The Dream
Gee...let's see...where to begin. I suppose I can trace my desires for wanting to go offroad back to when I was maybe 5. I lived in Richmond, Virginia and my father would take me to the freight yard every weekend (I loved trains). We would always use the yellow Karman-Ghia and bounce down the mud road until we reached the tracks. I smile remembering.

The next ten years found me living in Houston. I would spend the summers at my grandparents in Utica, Mississippi. My grandfather taught me how to drive at about 10 and since there were a lot of gravel roads and an occassional hay run, I got some experience sliding around. Around the age of 15, I was ready to get my license and my uncle who lived in Craig, Colorado asked me up to visit. I loved the weather and forgot how much I missed the snow. As uncles do, he was going to teach me how to drive standard, using his Porsche 944 on an inclined gravel road. After a most frightening 15 minutes, I was back in the passenger seat.

High school can be fun (in the remembering) but not in practice. I was mostly unpopular for one reason or another. Many fellow students already had cars their sophomore year and I was still riding the bus (yeah I know - what a tragedy). The Christmas of my 16th year found me back at my grandparents' in Mississippi. On that morning, I was directed toward the driveway. Parked behind the pickup was ... MY FIRST CAR! It was a 1980 Pontiac "Yellowbird", basically a Firebird painted yellow with wide tires, honeycomb wheels, bucket seats, V6 engine, automatic transmission, and an Alpine stereo. Mmmmm ... yellow, like the Karman-Ghia ... wide tires.

The drive back to Houston was sooo long. I beat Mom home and she was concerned to say the least. I drove to my friend's place and honked the horn. He was all smiles. Off we go, smoking tires (which was very hard, I had to put it in neutral, gas pedal to the floor and slam it in drive). Life was good. Within a few hours, the police showed up and accused me of having a V8. I asked if they wanted to pop the hood and count the spark wires. Oh, it seems there was an issue of me trying to run some crazy woman down. Anyway ... A lot of Juniors at my school had BIG 4x4 trucks and would come back with mud all over them in the parking lot on Mondays. I spent most of my time drawing pictures of what the "Yellowbird" would look like with nerf bars, KC lights, etc. I would take the car out on the weekend and get into progressively worse offroad trouble with it. First it was stuck in the grass by the railroad tracks we followed. We unstuck it. Then it got stuck somewhere else in the mud (why aren't the WIDE tires getting any traction?) It was freed again. Then late one night in a neighborhood under construction, I got it stuck waaaay off the road. I have nobody to call. I am unpopular. But then I remembered that someone was bragging about his father's International Scout. I knew HIS number. After waking them up at 1am I convinced my friend to talk his dad into pulling me out. After some time, I was free. Free to get stuck again later :)

There comes a moment in a driver's history where he does the unthinkable, the impossible, the foolish, and the most fun thing he or she has ever done in a vehicle. Sure I had done reverse 180's through wet, busy intersections trying to get back to school on an illegal lunch break but that doesn't count. Behold - Katy, Texas. A little drive west and I was in "the country." It's not hard to find mud in the country, especially after a good rain. We happened upon a field. A large, muddy field with a vast expanse of sand in the distance. "SAND!" I screamed with a smile. Enter the impossible : between us and the sandy paradise was a lake, too long to drive around and about 50 feet wide. It looked to be about 3 feet deep at the deepest point - more than enough to totally sink the car. After some contemplation, and some practical application of high school physics, we decided that we'd need to hit the water at about 60mph to make it aross. The wide tires would certainly help the effort acting like skiis. So I reverse to what I fighure is a good distance. The engine revs and my adrenaline skyrockets ... and I throw it in drive. A hail of mud and stone filled the car with deafening sound. Second gear kicks in at 45 ... 50 ... 55 SPLAAAAAASHHHHHHH. I wish I had video of it. Twin rooster tails at least 20 feet high. Outside the open passenger and driver side windows was nothing but a solid sheet of water. I dropped the rpms to keep from sucking water into the engine and the car was slowing horribly. In about 2 seconds that seemed much longer, the front tires hit sand and we had done it! I pulled to a highpoint of the sand and did a celebratory donut or two. Then the engine sputtered and died. "No problem" I thought. I had run the car hard and it had a small history of dying after a hard run. I tried to start it but it just wouldn't fire. I figured the ignition had gotten wet so I popped the hood. I checked the wires and whatnot (I really had almost NO mechanical experience) and all seemed fine. There was a little pool of water on top of the aircleaner so I removed the cover to pour it off. Upon removal I saw something quite disturbing. The entire air cleaner housing was a pond of muddy water. No sign of the carburetor. Very bad. I emptied it out and stomped the gas pedal about 20 times. A little water plus a lot of gas should still fire. Nope, no luck, and after another 10 minutes of trying, the battery was dead and my right leg was cramped. So there we were. Mid afternoon and the sun was setting. We're in a strange town with a dysfunctional vehicle (driver). Not to mention the only way out was back through the lake. So off we went, on foot, to the nearby neighborhood in search of a 4x4. After 10 minutes we saw a red Jeep in a garage. We banged on the door to the house and a kid our age answers. We explain our situation and offer money for him to get to get us to the car and jumpstart it. After some tense moments, we were off. The Jeep bounced along and he took us through an "undiscovered" non-lake area. However, this area had a bunch of 16" deep or greater ruts in it from obvious 4x4 activities. The Jeep trudges on through and we were at the car. Jumper cables connected in record time and I turn the key. The engine turns and turns and turns and the Jeep stalls out. He tried to restart and HIS battery is now dead. We all just look at each other and follow him to his friend's house. A few moments later and we're all back at the TWO stranded vehicles. The big Ford 4x4 starts up the Jeep no problem. Now it's my turn. After about 5 minutes, "Ole Yeller" fires up much to my joy and the joy of my passenger/friend/future navvie? as well. We were encouraged NOT to do the lake and try for the rutt infested mudhole. I was nervous since thick mud to me was typically less forgiving than water. After more encouragement my foot was on the gas and we hit the mud, went sideway and propped the car up on the two largest rutts. Game Over - Insert Coin. The Ford tried and tried but could not pull us out. Time for the inevitable. "Mom, I'm stuck in the mud in Katy, Texas ... yes I know. Yes ... I know." During the hour it took for her to find us, our antics had turned into a sort of local tractor pull with a truck here and there trying to get us out. All failed and the crowd grew. Mom showed up just as a late 60's Chevy C-50 pickup pulled up. I smirked at my friend. My mom offered him some money to pull us out. Much to my surprise, he told me to get in. I don't know what that truck had, but he pulled us out like a champ and the crowd left. After a mini-lecture it was time to hit the road. It was Sunday night and I had school tomorrow. I thought about washing the car but just wanted to go to sleep. The following morning I pulled into the Junior parking lot, right in between all of the 4x4's. My little yellowbird was the muddiest of them all and I was proud. Big nasty hay-laced clods of mud all the way up to the roof was clear evidence that I could "hang" with the biggest. The only parts of the windshield visible were where the wiper blades had passed. I was late to class just staring at it.

Cars are not invincible to stupidity. A few months later, I gave this girl a ride home and she wanted to go fast so I popped the transmission and nailed the gas. At about 65mph the car started hesitating a lot so I just floored it. The engine started misfiring a lot but I was "cleaning out the impurities" by flooring it. Then ... silence. All of my dash lights came on and the transmission was clicking terribly loud as the car slammed to a halt, tires screeching. I tried to turn it over but it wouldn't even do that. Just a CHUNCK sound of the starter engaging when I turned the key was the only mechanical activity. Diagnosis: the oil line had blown and locked up the engine. To be honest, I think I hadn't even bothered to check the oil for months. So ends the "Yellowbird" saga. "Ole Yeller" was put down (Mom sold it for $300) and I was back on the bus.

Oh, I failed to mention something. Within one month of first receiving "Ole Yeller" I was in my first and only vehicle vs. vehicle accident. It happened in a parking lot. The victim? A freshly restored dark green KARMAN-GHIA. Is that weird or what.
More to come! Stay tuned for the 1984 Chrysler Laser!