Horror Stories

busboy66

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Jun 2, 2010
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257
Location
Victoria, BC, Canada
After reading DD's flat tire/wrong lugnut adventure, that poor guy that parked his truck and camper in a river bed and SunMan's short circuit/meltdown, I wondered how many of you had really been in the weeds metaphorically and realistically speaking. What you did to get out of it?

This could mean breakdowns, wrecks, stuck vehicles, pissed off animals, bad weather, what have you.

We have been lucky so far. I Only had to grab the hatchet once for self preservation. I just thought a few heroic tales might embolden others trying new things.
 
My first thought was ... "Don't Ever Eat Hot Links in the West !"

This story below was posted by someone awhile back.

I don't think you could even make up a better story than this.

:)

_____________________________________________________________________________


. . . Here's some more detail on how this fiasco happened:

I ate lunch last Tuesday at a restaurant located on a nearby trout stream. Hot-link sandwich and a beer. Although I'd told my wife I was merely going to lunch, I got a wild hair and started scouting the river for some likely spots.

A couple hours later, headed home, I stopped at a liquor store and bought a 12-pack of Killians and a pack of smokes. Then I headed home on a back road that I knew well and had driven often.

At this point I became aware of some acute gastrointestinal problems. Bad hot links? I needed privacy, fast, and I turned off the road and up a side road. After taking care of my business, I decided that I had put the truck in a position that I couldn't back it up, and would have to continue forward.

For a couple miles, the road seemed totally reasonable. It was headed in the right direction and Tuesday was a beautiful Colorado spring day. So I continued on. After all, I had four-wheel drive! For reasons I can't really explain, I continued up this road even when it became more difficult. And then another wave of nausea hit, and I blindly kept going up this road. Why I can't really say, except that my judgment was clouded by illness.

I'm not a 4-wheeling kind of guy. I have it on my truck for snowstorms, mud season and for the occasional trip over a rough road. But performing tricks on hazardous mountain roads has never appealed to me. I'd rather die by sliding off a barstool than sliding off a mountain road.

Soon I had hit snow, the terrain became undulating, and I was sliding down the mountain -- skiing in my truck, for chrissakes! I crashed the truck several times, but couldn't turn around. Then more nausea. Finally I came to a place where I couldn't continue. I was utterly off the road and lost as hell. And physically and emotionally exhausted. I keep camping gear in my truck, as I always do, and collapsed in my bag. Don't believe I ever slept that night because I was still dealing with nausea and, of course, fright.

At 5 a.m. Wednesday, I got up and started a fire. Plenty of fuel to be had, and soon it was blazing high. I got in my truck, turned on my flashing lights and began belting out S.O.S. on my horn. Surely someone would notice.

Then I began to wonder whether today's Internet savvy kids even recognize Morse Code. Would they think I was some crank just amusing myself? S.O.S.? What's that?

When the sun came up fully, I started throwing fresh pine boughs and rotten wood on the fire, to create as much smoke as possible. I was pretty certain that the authorities would be looking for me by now. And I surveyed the position of my truck and decided it would be suicidal to drive off this mountain.

I still was feeling weak and still nauseous with no hunger. Good things, because my emergency cans of chili had disappeared from my camping box. (Probably got hungry one night at home and fixed myself a pot, only to forget to replace it.)

So I finished off my 12 pack and thanked God for the Irish and their devotion to good beverage. I longed for a shot or three of Jameson, but that was futile. Actually I was longing for a lot of things. Finally I collapsed in my bag and had a solid night's sleep. The next morning, I was damn certain, help would arrive.

The next morning, help never arrived, even though I'd repeated the signaling with the truck lights and the bonfire. I listened intently to KOA radio, hoping to hear that a search had been launched. Turns out, it had been, but KOA never reported it. Had they done so, I would have stayed put.

By noon, I was convinced that no human had ever encountered the terrain where I was stuck. If I wanted to survive this ordeal, I'd have to save myself. And that, I feared, could prove fatal. By now I was hungry and wondering what kind of greul I could brew up with some fresh pine needles). Just driving up this mountain had damn near killed me. Driving down in a weakened state? Through deep snow with no road underneath? Unthinkable, yet I had to do it.

I knew from my trip odometer that I was 14.3 miles into the woods from the highway. That was too far to tackle on foot and almost surely I'd get lost trying to do it. At least with my truck, I had a survival system in case I got stuck again.

So I found a ballpoint pen and began writing a note to Becky, explaining why I might not be around for our 35th anniversary later this year. In a very perfect metaphor for the whole damn trip, the pen ran out of ink after two sentences.

Further discouraged, I screwed up my courage and headed down the mountain. The first mile took more than an hour. After a couple miles, I was certain I would make it, and finally I did.

If there's a moral to this story, I suppose it is this: Beware of hot links sandwiches anywhere in the West.



.


.


.
 
I've mentioned this here before but once while camped in Cottonwood Canyon in DV we realized as we were breaking camp that my battery was dead in my truck. It is about a 15 mile one way hike to Stovepipe Wells and it was raining, not to mention Superbowl Sunday. I'd often wondered if I would be able to jump my rig with my house battery in an emergency. Fortunately for me I found out it was indeed possible. That would have been one real crappy walk.
 
The same trip as DD's flat tire experience was probably our biggest oops. Sorry, dear, my biggest oops. It was the trip that earned me the Magellan moniker.
Earlier in that trip we camped with DD at Soldier Meadows hot springs. It had been raining heavily for several days and the roads were pretty muddy. Rather than go out Soldier Meadows Road, I was convinced we could make it out by taking a route over to High Rock Lake and connect up to County Road 34 by the petrified forest. The campground host didn't recommend this route because of the recent weather. My thought was that only the low desert roads were affected by the rain. The roads over the mountains would be rocky and not as muddy. I assured my wife we would be fine, said our goodbyes to DD, and headed out. As DD says in his trip report, "Cue the Gilligan's Island music."

Going over the hills was much as I expected. Rocky, with occasional large, slippery puddles. The scenery was nice and we stopped for photos off and on. The descent into the valley that is home to High Rock Lake had some really slick spots, so we were keeping it in 4x4 low. Once down in the valley, the road was a typical desert road bladed through the sagebrush. About ten feet wide with no way to pull off or turn around. As the valley floor leveled out, the puddles got longer - like 100 feet long. And then they didn't end. The valley floor was flooded. I couldn't pull over or turn around. I was afraid to stop because I thought the lack of momentum would cause us to sink in the mud and be stuck until it dried out. I remember thinking my wife had food and water and would be ok on the camper for a couple of days while I walked back to civilization to get help.

This went on for about a mile. Neither of us were talking, just holding our breath and hoping for the best. Then up ahead was a slight rise on the road, about 20 feet that was wet but above the standing water. And for just that little section the road was wider. We stopped and finally exhaled. I told my wife I didn't know what was ahead and the road could get worse. But we made it this far and if we could turn around we could make it back. And that is what we did. About a 7-point u-turn and back into the water, up the slippery slope, across the mountains, and back into Soldier Meadows. As luck would have it, there was DD. He snapped a picture of our truck as we drove up. It kind of tells the story of what we had been through. BTW, if you ever see us on the road, you'll notice I'm not usually the driver anymore.

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We killed the truck battery 35 miles down Hole in the Rock Road outside Escalante, Ut. Hole in the Rock Road is a 55 mile dead end dirt road and we were actually about a mile off that down a dead end spir road. We hadn't seen another sole in 3 days. Freaked out for about a minute, calmed ourselves down and then loaded up packs with food, water, sun screen and dog food and started hiking.

The plan was to hike the mile out to the main dirt road and sit there all day and hope for someone. At the end of the day if no one arrived we'd return to the truck(where we had tons of food, water and beer) spend the night and do the same the next day. After a couple days of this with no luck we'd have to hike the 35+ miles out to the main blacktop at night(to avoid the 100+ degree heat during the day) to find help. Unless of course we found someone along the way.

We started hiking the spur road to begin our vigil and less than 5 minutes from the truck a car turned down our side spur road! We had jumper cables he jumped out battery and we were good to go! Could have turned epic, but literally 20 minutes after realizing we were screwed we were up and running. Crazy!
 
The same trip as DD's flat tire experience was probably our biggest oops. Sorry, dear, my biggest oops. It was the trip that earned me the Magellan moniker.
Earlier in that trip we camped with DD at Soldier Meadows hot springs. It had been raining heavily for several days and the roads were pretty muddy. Rather than go out Soldier Meadows Road, I was convinced we could make it out by taking a route over to High Rock Lake and connect up to County Road 34 by the petrified forest. The campground host didn't recommend this route because of the recent weather. My thought was that only the low desert roads were affected by the rain. The roads over the mountains would be rocky and not as muddy. I assured my wife we would be fine, said our goodbyes to DD, and headed out. As DD says in his trip report, "Cue the Gilligan's Island music."

Going over the hills was much as I expected. Rocky, with occasional large, slippery puddles. The scenery was nice and we stopped for photos off and on. The descent into the valley that is home to High Rock Lake had some really slick spots, so we were keeping it in 4x4 low. Once down in the valley, the road was a typical desert road bladed through the sagebrush. About ten feet wide with no way to pull off or turn around. As the valley floor leveled out, the puddles got longer - like 100 feet long. And then they didn't end. The valley floor was flooded. I couldn't pull over or turn around. I was afraid to stop because I thought the lack of momentum would cause us to sink in the mud and be stuck until it dried out. I remember thinking my wife had food and water and would be ok on the camper for a couple of days while I walked back to civilization to get help.

This went on for about a mile. Neither of us were talking, just holding our breath and hoping for the best. Then up ahead was a slight rise on the road, about 20 feet that was wet but above the standing water. And for just that little section the road was wider. We stopped and finally exhaled. I told my wife I didn't know what was ahead and the road could get worse. But we made it this far and if we could turn around we could make it back. And that is what we did. About a 7-point u-turn and back into the water, up the slippery slope, across the mountains, and back into Soldier Meadows. As luck would have it, there was DD. He snapped a picture of our truck as we drove up. It kind of tells the story of what we had been through. BTW, if you ever see us on the road, you'll notice I'm not usually the driver anymore.



Ted,
I don't know about you but I'll always wonder if you could have made it!
 
Ted,
I don't know about you but I'll always wonder if you could have made it!


+1.


No really crazy adventures with the FWC. I've had some more interesting event in college in the UP of michigan, bombing around in snow and wheeling in the woods.
 
Ted,
I don't know about you but I'll always wonder if you could have made it!

+2.


In all the years that we have been "out there" (many times waaaay out there), we have never had a real scare (that sound is me knocking on wood).
I did have to coast my 1977 FJ40 1.5 miles into Lakeview, OR with a blown clutch line and burned up distributor cap. That really wasn't such a big deal except that we were headed out into the northern Nevada desert (coulda been worse).
The best part of that whole trip was meeting a guy named Bill who was an old school Harley guy living in a single wide trailer with a barn chalked full of all kinds of old car parts. He had a long scraggly beard and a real talent for systematically replacing parts until he found out what was really wrong.

FJ40.jpg
Long story short: Bill got back on the road and we were able to limp the FJ back to Bend. We still talk to Bill from time to time.

Home Skillet
 
Awesome (scary too) :unsure:

So far, besides the bad sammich, mostly equipment failure. I guess that speaks volumes about the need for preparation.

No bears, skunks, snakes, sink holes, propane leaks etc?
 
"We're fvkt!!"
My true story of, if not horror then at least serious anxiety during a truck-camping-travel adventure.
I guess it's also kind of a trip report, so bear with my very long story...or not – just look at the pictures.

The year was 1995, early June it was -- June because we had to wait for one of the 3 of us to be done with his community college teaching job for the year. We were headed to remote, little-visited, Smith Creek Canyon on the east side of the Snake Range in extreme-eastern Nevada, about 20 miles north of 50/6, accessed (for the first 25 miles) by a good-quality graded gravel road that takes off from US 50/6 in Nevada then crosses over into Utah for most of its route north, parallel to the NV/UT border.

smithcreek95-1.JPG

Taking off the this gravel county road, the Smith Creek road then crosses back into NV to head up Smith Creek Canyon along the creek, the valley walls rising up to limestone cliffs. It was late spring, the valley floor was green, yucca were in bloom.

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We were 3 guys in two Toyota/Nissan 4x4 pickups with canopies/caps. Since it was spring, the creek was running pretty heavy, and there were several fords required as the road crossed back and forth. The next-to-the-last stream-crossing wasn't a ford; the stream went through a big culvert -- maybe 20 feet long and 3+ feet diameter, so it was a flat crossing on dirt.
If this was a movie, one of the characters would have said at this crossing, "Man, I sure am glad this culvert is here!" (cue ominous music).
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We spent a couple of nights camped at the end of the road, near the edge of a wilderness area. We did a great hike up the canyon, one with many stream-wades as the trail (a former jeep trail at first), constrained by the narrow canyon's steep walls, wound back and forth across the creek. But since it was sunny and warm we didn't mind the wading.
Sunny and warm...so there was a lot of snow melt. In fact, on the second night the creek rose enough that it almost touched the bag of the guy who was sleeping next to it. During that night around the campfire we thought we heard boulders shifting/rolling somewhere nearby downstream, moving under the force of the spring flood. (cue more ominous music)


Our trip out began with this stream ford, Jim leading in his truck, the ford deeper than it had been on the trip in...(more ominous music)
unsure.gif
:


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We went a couple hundred yards further, round the bend to the culvert-crossing...that is -- (cue "Psycho"-shower-scene-like shreak-music)-- where the culvert had been!
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That big culvert had been completely washed out, away, downstream! That had been the “boulder” noise we’d heard the night before!

"We're fvkt!!", Jim exclaimed, as we got out of our rigs to gape -- shocked -- at the sight! It was a >4-foot drop with straight-walled sides down to the stream -- no way to ford this former culvert-crossing.
ohmy.gif

We wandered downstream a bit – found the big culvert where it had been carried almost 50 feet from where it was supposed to be, walked down further and proceeded to try to build a ford in a low-banked spot. But every rock and boulder that we threw into the stream – those small enough that we could lift or even roll – was immediately carried away by the force of the water. The canyon walls came in next to the stream, so there was no way to go very far upstream or down that would have led “out”. No way to drive out without crossing at the former-culvert spot, which our trucks couldn't do. We were indeed “fvkt”!!

So, what to do?!?! We realized that we could walk out to “civilization”…maybe take a bus home… but neither Jim nor I considered abandoning our rigs an acceptable option. (Larry, passenger, didn't have that concern -- lucky him. :rolleyes:)

Jim decided that he would ride his mt bike down to the main road, find someone...see what they might suggest, get help somehow. With some old climbing rope we put Jim (with bike) on belay to get across the rushing stream, after that he was on his own as he rode down the canyon. (He later told us that at another crossing downstream he had been knocked off his feet by the water and almost lost the bike!)

A few hours later Jim returned with, as it turned out, the perfect guy that he could have found – a Mr. King who was a deputy sheriff (in Utah’s Millard County) as well as an employee at Great Basin National Park – a guy with the right connections. He surveyed the situation and told us to sit tight where we were overnight, that he’s send some help up the next day. I was still mighty worried that night about what was going to happen with my truck.
sad.gif


Next morning we saw coming up the road on the other side of the creek a big front-end loader with two guys from the Millard Co (UT) road dept., who regularly work on the main gravel road on the Utah side, though we were in Nevada. Their plan was to use the loader to scoop out the banks of the stream where the road crossed to make it a ford.
But before they would do anything they threw across the stream a clipboard with a statement for us to sign absolving them of any responsibility if the USFS got mad about someone doing unauthorized road/stream work in the national forest. While we were surprised and a little concerned by this legal angle, it was a reasonable request – and really, what choice did we have?

So, we signed the waiver, threw it back across the stream and the front-end loader went to work. In literally a few seconds – a minute at most– the loader had carved out a ford. But the water was still too deep and too fast to ford in our light-weight rigs without serious risk of being swept away by the flood. So, using a long chain that I happened to have in my truck, the loader towed us across; We were saved!


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The water actually surged clear over the windshield!! Being somewhat clueless about really-deep fords I didn’t think about the possibility of sucking water into my engine while the hood was submerged, so I had the engine still running at this point. :rolleyes: But, apparently, no water got sucked in anyway. The two guys with the loader towed us through one more deeply-flooded ford, too.

We were so relieved and very grateful! We offered these Millard Co road workers a case of beer for their trouble, but they declined – either because they were on duty or (we assumed) because they were devout Mormons. So, we relaxed with a beer (or a few) for a while, then headed south towards the UT/NV border and the wonderful/funky Border Inn.
Funny thing: a few miles south on that main gravel road we came upon one of the road crew – the younger of the two, by himself this time. He walked over to us and said, “Do you guys have any herb?" (Hmmm…"no thanks" to beer, but “herb” is OK with his religion/job?…or maybe he was able to ask now because his boss wasn't around). Well, we didn’t have any herb (surprisingly, for the era), so we said, “No, sorry, but thanks again”, and we were on our way again.

For several months afterward I had the dread that I’d get an angry/official/legal letter from the USFS about the unauthorized “procedure” that had been done to Smith Creek….but we never did. Two years later I revisited the same spot, and there is still no culvert – just the deep ford cut by the Millard Co Road Dept – to rescue us, a crossing which is actually quite ford-able if not during spring flood.
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WOW what a story.I even heard the music.We drove past that road last september coming home from Yellowstone and thought boy don't know if I want to take some of these side roads.

Thanks for the story.The road crew is our tax dollars at work on something other than WAR

Frank
 
I have a bunch but they are all my own fault for being an off roader... But I do have a few from more 'normal' camping trips.

Spring break 1995: I was attedning the University of Alaska in Fairbanks and it had been a long, cold, dark winter so I decided to take a road trip south for the week. No real plan, no destination, no one knew where I would be... I did take a friend from college. We loaded up in my 2wd Ford Ranger loaded to the top with camping gear and supplies and headed out. Did I mention it was cold? That spring break set record lows in Fairbanks, something like 40 below...

Out first night camping was outside of Palmer, AK on some side road along a frozen river. The plan was to hunker down in our tent - wake up every few hours and start the truck to keep it warm. That worked fine until I over slept the last wake up/start the truck session. By the time I got up the truck was dead cold and wouldn't start - I tried until I feared that going any further and it would be too dead to jump start or push start - if we found help.

My buddy and I were close to panic mode being off some side road, in the snow, in the cold, with nobody to find us, and pre-cell phones of course. And we didn't really know where we were. The sun was shinning so we opened the hood of the truck in hopes that some direct sun might warm the engine and battery giving us a chance to start the truck. We also placed our small backpacking stove under the truck to heat the oil pan - sure we could have burnt the truck down, but at least we would have been warm watching it! We waited about an hour and tried to start it again - it turned over so slow I was sure we were done for - but at the last second of battery life it caught and I floored it to keep it going!!!! We got very lucky - on our way out we found out we were a couple miles from the main road and 20 mils from town. We didn't see anyone on the road that morning all the way back to town.

Later in that same trip we got snowed in at Valdez, AK by a serier of avalanches in the pass. The road out of town was closed. Being poor and broke we had to camp somewhere so we just pulled off the highway and found a spot to set up shop - the snow was falling so fast it would cover things up if you set them down for 5 minutes. It snowed 4 feet the first night and broke a pole in our tent... No big deal but what we didn't realize was that our camping site was a little too close to the highway and within range of the snow plow.... So we were awaken by the crash of flying snow as it buried the truck! By morning the truck had 6 feet of snow burying it from the road - the tent had 4 feet on it/around it. And the main hwy wasn't completly plowed/open where we were. We started digging, eating breakfast and packing when we heard the the snow plow coming up the highway. We figured he'd see us and give us a pull or at least clean out a little of the snow in front of us. After a while we heard a lot of backing up, beeping, reving, etc. then nothing. 10 minutes later - we see a guy walking up the road. It was the snow plow driver - he was stuck at a turn around just around the bend of the road... But he had seen our truck in the night and figured we might be of assitance. He did tell us that the road was closed at the turn around he was stuck at, and that he would not be plowing this section open. But he would try and make it at least to where we were to get us out. We gave him one of our shovels as we kept digging with our other shovel. At least we when help might be on the way... After about an hour - we got unstuck enough to make it the 40 feet to the main highway at about the same time the snow plow made it to us. We made it back to town and were happy to be out of the snow. We slept int he safeway parking lot the next two nights as they got the pass open...
 
1995 seems like a good year for stories.

Maybe 'cause it's long enough ago that nobody can say it didn't happen that way.
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from back in '95 as well....

i've been out in snowy backwoods stuck after a day of eating and drinking due to running the vehicle battery down playing music all day. there was still enough juice to use the cb set. a quick jump and all was well.

one time the wife & I and our two girls woke up to the sound of a huge herd of deer running past our tent. it was like being in a cattle stampeed. the terrain funneled them in close to us and there were a lot of them. it was truly frightening and it seemed to go on forever. there was nothing we could do and i felt so helpless as we huddled in the tent. eventually they all ran past. we were so relieved. the tent was never touched.
 
Sunman, a return trip to Black Rock in similar conditions to see if I would have made is not likely to happen. See, I have this choice, go back to Blackrock or stay happily married. ;)

Not in '95, but back in '93 my Father and I made our first trip to Baja in his VW camper. Most of the drive down we had heavy rains. While staying in The Orchard in Mulege, the owner, Roberto, told us that the bridges washed out up north and we would not be able to get back that way. (Sound familiar Suni?) We decided to head back the next day and see for ourselves how bad it was.

The next evening we were coming into Catavina. The parking lot at the hotel was filled with a couple of hundred people camping. People were saying that there were hundreds of cars, motorhomes, and commercial trucks parked up at the first washed out bridge. Rumors were out about how people were trying to get the rv's to give them food and water. Estimates for the bridges to reopen were in the weeks to months. A small group of us decided to backtrack and take the road over to Bahia San Luis Gonzga and go north from there. We had dinner, went to bed, and headed out early the next morning.

There were five vehicles to start. Us in the old vw, two guys in big 4x4 trucks with campers, two girls in a 2wd van, and three Canadians in a little Toyota. The washboard was typical Baja teeth rattling stuff, and the three of us in 2wd's took it easy, but both the trucks headed off at high speed. We saw one of them later with two flats. Never did see the other. We were getting close to Puertocitos as the sun was setting. My Father and I happen to be in the lead of the three remaining vehicles when it occured to us there was no one behind us. We went back and found the Toyota stopped in the roadway with the van behind it. The washboard was too much and a frame crossmember had dropped out on one side. The transmissin was sagging and they only had third gear. We were able to jack it back into place and bolt it well enough to keep going. It was dark when we got into Puertocitos and were once again on pavement. Not being able to see, we pulled over at a wide spot and set up camp on the road in town. We slept well knowing we were gong to make it.

The next morning the van and Toyota headed for the border. We found a mechanic to repair some problems we had developed on the rough drive, and headed out after lunch. That night we got a hotel in the states, showered, and called Mom to let her know we were on our way home. Heading up 101 we had a good laugh at a Caltrans warning sign "Rough Road". After doing the notorious road between Puertocitos and Gonzaga, we found that pretty amusing. Wouldn't you know when we hit that bump it blew the tire. Ever blow a tire on a loaded VW camper at highway speeds? I crossed two lanes before I got control of the vehicle. :eek:

Despite this trip or because of it, I learned the charms of Baja. Like anywhere else, getting off the highway and seeing the backcountry and meeting people away from the touristed areas shows you a what a place is really like. The hook was set, and six months later I was making the first of a number of return trips.
 
February 1998.

A friend who lived 200 miles from me and I met in Saline Valley for a week. On our last day there, a huge storm hit Southern California causing a lot of havoc. However, we didn't realize that because we had light rain at the hot springs. It was really quit nice (I love the desert in the rain).

At the time, my friend was unemployeed and used to sleeping late. I think the gentle patter of rain on his camper caused him to sleep later that usual because he didn't get up until almost noon. I had planned to spend a few more days, but my friend had a job interview the next day and didn't want to drive out alone, so I agreed to convoy out with him.

The southern road to Saline Valley decends to the valley floor following a wash. When we got to that wash, it was a small river which had cut down into the road about 4 feet and there was no way we could make that first crossing, let alone the next couple of dozen crossings. We decided to try the Lippencott Mine Road that leads up to the Devil's Race Track, then drive through Death Valley to hook up with Hwy 190 so that we could get to Hwy 395.

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Fortunatley, the Lippencott Mine Road had recently been graded and was easily drivable in 4x4. We were having a fun time when we met a couple of guys in a 4x2 pickup who hadn't been able to make it out and had turned around to return to the hot springs.

We gave them several days worth of food. When the guy who was collecting my food saw me throw in a couple cans of chili, he asked "Do I need to tell him you gave me these?"

"No, I'll take care of that." Then I yelled "I gave him two cans of chili."

With some slipping and sliding, we finally made it to the top, where I snapped these pictures of The Devil's Race Track.

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By the time we got to Death Valley it was dark. While making our way south through Death Valley, we crossed a wash carrying thick, black mud. It was so black that it looked like pavement in the dark, but was actually about 2 feet deep. Thankfully, my friend who was following, is a good driver and left plenty of following distance between us. When we went through the flowing mud, it splashed on our windshields and was so thick that wipers couldn't remove it. Both of us had to stop our truckes blinded by the mud covering our windshields. After cleaning our windshields, we chatted for a few minutes and suddenly we heard a semi hauling a 30 foot trailer hit the same mud patch and jackknife. We decided this wasn't a good place to stay, so after ensuring the driver was OK and back on the road we headed south again.

Every time we tried to drive south or west, we were met by mudslides or closed roads. Eventually we made it to Shoshone, CA around midnight, where we parted ways. I spent the night in a little campground, my friend continued home.

The next day was clear, sunny and cool. I took a quick dip in the hot springs across the road from the campground and headed home myself. Keeping with my habit of avoiding paved roads whenever possible, I looked at my maps and choose a course.

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During my drive home, I was surprised by all the road closed signs and evidence of landslides and mudslides.

My friend got the job, we both had fun getting out of Saline Valley, and I got to drive on virgin snow. Not really a horror story, now that I think about it.
 
You guys are going to make me scan my pics aren't you? You wouldn't believe my story otherwise.
 
You guys are going to make me scan my pics aren't you? You wouldn't believe my story otherwise.

Sure sounds like photo-documentation is called for. ;)
 

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