Given the phenomenal success of my first overlanding adventure, I planned the second one to last even longer. This time I would use every bit of modern technology I could afford so I would not get lost again. I bought a tattered 1987 atlas from the bookshop close to my home. I was pleased with my ability to negotiate the price down to $3.50. Only later did I discovered four missing pages. The entire Southwest had been removed. Drats! I’d been swindled.
Instead of looking at this as a problem, I approached it as an unique opportunity to explore a heretofore unknown land. I pictured myself as a modern day John Wesley Powell, but with both arms. I presented my plan to my wife. She asked who J.W. Powell was. I explained. She rolled her eyes but decided to play along with myidea for now. She asked about motel reservations. I scoffed at the idea. Powell never stayed at a Super 6. Why should we?
Since I was now an experienced overlander, I knew what would be essential to the trip, and what could remain home in the basement. For example, dress pants, suspenders and shiny leather shoes could stay home creating space for extra toilet paper. My color laser printer would not be needed saving fifty pounds of weight. I bought software designed to maximize every cubic inch of space in the Jeep. Because I had the extra room, I spent weeks searching Amazon, Walmart and Henry’s Used Bicycle Parts for a 2×3 inch pot I would use to boil water for couscous. The $450 spent on the software was a bargain if my wife could make couscous at least once during the trip.
June 14 was circled on the calendar as the day of our departure. We loaded every inch of the Jeep the night before. In the morning I had to unload it because my wife had packed her curling iron in her pink travel case, and it had been one of the first items loaded. She fixed her hair, and I reloaded the Jeep making sure her curling iron would be handy. Of course it was never used again because it blew every fuse in the Jeep as soon as it was plugged in. Eventually, we said goodbye to the kids and grandkids. I promised we would return before Ben and Allie enrolled in college. They were currently in the second and third grade. After making a wrong turn and arriving in Arkansas, I consulted my atlas. I soon found the flaw in my travel itinerary. We needed to head west to get to Colorado. My wife rolled her eyes and continued to read her book 137 Ways to Survive a Bear Attack in the Rocky Mountains.
We arrived in Julesburg, Colorado, and I vowed not to drive another mile on a paved road until we reached Pikes Peak. Two weeks later we pulled into Crook, Colorado. We had put 346.4 miles on the Jeep, replaced two shocks, a sway bar, fixed three flats, used 40.7 gallons of gas and were now 30 miles closer to the mountains. I got back on the Interstate to avoid a mutiny. My wife refused to get back in the vehicle claiming she could walk to Denver faster than I could get there by driving.
I relented to pressure, and we stayed in a hotel the night we arrived in Colorado Springs. July 10. We both slept well for the first time since our departure in mid June. I made a note to bring a mattress for the rooftop tent on our next overlanding adventure.
We drove to the top of Pike’s Peak, stayed for three minutes because it was below freezing and the gale force wind threatened to blow the Jeep off the mountain. I consulted my atlas and smiled. I found a seldom used trail on the backside of the mountain. We could avoid the thousands of other rigs inching their way along the paved road. I told my wife the $3.50 was worth it. She had her doubts.
I never doubted the Jeep’s ability to withstand a 250 foot drop off a cliff. We now knew why this trail was seldom used. I reinflated the tires, thankful I had the foresight to air down to 4 pounds and we were on our way. The next stop would be the Sand Dunes National Park.
We stopped at the sand dunes, got out and were immediately blinded by the swirling sand. The gale force winds had followed us. Back to the Jeep, and back on the dirt road. We arrived in Durango in time for Christmas and wasted another $200 on a hotel room. I was used to going weeks without a shower, but my wife insisted on either the hotel room or a quickie divorce in one of the Indian casinos. Since I wasn’t sure if a divorce in the Paradise Butte Casino would be legal, I caved and took a long hot shower. Another 2.2 gallons of water wasted.
After resupplying our Jeep’s depleted fridge in Durango, and replacing all four tires, we headed for Telluride. Black Bear Pass was the number one item on my bucket list. I ignored the ‘road closed’ signs because my modified Jeep would not be tested by snowdrifts of twenty feet or higher. I knew the secret of airing down the tires so they would float over the snow.
After living on raisins, instant oatmeal, a jar of orange marmalade and watching reruns of Bear Gryll’s Survival Academy on my laptop for two months, the snow melted enough for us to press on toward Telluride. We crested the summit and made our way to the infamous switchbacks. Since I couldn’t find the trail, I decided to take a shortcut. I headed straight down the mountain. You should have heard the screams coming from the passenger seat as the Jeep reached speeds of over 130 mph. We bounced from cliff to cliff and arrived in Telluride in time for their annual spring bluegrass festival.
By the way, if anyone spots a middle-age woman carrying a pink travel case hitchhiking back to Illinois, would you pick her up and text me. I need the recipe for lemon herb chicken couscous.