Over the river and through the woods (part II)

We were hanging around town on a Saturday night, drinking beer and looking for something to do. We happened to be extolling the virtues of the Jeep, which would take us anywhere and even better, bring us back.

One of the guys we were talking to claimed he had gone over the edge of Old Baldy (A mountain right outside town) and over to the hiway on the other side And never used a road except when he got close to town, a feat he felt could not be duplicated.

Telling me I cannot do something is the best way I know of to entice me to doing something I would not ordinarily attempt. We discussed this at length. We felt we could duplicate the feat, and go him one better: We could do it in the dark.

A bet was made, involving cases of beer and a time limit. We had to make it back by dawn, and we needed to get a matchbook from a specific tavern on the other side. We knew it would be a challenge, because we would not only be navigating over the mountain at night, but the Tavern on the other side closed at 2:00 so we couldn't make any mistakes on the way over. Or back.

We headed out at 10:00. We had studied some maps, and there was the remains of an old road, a dry creekbed, some logging roads and a few places where we would be cutting cross country. We had all hunted and fished the area for years so we all pitched in our accumulated knowledge. Gary was to drive, and I was to navigate.

It was a fine August night with a full moon, We made good time. Cut across several hay fields, up the creek (without a paddle, nonetheless) and over the corner of the hill. We walked into the tavern at a a little after one A.M. Stopping to have a beer, we discussed the trip back. We just had to follow our own tracks back, and we would be back in town with time to spare.

With a minimun of brush thrashing, we made out way back over the hill. What happened next was discussed for years. I will forever claim that GAry, having made it most of the way back got cocky and went off of our path because he thought he knew of a shortcut. He on the other hand claimed that I got lost and gave him bad directions.

We were crossing an old hayfield, long abandoned, when a line of dark appeared in front of us. It was an old barbed wire fence, burried in the brush. All we could do was hang in and hope for the best.

Old Reliable bucked and snorted, but made it through the fence. It looked like we were going to make it. About that time the Jeep began slowing down as a terrible noise came from under the floorboards. It sounded like a Tasmanian Devil was trying to claw his way through the floor! Then the car slowed and finally stopped. No amount of cursing ot pleading would persuade the car to move forward a single inch.

We got out and climbed under the car with a flashlight, and there on the driveshaft was an enormous ball of barbed wire. It had caught in the drive shaft, and wound itself up like twine on a spindle until so much of it accumulated that it was jammed solid between the drive shaft and the floorboards.

We carried a ridimentary tool kit with us, but nothing looked promising. The barbed wire was old and weathered, but was strong enough that we couldn't just break it by prying on it. The only way was to attack one strand at a time. Take one strand firmly in the pliers, twist it back and forth and after about twenty twists, it would snap in two from metal fatigue.

Carefully bend the two halves back, and go for the next. It was slow and bloody work. We both occasionally would cut ourselves with a barb, and although we wrapped our hands in rags and took turns, our hands were a bloody and blistered mess before we got the jeep free. I have no idea how long it took. On one hand it seemed to take forever when looked at from the individual strand of wire perspective. On the other hand the time left until dawn shrank at an alarming rate.

Eventually the last strand was broken, the jeep was freed, and we made out way into town. Although we were given credit for ALMOST making an incredible trek, we still lost the bet.

I can clearly remember what it was like, being young and full of a sense of adventure. Would I take on the challenge nowdays?

Probably not without a cutting torch.