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I recently had the privilege of joining the Solihull Society here in Colorado and will be missing the event of the year in Moab next weekend. I have come to terms that my L322 is not going to be our off-roading vehicle, and it will likely not touch dirt roads often. After purchasing it just over a year ago, I have realized I love it too much to risk the wear and tear that the trails put on our Lexus GX and now our Land Cruiser 100 series.
My friends even commented on how quickly my personality and wardrobe changed with the newfound elegance in ownership of my well-kept, supercharged Landover. Not only is it elegant, but it is capable of almost everything our other off-road vehicles are. It is a genuine pleasure to drive. It reminds me of a made-up quote about refined aggression in the recent “The Gentlemen” television show. The scene briefly describes the reconciliation of the feral with the refined. If you have read any of my other work, you would note that I incorporate this idea in many ways.
The president of the Solihull Society invited me to volunteer to support SAR (Search and Rescue) and the Pikes Peak Marathon by driving our four-by-four up a steep shelf road and up to an area near Barr camp. This road is normally off-limits to the general off-roading community and is only used by Colorado Springs Utilities, the residents that live off of the road, and SAR.
I accepted, knowing that this would be a once-in-a-lifetime invitation, a privilege to use our skills and vehicle for good, and noting how nervous I was about the shelf road description.
Almost six years ago, I almost had a major accident in Yankee Boy Basin in the San Juans. Driving over a snow bank with a four-foot drop off that I could not see on the other side landed me off camber at a forty-five-degree angle, breathing heavily, shouting inside my brain that it felt worse than it was. I made it over, no harm done, but that day created a sense of fear in me about heights, drop-offs, and generally being off camber.
I thought to myself that this was my chance to test my ability to conquer my own fear that the drop off the situation caused six years ago. After all, I was going to get to help people with my knowledge and capability on the trail. Maybe this new experience would reframe my fear. Our GX is so capable and overbuilt that I was confident I would have no issue facing my fears.
My husband does have a flair for the dramatics, but it served me well this last Thursday on the Trail. For years, he has been teaching me the recovery side of off-road so that if something happened to him or if he wasn’t around, I could get myself out of most situations. Reflecting on all of the trail experiences we have had together, I realized how much strength and reliance this has instilled in our relationship.
I met my new friends, Jim and Vic, at the bottom of Longs Ranch Road with a smile and excitement over what we would get to embark on that afternoon. I aired down briefly, and then we proceeded through the red gate, the chain link fence above the residential area, and then started the hill climb along the cliff side of the mountain.
If I weren’t white knuckling up the mountain, I would have taken a picture of the steep, mostly rocky, and loose Colorado red dirt road. I remember having to use a calming breathing technique halfway up and wanted to descend as soon as we reached what seemed like the saddle, but I steadied my mind and proceeded to follow the lovely orange Landrover in front of me. Jim and Vic practiced SAR radio calls to use during the actual race as we transported volunteers and potentially injured runners up and down the mountain.
A ravine area on the saddle led to a road where I chose to straddle a large washout on the left side to ease my tense mind and body about being off-camber. We were seventy-five percent of the way up the climb when I heard a loud pop and hiss. I called out on the radio to stop on a more level spot to inspect the damage.
Not only did the wheel debead, but it also had a large gash from a root or rock on the side wall. My soul leaped out of my body, screamed silently, and then returned with a can-do attitude. Mostly because I had no other choice.
I had assisted in many flat tire situations, but I knew that the weight of the tire alone would be difficult to get down from the swing-out. The gentlemen I was off-roading with helped as we dismounted the spare from the swing-out and were patient while I pulled the needed supplies to change out the tire. First, I had to excavate the hidden bottle jack behind the fridge platform and then pull the jack arm components out of the back door. I had seen the bottle jack’s height be sufficient on many other trail changes, but the position this time just wasn’t enough.
Vic and Jim used their high jack along with my bottle jack as assurance, and we proceeded to change the tire. We discussed how important it was to always have the repair equipment and some extra crucial parts in your car at all times. Vic even lamented out loud that he didn’t bring anything with him and that he would certainly do it over the weekend.
We worked tirelessly for forty-five minutes as I changed out the tire that weighs almost as much as I do. After doing a last safety check and feeling accomplished that we were able to change the tire, we continued into the experimental forest and down Bob’s road to the SAR checkpoint.
I felt assured that we were no longer on the cliff road but on a saddle road. How bad could it be? Bob’s road had some major washout challenges that required spotting and constantly being mindful of the trees and their branches leaning over the track.
We reached the checkpoint and took a rest for a few minutes before deciding to head back down. At the stop, I tried to let my fragile nerves relax. After all, I made it up, fixed a flat, and that meant I could certainly make it down.
We proceed down the mountain towards the J pipes, the chain link fence, and then to the red gate, where we were all exhausted but happy after the trail reconnaissance, trail maintenance, and fixing the flat tire.
As I drove to the nearby gas station to use their air compressor, I thought about the stress I endured and just how accomplished I felt. I was so thankful for all the times my husband insisted I learn trail self-reliance. I could hear his encouragement in my head, directing me through the whole process even when he wasn’t on the trail with me.
I have been holding myself back from joining women’s off-road groups because I did not think I was capable of changing a tire by myself. I now know that I am capable and that this stressful situation sets me free from limiting myself.
I took the GX to Discount Tire the next day, but our Kenda tires sometimes take a moment to come in for replacement. So in the end, I wasn’t able to help volunteer this weekend, but I was relieved to know I had time to work on myself.
The questions I had later that evening were, “Do I really enjoy off-roading?” “Would I choose to do this more often by myself?”, “Do I still have the same fears that previously caused me to limit myself and our off-road travel?”
I told my husband on a brief phone call that I wouldn’t choose to do this, but after talking to him, I realized I couldn’t imagine my life without off-road travel. I would be far more disappointed in myself for letting my fear get the best of me.
I committed myself to reducing my fears back to the wanderlust and ambition-filled off-roader I was when we started. I have no idea how I will get there or where that journey will take me, but I will be sharing any treatment, process, or otherwise that might work for myself and others.
Do you ever have these fears as a driver or passenger? Do you have any solution that has worked to stave off your fear? If so, tell me about them in the comments below.
I recently had the privilege of joining the Solihull Society here in Colorado and will be missing the event of the year in Moab next weekend. I have come to terms that my L322 is not going to be our off-roading vehicle, and it will likely not touch dirt roads often. After purchasing it just over a year ago, I have realized I love it too much to risk the wear and tear that the trails put on our Lexus GX and now our Land Cruiser 100 series.
My friends even commented on how quickly my personality and wardrobe changed with the newfound elegance in ownership of my well-kept, supercharged Landover. Not only is it elegant, but it is capable of almost everything our other off-road vehicles are. It is a genuine pleasure to drive. It reminds me of a made-up quote about refined aggression in the recent “The Gentlemen” television show. The scene briefly describes the reconciliation of the feral with the refined. If you have read any of my other work, you would note that I incorporate this idea in many ways.
The president of the Solihull Society invited me to volunteer to support SAR (Search and Rescue) and the Pikes Peak Marathon by driving our four-by-four up a steep shelf road and up to an area near Barr camp. This road is normally off-limits to the general off-roading community and is only used by Colorado Springs Utilities, the residents that live off of the road, and SAR.
I accepted, knowing that this would be a once-in-a-lifetime invitation, a privilege to use our skills and vehicle for good, and noting how nervous I was about the shelf road description.
Almost six years ago, I almost had a major accident in Yankee Boy Basin in the San Juans. Driving over a snow bank with a four-foot drop off that I could not see on the other side landed me off camber at a forty-five-degree angle, breathing heavily, shouting inside my brain that it felt worse than it was. I made it over, no harm done, but that day created a sense of fear in me about heights, drop-offs, and generally being off camber.
I thought to myself that this was my chance to test my ability to conquer my own fear that the drop off the situation caused six years ago. After all, I was going to get to help people with my knowledge and capability on the trail. Maybe this new experience would reframe my fear. Our GX is so capable and overbuilt that I was confident I would have no issue facing my fears.
My husband does have a flair for the dramatics, but it served me well this last Thursday on the Trail. For years, he has been teaching me the recovery side of off-road so that if something happened to him or if he wasn’t around, I could get myself out of most situations. Reflecting on all of the trail experiences we have had together, I realized how much strength and reliance this has instilled in our relationship.
I met my new friends, Jim and Vic, at the bottom of Longs Ranch Road with a smile and excitement over what we would get to embark on that afternoon. I aired down briefly, and then we proceeded through the red gate, the chain link fence above the residential area, and then started the hill climb along the cliff side of the mountain.
If I weren’t white knuckling up the mountain, I would have taken a picture of the steep, mostly rocky, and loose Colorado red dirt road. I remember having to use a calming breathing technique halfway up and wanted to descend as soon as we reached what seemed like the saddle, but I steadied my mind and proceeded to follow the lovely orange Landrover in front of me. Jim and Vic practiced SAR radio calls to use during the actual race as we transported volunteers and potentially injured runners up and down the mountain.
A ravine area on the saddle led to a road where I chose to straddle a large washout on the left side to ease my tense mind and body about being off-camber. We were seventy-five percent of the way up the climb when I heard a loud pop and hiss. I called out on the radio to stop on a more level spot to inspect the damage.
Not only did the wheel debead, but it also had a large gash from a root or rock on the side wall. My soul leaped out of my body, screamed silently, and then returned with a can-do attitude. Mostly because I had no other choice.
I had assisted in many flat tire situations, but I knew that the weight of the tire alone would be difficult to get down from the swing-out. The gentlemen I was off-roading with helped as we dismounted the spare from the swing-out and were patient while I pulled the needed supplies to change out the tire. First, I had to excavate the hidden bottle jack behind the fridge platform and then pull the jack arm components out of the back door. I had seen the bottle jack’s height be sufficient on many other trail changes, but the position this time just wasn’t enough.
Vic and Jim used their high jack along with my bottle jack as assurance, and we proceeded to change the tire. We discussed how important it was to always have the repair equipment and some extra crucial parts in your car at all times. Vic even lamented out loud that he didn’t bring anything with him and that he would certainly do it over the weekend.
We worked tirelessly for forty-five minutes as I changed out the tire that weighs almost as much as I do. After doing a last safety check and feeling accomplished that we were able to change the tire, we continued into the experimental forest and down Bob’s road to the SAR checkpoint.
I felt assured that we were no longer on the cliff road but on a saddle road. How bad could it be? Bob’s road had some major washout challenges that required spotting and constantly being mindful of the trees and their branches leaning over the track.
We reached the checkpoint and took a rest for a few minutes before deciding to head back down. At the stop, I tried to let my fragile nerves relax. After all, I made it up, fixed a flat, and that meant I could certainly make it down.
We proceed down the mountain towards the J pipes, the chain link fence, and then to the red gate, where we were all exhausted but happy after the trail reconnaissance, trail maintenance, and fixing the flat tire.
As I drove to the nearby gas station to use their air compressor, I thought about the stress I endured and just how accomplished I felt. I was so thankful for all the times my husband insisted I learn trail self-reliance. I could hear his encouragement in my head, directing me through the whole process even when he wasn’t on the trail with me.
I have been holding myself back from joining women’s off-road groups because I did not think I was capable of changing a tire by myself. I now know that I am capable and that this stressful situation sets me free from limiting myself.
I took the GX to Discount Tire the next day, but our Kenda tires sometimes take a moment to come in for replacement. So in the end, I wasn’t able to help volunteer this weekend, but I was relieved to know I had time to work on myself.
The questions I had later that evening were, “Do I really enjoy off-roading?” “Would I choose to do this more often by myself?”, “Do I still have the same fears that previously caused me to limit myself and our off-road travel?”
I told my husband on a brief phone call that I wouldn’t choose to do this, but after talking to him, I realized I couldn’t imagine my life without off-road travel. I would be far more disappointed in myself for letting my fear get the best of me.
I committed myself to reducing my fears back to the wanderlust and ambition-filled off-roader I was when we started. I have no idea how I will get there or where that journey will take me, but I will be sharing any treatment, process, or otherwise that might work for myself and others.
Do you ever have these fears as a driver or passenger? Do you have any solution that has worked to stave off your fear? If so, tell me about them in the comments below.