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July, 1997, Pass Patrol Campfire Tales. |
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Teller County Car Wash
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Another of the many adventures of PASS PATROL |
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Every once in a while, it’s a good idea to wash the family truck. Keeps the paint looking like ... well ... looking like paint. When that time comes at Pass Patrol, we take’um down to the Teller County Car Wash. It’s a drive-through wash and if everything goes right, it’s free. Of course things don’t always go exactly the way they’re planned. Although everybody else got through okay, Dusty’s wash cost him right about $800 and two weekends of hard labor. There are a few things you need to know about the Teller County Car Wash before you go rushing off in hopes of saving a few quarters. First of all, the driveway into the thing has a few rough spots, especially if you go in by way of Deckers and down Longwater Road. Okay, so maybe it’s got a lot of rough spots, but then Colorado is known as the state where all the roads have signs for “watch for falling rocks”, “road narrows ahead”, “steep grade next two miles”, “rock slide area”, and “do not cross during high water”. Longwater Road has all those neat attractions but they don’t bother with the signs. Washing cars is kind of a major event with Pass Patrol. We like to clean them up at least once a year whether they need it or not. Since it is such a major event, the planning phase goes on for months before we get around to it. The last one was scheduled for the last day of May. Sundance and I (My handle is Outlaw) were supposed to meet fifteen car loads of folks at the Adam’s County Fairgrounds, another dozen at the hot dog stand in Aspen Park, a few strays along the way to Deckers, and a few more at the lunch stop. The only one who showed up at the fairgrounds was Auggie Doggie and his sweetheart, but we had a full convoy scattered around the hot dog stand in Aspen Park, two more on the way to Deckers, and even picked up two strays who recognized me from a book I wrote and latched onto the convoy like a rattle on a snake. (Oops. I forgot. You folks from back east don’t have snakes with rattles. Oh well, look it up in the library.) Our convoy of nearly two dozen vehicles turned onto Longwater Road and headed for the car wash. “Here’s your sign!” Slowpoke chuckled as he pointed to a new sign on the side of the road. It said something to the effect that the car wash might be a little deep and anybody with an IQ higher than Colorado’s nighttime temperature would turn around and get change for the car wash in Denver. Although the sign stirred up a lot of chatter on the CB radio, no one turned around although Boss did ask what Colorado’s nighttime temperature was. He had driven all the way up from Austin, Texas to go the car wash with us. Anybody with an IQ as high as Austin’s nighttime temperature ... well shucks fire anyhow, we didn’t have enough fingers and toes in whole durn bunch to count that high. Our first stop was at the unofficial official, picnic-lunch, sit down, fill’um up, keep on turckin’, campsite. Trapdoor, Sunshine, Smoky, and Dusty were sitting around the campfire cooking up tall tales about all the times they nearly got killed following me into some place boldly going where we had never gone before. They had been camped all night so the stories were getting pretty good by the time we arrived. One of’um would tell a big whopper and the other would say, “Yup. That’s exactly the way I remember it.” By the time lunch was over, our convoy was so long it was impossible to see one end from the other on that winding trail through the forest. I made the announcement it was time to engage 4X4 power. Like I said before, things just don’t always go like they’re planned. Boss reached down, shifted his transfer gear, gave one’uh those gonna-have-fun-now grins to his wife, and pushed on the gas. “Pop! Bang! Clang!” and he pulled over to the side of the road. A quick inspection indicated he didn’t have a front axle any longer. All he could do was unlock the hubs and head for town the way he came. “Darn!” he groaned. “Now it’ll be another year before I can get this thing washed!” The rest of the crowd waved to Boss and headed down the trail. We had a few places to negotiate some rocks and squeeze between some trees, but we reached the car wash about mid-afternoon. I disconnected the air intake on my Trooper and went in to check the water. “It’s a bit cold,” I announced over the radio. “Guess somebody used up all the hot water already.” The Teller County Car Wash, known by most official folks as the South Platte River, was not quite high enough that weekend to wash the bugs off the headlights but it did a good job on the bumper. It’s not possible to predict what the water level will be since it depends on so many variables. The weekend after we were there, some folks from another club went in. The water was so high one truck floated off and it took two days to get it out. The key to crossing Colorado Rivers is speed. Don’t drive too fast and don’t drive too slow. A steady speed of about 5 mph normally gets it done. The river bottoms are solid so traction is not the issue. If you go too slow, the exhaust from the tailpipe will not have enough pressure to push the water away and the water will kill the engine by choking off the tailpipe. If you go too fast, you will fill the engine compartment with water and suck some into the intake. When that happens, it’s good-bye motor. Our convoy made it across the river without much trouble. Gadget went too slow and killed his motor so we tugged him out with a strap. Once out of the water, the motor started right up and moved on. We had an audience of about fifty people on the other side. Most of them had come in from the other way with no intentions of washing their cars. They just came to watch the show. One fella was carrying a book I wrote with Longwater Road in it. He recognized me from the photos inside and wanted an autograph. Of course I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to play celebrity for a while which started a lot of teasing about how my hat wasn’t gonna fit my head any longer. Then Dusty decided to show off in the river one more time for the crowd. Problem was, he went a little too fast. His motor took a gulp of water through the air intake, broke a rod off the piston and finished the trip across on five cylinders. Good-bye motor. Makes a fella feel about as smart as that stump I ran over last week. Trapdoor went across and pulled him back across the river. We towed him about twenty miles to the nearest highway and called a tow truck. I don’t know how we do it, but Pass Patrol seems to attract the dangest tow truck drivers. It seems like when we call in, the person on the phone puts his hand over the mouthpiece and says, “Hey. It’s those guys from Pass Patrol again. Who we got that’ll make a good story?” For example, back a few years ago, Sunshine was driving a new Explorer with electric door locks and we were camped about a half mile from Swazy’s Cabin about 50 miles west of Green River, Utah. The address at that point was 50th. and Plum. (That’s 50 miles into nowhere and plum out in the sticks.) Just as we were getting ready to go, Sundance closed the door, then realized Sunshine had left the keys inside. “Darn! I hate it when that happens!” I turned on my cell phone and sure enough, there was a weak signal. I called a garage in Green River and the gal said, “Where you at?” I told her Swazy’s Cabin expecting her to ask, “Where’s that?” Instead, she said, “Which one?” I told her, and she said, “Oh, he was camping out there last week. I’ll call him on the radio and send him right out.” In less than an hour, the tow truck came bouncing down the dusty road to Swazy’s Cabin. We had decided to wait for him there instead of at camp. Sunshine got in his truck to show him to her car. Along the way, they passed two very young girls on an ATV who were driving off the road. He turned on his yellow lights and pulled up beside them. The fear in their eyes was apparent. He stared at them for a moment, then asked, “You got a license to drive that thing?” “Uh ... no,” the driver answered in a squeaky voice. “That’s what I thought,” he said. He turned off the lights and drove on. That was the last we saw of the two girls on the ATV. They disappeared in a cloud of dust lookin’ for Mommy. It only took the driver about thirty seconds to unlock the Explorer and wave good-bye. “Ya all come back to Utah again,” he chuckled while counting his money. Now that you know the kind of tow truck drivers we attract, you can understand the one who picked up Dusty,’s truck. He asked me what happened to it and I told him it swallowed too much water. “Stupid,” he said. “I don’t know about stupid people who would destroy a perfectly good truck..” Once I explained the part about IQs and Colorado’s nighttime temperature, he loaded up the truck but grumbled the whole time about stupid people. “We like stupid people. No siree, you don’t have to be smart to join our club. We don’t even make you wear a sign.” We unloaded the truck at Slowpoke’s house in Denver. He and Dusty spent two weekends and about $800 getting the Ranger back on the road. Only problem is, it’s dirty again. You can find the Teller County Car Wash, Longwater Road, and lots of other trails in THE ADVENTURES OF PASS PATROL, Volume Four. “4-WHEEL DRIVE ROADS TO OUTBACK COLORADO.” Happy Trails! Update: Longwater Road was closed the last time we checked. There was a fire down there a couple years back that took out thousands of acres and a bunch of mountain homes. A Forest Service employee was the one that started the fire but somehow fourwheelers got the blame and they closed the gate. They say they will open it up again some day but I ain't holdin' my breath cause that's what they want me to do. |
TALES FROM BADHAT & THE BEAR at Hot Dog Hill |
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Last April, late in the month, we set out on a weekend offroading and camping trip with some local friends. (California) It's a neat group of very competent drivers (yeah, I know, you can count me out of that category ... just don't tell the others, since it took a lot of effort to hoodwink 'em that good) who are just happy to be out it the conutry now and then together ... much like the core of that Pass Patrol gang out there in the Rockies somewhere. The main requirement is that each be locked and lovable. We met for a challenging drive at Los Coyotes Indian Reservation, near Warner Springs, California. They've got some SERIOUS trails in there, including an area we've dubbed "Never Never Land," though we'd been there before and gotten through just fine, thanx. Well, we all met at the campsite at about 9:00 AM that Saturday morning and set out for the forbidden zone. First stop, and last, for that matter, was "Hot Dog Hill." Hot Dog Hill is REALLY REALLY steep, and, to make matters worse, is covered with moguls. In fact, it literally looks like it's going straight up. Short wheelbase vehicles with high centers of mass, like very lifted CJ-5's, don't dare try it, 'cuz they'll roll backward end-over-end. No stock vehicles allowed, etc. Our group of about 8 or 9 vehicles approached the hill, and one by one gave it their all. The first was a Grand Cherokee, who got to the top due to his long wheel base. The next four or so were CJ's, Wranglers, and one of those jeep-like Toyotas. All got to the top but only on a tow strap after nearly rolling when they each hit one of the "moguls" that nearly flipped each back down the hill. Then came our turn. Guess what? We slowly but surely chugged our way up the hill, got to the mogul and ... got over it!!! So then what? We started inching further, when ... (hey, you knew a "when" was coming in this story) ... the ol' bus gave out the loudest, most horrifyingest, ugly, ear-mashing SLAM you ever heard! I stopped instantly ... though I don't think I had a choice, and hollered out the window to one of the folks standing to the side, "What broke?" "Don't know, gotta check." He crawled under the front to see, but he couldn't be sure, so I had to back down. Now like I said, this hill is STEEP. And I had to back down, knowing that My ol' pal Outlaw told me that you've got about 20% of your breaking power when going backwards. Well, it had to be, so down I went, with foot nearly pushing the brake pedal through the floor. Inch ... clunk ... moan ... inch ... slide .... inch ... inch ... groan ... stop. Okay, we were down and still alive. So now we could get out and look at what had happened. Hmmm ... let's see. What could have made all that noise? Well, the hunt was on. Ah HA! ... broken front right axle joint. Okay ... not so bad. Time to get off the trail and go back to camp, so one of the others fixed his rig to conduct the ol' 6-mile Tow. "Put it in reverse and turn off the trail," they say. Makes sense, but .. um ... clank, grind, grr, clunk. It won't go. Still stuck at the bottom of the hill. Meanwhile, life goes on. Ol' JD, one of the gang, decided he'd take a stab at the Hot Dog in his old CJ. Off he grinds, lockers and all. Gets to the main mogul ... and that thing spit him back and sideways like a major league pitcher on a good day (They spit alot, remember?). He tries again, and it spits him out further. This meant war, and this guy was ready. He likes a rough time of it, anyway, being captain of one of the largest freight ships on the planet. Again and again. But Hot Dog was just startin' and spittin' and fumin' some more. No, you couldn't wear down the Hot Dog, just riled her up! Well, enough was enough, so here comes JD yet again, when Hot Dog just sucked him in, chewed him up, and spit him right back down the hill. Over and over and over and over. Yup, 4 overs (count 'em) And it would've been FIVE, except for one thing. Now you remember the first part of the story? The part about ol' Badhat sorta stuck at the bottom? Yeah, still there. Made a mighty nice backstop for JD, too. Brought him to a complete rest. I always knew it was a nice vehicle, and it proved itself by taking JD's fifth roll away. Yep, just like that. It was raining jeeps on Badhat's parade, that day. It took about 15 guys to lift JD's gas-leaking unrecognizable metal ball off the pile, and then to lift the Badhat to the side. At that point, the tow strap was connected and the Badhat drug away. Final assessment, front left fender: gone; front right axle joint: gone; rear ring gear: gone; rear pinion gear: gone. Enough already! So that's the story of Badhat, Hot Dog Hill, and hail as big as jeeps. And all that happened in the 1st hour! Fortunately, the seatbelt saved good ole JD but his Jeep was pronounced dead at the scene. Happy Trails and keep the shiney side pointed up. |
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