we die together! I just hope you made it right with God." 

"I have now..." Dad nodded, "I have now." 

Dad put the Xterra back into drive, and the rough road became smoother as we slowly descended further. Dad and I were both shaking in our seats as we drove down, and we finally completely relaxed when the steep dirt turned to leveled asphalt. We will never speak of this to each other, at least for awhile.

To deal with our near-death experience/miracle of God, we drove back down to my house and worked on my dirtbike. There wasn't anything to fix, but taking the bike apart, spray-painting the gas tank, and washing the dirt off the dirtbike was therapeutic. Even when my dad left for his house, I stayed in my garage and continued to "work on it" until my mom made me come in for dinner. 

At dinner, I didn't say a word about how Dad and I almost drove off a cliff to our deaths. All I said was "We went to Cascade Creek, didn't make it all the way, turned around, got some food in Evergreen, and came here.", which is mostly a lie, but Mom never questioned it. She probably never will. 

I will never go on Cascade Creek (or any off-road trail) again until I have my jeep ready to go (which has a steel/iron frame, padded roll cage, and is built to withstand trails like "Hell's Revenge" in Moab, Utah), I have at least one partner with an equally safe and reliable vehicle, and have a satellite phone. I've never felt genuine fear like that. Sure, I've been genuinely afraid and close to death, but never like that! It was a truly humbling experience, and I think I'm done with off-roading in the Xterra, which means I won't be doing that again until my jeep is road-worthy. I'm pretty sure my dad feels the same way. 

Just remember, count each day as a blessing. Life is fragile. If my dad was a millimeter too far to the left, or a millisecond too late to slam on the gas, or God wasn't around to break the laws of physics for us, we probably wouldn't be here. Also, if you're gonna do risky trail rides, get a jeep with a roll cage, or a dirtbike, or both. And make sure you have it right with God.