30 July, 2022
I guess it was two years ago when I bought this jeep. One of my friends took me to Brunswick, Georgia to pick it up. I remember I’d barely got it parked when my son, Johnny, told me that I’d better not take it through “The Cut”, because my nephew had gotten his truck stuck in a hole there and had to have a big 4-wheel drive tractor pull him out. With nothing better to do, my son and I headed for “The Cut”…
I wish I had pictures of this jeep crossing that mud-hole! I was beginning to think it was a bad idea as the water rose close to the top of the front fender. I tried reverse, but the edge of the hole was too steep. ‘Forward’ was the only option- jumping out into 4 feet of water and mud at the very edge of a mud-hole without even trying to cross never crossed my mind. I wouldn’t do that to myself OR this jeep.
One thing I know for certain is that you can NEVER tell what lies under that water just by looking at it. To hit “The Cut” without a winch, and, even more valiantly (recklessly), while every known relative and possible lifeline was working or out of state, at the time seemed like the perfect opportunity to prove this jeep and myself.
The jeep stopped sinking just as the water reached the top of the fender. The rear tires had just started down the edge of this massive hole, and, low range and full throttle, we headed into the abyss…
That very moment… That split second when my toes felt the pressure of the gas pedal, and my hands gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white, at that exact point in time, I swear I could see Bigfoot and Gravedigger sitting there, a few hundred feet away, on the other side of this void, laughing, waiting to see me get sucked down into the muddy spiral… The rear tires fell from their final grip of what now has become firm shoreline, and 35 X 13.5 inches of mud grapplers began to throw chunks of the blackest mud I’ve ever seen… or smelled.
The water started bubbling and smoking, belching up this putrid gas, mud was flying forward and backward, up and down, and even sideways. It covered the hood, windshield and roof of the jeep. The water is just under the window, and, in hindsight, I SHOULD HAVE rolled the window up. I realize that I am covered in that smoking black mud. Half-way across, and the jeep leans sharply to the passenger side. I look at Johnny, and what part of his face that isn’t black from the mud is pale white. 10 feet further and the Jeep leans to the left. I can’t explain it, but I was looking straight down out of my window into water and mud. We’re rolling over. We’re sinking. Panic. Flashbacks of “Deadliest Catch” and the Bering Sea were in my head. I wondered if the Coast Guard was even equipped to rescue us or recover our bodies..
Then I realize that we are STILL MOVING FORWARD!!!
I could see myself as Tony Dixon at the wheel of The Swamp Thing. Johnny was more likely picturing me as Steamboat Willie. No matter- it’s my story, and I say we dug and fought our way across that unforgiving hellish gulf, and as I felt those front tires grip into terra firma, machine and man became one. We crawled out of that worthless pit, battle-scarred, older and wiser. I’ll tell you about that in a minute. About a quarter of a mile further, we are just realizing, that as Isaac Newton once said, “What goes up must come down.” Sure, gravity played a small role in this, but what we were thinking, to be honest, is “What goes into the woods must come out of the woods.”
Yep. we were nearing the end of the trail, arrogant in the glory of our victory… and that’s when we first saw the wall.
At least a quarter-mile in either direction, that eight-feet tall wall of tan bricks protected the newest housing development from “through-traffic”. I could see it in Johnny’s eyes- he and I were thinking the same thing- How in the world are we going to get a Chinook or a Sikorsky to pick us up?
So there we were, at the foot of the Great Wall, with the realization that we have two choices: abandon the jeep, climb the wall and walk home, or, turn around. Johnny asked me for my gloves, so the bricks wouldn’t hurt his hands. In the end, I convinced him to help me get turned around. He did great, as this was a place where normal jeepers would have had to use three spotters and a balancing pole to get turned around.
You know how, when you face something terrifying, and, afterwards, when you see it again, it doesn’t seem as big? N/A here. Nope. Not Applicable. I can only compare it to, like when you had a fight at school, and the kid went home crying and his big brother comes looking for you. Well, right there in the middle of the path stood Big Brother, a.k.a. ‘Lake Satan’.
We could smell it before we could even see it this time, like fire and brimstone, without the fire, of course. As we approached, we could see and hear the gas bubbles- like those tar pits in California that the dinosaurs got stuck in. There was also a thick fog hanging over it.
I don’t know how we made it home. The gears were completely shattered and the radiator had been punctured by something. Nevertheless, here we were, along with full bragging rights of TWO victorious crossings of “The Cut”. Man and machine, working as one.
Anyway, that’s the story of the first front and rear axle swap.
Sunrises and Sunsets
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