Three straight days of off-road training seemed like a good idea, at the time.
You see, I was trying to learn as much as possible about driving my 9,500-pound van off-road. And being a generally gung-ho, up-for-anything person, I figured– why not do an intensive and learn as much as possible, all in one crack?
Well.
The road TO the off-road training was its own kind of test– first gravel, then quickly degenerating into fine dirt, then sand several inches deep that seemed to grab my tires and make them slip, and rocky sections that were uneven and in some sections, tall enough to bounce the entire van and have us worrying about knocking off our tailpipe.
Moon found the “oh sh*t” handles on the inside of the doors (never needed those before), and hung on for dear life. Mac gave us a disgruntled look, an expression bordering on sickness before he eventually figured out how to use all four legs like shock absorbers, deftly balancing his weight from one paw to another in order to make the bumps more manageable.
Watching Moon and Mac rattle around, I nearly lost my nerve before it began– but made it to camp and breathed into the quiet of the remote campsite (pictured below).
Thus began several 8-10 hour days of driving– but not driving in the regular sense. The kind of concentrated, white-knuckling driving that involves a teeth-rattling rollicking back-and-forth on never terrain: driving a tonnage with only 3 wheels on the ground, but figuring how to to drive power to the wheels anyway. Slowing down to crawl over large rocks, or to a coming to a near-stop to descend down a series of uneven drops.
The instructors also had us launch up high climbs, deep with sand, and down into river wash beds, with a shallow water crossing thrown into the mix. It was intense, and a constant challenge for the mind– so we were thankful we had a group of other vans with us for safety.
It had just rained in Moab– they had experienced flash flooding thanks to downpours that disrupted the downtown businesses and caused some damage to human structures, but also produced some late-season wildflowers that popped out of seemingly nothing other than piles of sand.
These bursts of color were welcome breaks to the red dust.
Which blew, and blew, and blew, and blew into everything for days– every single crevice of the van was covered in a fine layer of it, to the point where the vacuum nearly gave out due to the buildup.
Which started to make me question: why do people DO this? Were we having fun, or was this just the same amount of focus required for bumper-to-bumper driving in the Bronx, paired with the terrible rocking of a ship at sea and a ton of dry sand plus altitude (nosebleeds anyone), all for little benefit?
But then, a reprieve– we finally got out of our vehicles, and got to see some spectacular sights.
Off-roading carries a high mental load– doing vehicle checks before leaving, ensuring you have the right recovery gear, and never breaking your concentration on the road ahead. Perhaps the most interesting bit was learning that in difficult obstacles, spotters must actually be the “drivers” of the vehicle, while the drivers are merely “operators.” The control lies with the spotter, who literally tells the operator behind the wheel how to precisely angle to hit the right lines and come through an obstacle scot-free.
Then, it was time to get stuck. ON PURPOSE.
Learning what recovery gear we had– and what we still needed– by experiencing an issue firsthand was the point of this little exercise, of course, but that didn’t make getting INTENTIONALLY stuck any less frightening. What if damage was done to the vehicle? What if someone rolled over or got hurt? What if someone got SO stuck they couldn’t get UNstuck?
Below is an example (not my van) of what it sometimes took to get dislodged from deep dune sand.
After some real hesitation on the idea, it only took another moment to realize these fears were exactly that– fears, and I’ve always found the best way to take on a fear is to tackle it head-on.
So I told Moon to buckle up, told Mac to hang on, and gunned the engine, making a pass at some dunes– and practically Thelma-and-Louised our van as we sank into a deep pile of sand, nearly sideways. It was terribly scary at-first, as I could see how deep my van was buried– but everyone was OK, and so was the van, being lodged into such a soft surface. (See below for photographic evidence).
Mac was not impressed with our harrowing situation– he found the coolest spot in the sand (right where the most hot sand had been churned up at the wheel well), and laid down to wait. The dog had so much chill, all the helpers had to work hard to move him before I was winched out.
With the help of other vanners armed with shovels, and not one, but two vehicles to winch me out (front and back)– we finally were freed. I learned a great deal from the multi-step process of getting my own vehicle out of a bind (with major help), and got a sense of how we’d do it if the situation ever arose again.
Which of course, was the point of all the discomfort over those three days.
Like flowers seemingly growing out of nothing, we learned how it felt to be really vulnerable out there in the middle of the desert, but worked hard to supplant that fear with knowledge for next time. It was a good reminder that we don’t often get– that discomfort is annoying but temporary, and knowledge is the way to turn that discomfort around.
We ended these three training days feeling dustier than we’d ever been: even Mac’s fur was so sandy that it seemed to sop all the natural oil out of his fur, which meant his hair kept standing up on-end whenever we petted him. This reflected how we all felt– disheveled as hell.
Until we all got showers (which felt like absolute heaven)– you know that feeling when you step into a shower after a weekend of camping or hiking? That feeling of being so darn dirty and sweaty that you swear you can feel the layer of grime rinsing off?
Yeah. It was like that. Even Mac embraced the washing we gave him (an atypical response).
After the training, we were thoroughly jostled but extremely grateful for pavement in a whole new way. Any smooth road felt like a blessing, and to some degree, still does today.
Posted by Sun
