Slippery When Wet

The story of Calico Canyon 1994

By Montego Bay, field reporter

It was a dark Friday night in March of ’94. when the Roughwheelers headed out from the usual place at the usual time. 11 vehicles,16 people; Fearless & Rhonda, Keith, Victor, Rooster, Patti & Paul, Gagetman, Ed & Mary, Hotshot & Stephanie, Dan, Montego, and guests Steve & Carol in their new Toyota truck (Although they hadn’t been out with us before, it seemed like we’d known them for a long time already).

Rooster had the first mechanical breakdown when his CB speaker went out. Through a series of daring maneuvers (daring to the drivers in the lanes next to him?) Rooster managed to get his speaker reconnected without having to stop. It’s always good to have a tail-end-Charlie that can hear. Keith brought Sandy’s CB, so we didn’t have to use channel 9 this time. Thanks Sandy.

After a gas stop in Barstow, we headed out to the “campground” at Calico. After a few false turns, we settled down on a semi-flat spot in a canyon perfect for flash flooding. It sort of looked like the road, but we knew the difference. I woke up in the night many times because the rain was raining so loud and the wind kept rattling my tent zipper. The perfect way to get ready for what was going to turn into a perfect day.

Saturday morning was damp, but sunny & not raining. The desert smelled sweet like wet sage. People who set up their tents on tarps regretted it because the tarp acted like a funnel and the rain flowed right under the tent. Oh well, don’t do it like that again, (if you must put a tarp under the tent, fold it so no tarp sticks out from underneath).

After a 9am driver’s meeting where no information was exchanged, we all followed Fearless into the first canyon. The route included some dirt roads, a few chewed up half paved ones, and lots of bumpy rocks to drive over. We drove into canyons, over hills, and into more canyons. The going was pretty slow though, and it took all day to cover about 25 miles. We might have covered more ground if everybody didn’t need so many P stops. Must have been some strong coffee! About 10:30 or 11, after we had driven through a natural rock arch, (neat!) the rain started up . Sometimes it would sprinkle, sometimes it would rain, and sometimes it was nice & sunny. I was busy putting on my jacket then taking it off again all day. The rain was ok, except it made the rocks all slippery and hard to get a tire grip on.

What was billed as a “true kick back run, even Vic can go” turned into a nasty, slippery treacherous struggle to clamber up & down narrow canyons. Most of the group avoided bashing the steep canyon walls, but almost a third of the group suffered some sort of body damage. But it was fun. We were all surprised when the Roostermobile made it up a tough stretch, first time. Must have been that it was so easy after we built a freeway for him. Tow straps came in handy all day. Even Montego’s Montero got high centered a few times. But with a lot of advice, direction, and careful rock placement (usually under tires), we all made it all the way through with a perfect record – no fatalities. Talk about bumpy roads! Good thing dents under the vehicle don’t count. One thing was clear, no wimp wheeler could have made it on this run.

We had a long lunch, and checked out some miners caves. The caves were especially handy when it started really pouring rain for awhile. The caves were big & airy, with the ceilings black with smoke from years of cooking fires. There were mines dug all over the place. In the late afternoon we played on a steep hill, and Patti bravely tried to show us the right way to stand a truck on it’s nose.

The damage list included; Steve & Carol for tweaking the front left bumper on their brand new truck (congratulations!), also Victor, Montego, and anyone else who listened to Fearless & went down the left side & hit the same rock with the left front. After I got my bumper pulled out of the tire, things looked a little better. Keith whacked the left back of his top on a canyon wall, and had a problem with his nut that made him lose power until it finally got twisted properly. And I got a mud flap yanked off and a few scratches too. Too bad, because we played in the mud before going back to camp. Walter showed us how to drive sideways, but I doubt that had anything to do with the loud hole in his muffler that appeared when his mud started falling off the next day.

On the bright side, Ed didn’t drive off any cliffs, and Keith didn’t back up into anyone. Nobody told Patti to get out of the driver’s seat, Paul didn’t have to memorize any new songs, Rooster barely had his hood up, and nobody’s brakes went out or wore out their front hubs. Camp didn’t seem to be exactly where we left it, but at least it wasn’t raining when we got there an hour before sunset. That was enough time for people to dry out their tents and make some dinner. The fire was started early, mostly so we’d have something to drink Tequila around, but a few folks actually cooked over it. I’m happy to report that the Roughwheelers read the trip sheet & just about everybody brought at least one bottle of the happy stuff that makes you shudder & make faces when you drink it. The rain-soaked firewood smoked and smoked, despite the brave, selfless efforts of a few who tried to do something about it. Somehow Rooster got a rock-sized hole in his tent, but we’re not going to talk about that. Must of been a manufacturing defect or something. To everyone’s complete surprise, history was changed forever, we did see Bob Hughes drunk, or at least that’s what he said. Some people still aren’t so sure. But we all liked the aerial fireworks he shot out of his nifty fireworks gun. Good thing we didn’t have any whiny neighbors!

Saturday night came and went, leaving a sunny Sunday in it’s place. Victor & Steve spent most of the morning airing up everybody with nitrogen. We woke up late and putt putted over to the Calico Ghost Town Tourist Recreation Area. I don’t know how many photos were taken, but it was a lot. Calico Ghost Town is pretty touristed out, and sort of hoakey, in a small gift-shop town sort of way, but we had a great time, eating pizzas and drinking our beverages. The horseshoes tourney came after that. You know, it’s amazing; the ghost town was $5 to park, $2.25 to see the mine, and a $1.25 for something else memorable, (but I forget what)… But horseshoes,…. is free. Go figure. I won’t say who won the games, but Montego was giving lessons. *Watch out over there!* And a grand time was had by all and there were plenty of laughs to go around. You folks that didn’t make it for this trip were missed (you know who you are), so try and make it next time, OK?

Well, as a self respecting Bronco, it,s time I finally said something on behalf of my cousins and myself. We go on month to month suffering in silence. This last so called “trip” to Pismo Dunes was really a doozy. My driver, who usually storms around flapping his arms like a Rooster, finally got me packed and going on Friday the 3rd around 2PM and drove me like crazy from LA to Pismo, getting there around 5:30 to find a number of my cousins already there. Wrangler and his driver and passenger were there – the way this guy drives, pretty soon he’ll need some spare Parts,man just to get anywhere. Then there was my little Yellow CJ5 cousin who had been towed there by our large cousin Suburban with his driver and passenger and a hairy subpassenger someone said looked like a Peanut. This driver always wants to know what are you doing, where are you going, and so on , they say he’s just curious, but I think he’s Snoopy. Also, my White CJ7 cousin was forced by his driver and two subpassengers to pull one of our distant relatives there. This relative is kind of strange; has no motor, shaped real square and they cook and sleep inside him. This driver never sleeps in a tent. When the other drivers tease him, he says he needs a warm place or he gets cold as Ice,man. Two other cousins came together also. The one who pulled White CJ5 was not quite as strange as the distant relative, at least he had a motor, but his driver did live inside him and always seemed to be playing with this and that Gadget,man.

Right off my driver throws everything out of me and with Wrangler and White CJ7 we go out and run around the dunes. What is the purpose of this, there aren’t even any roads? Finally they get tired of this and go back to camp. That evening while we are all cooling off, the drivers and passengers sit around some kind of heat source that is apparently maintained by feeding some organic substance called “wood” to it. Why not use gasoline like we do? That night more cousins arrive. One was my large cousin Ford F-250 with his driver and another hairy subpassenger. We all really relate to this subpassenger because his name is Sparky plug. F-250’s driver thinks nothing can stop him so he can leave his tires pumped up and usually ends up stuck in the Sand,man. With F-250 was a smaller brother called Ranger. Ranger’s driver and passenger were parents to F-250’s driver. F-250 also brought two friends, Blue CJ7 and Nissan truck. These two guys had drivers who were married to each other and had two subpassengers. The main driver has this idea that he is good looking and Handsome. They also had another hairy subpassenger named Mudpie. Does this mean it eats wet dirt? Another cousin was Orange CJ7 pulling one of White CJ7’s relative’s relatives(is this right?). Anyway, this poor guy was really bare boned. Not only did he not have a motor, but you couldn’t cook or eat in him either. He really wasn’t good for much except maybe to carry things. Orange CJ7 had a driver, a passenger and a subpassenger. The way this driver made Orange CJ7 pull that deformed relative, he should have been afraid it would tip over, but he was Fear,less.

Saturday morning another White w/Tan top CJ7 cousin came with his driver. His driver should have driven him there the night before, so everyone said he was lazy, but I think he was just Shiftless. Later we all played in the sand – up, down, left, right, in, out, over, under. F-250 got his big nose stuck down in a hole and lost his left front shoe. They said because I was the heaviest, I should pull him out. Does that mean they think I’m fat? Anyway, three jerks later and he is out. After we put air in his shoe we all go back to camp, where I decide to put on my sand shoes. After that,– nobody comes close—the dunes have a new master. That night more “wood” was consumed. All drivers, passengers and subpassengers took on fuel. They seem to do this 2 or 3 times a day even when they are not on empty.

Sunday morning disaster struck. I got very sick. I couldn’t keep running and seemed to just go to sleep and wake up with a jerk (the Rooster?) With all the bucking and jumping, I somehow damaged my radiator. Let me say right now that none of this was my fault. That driver of mine has fiddled and messed with me to the point that I hardly know who or what I am anymore. Anyway after a certain amount of ranting and raving (and idle threats), he finally made some repairs and adjustments and got me going again. Actually, I was looking forward to being towed by F-250 (he’s such a hunk), but it didn’t happen. Anyway, while I was sick, White w/Tan top CJ7 borrowed my sand shoes and said he really liked them and was impressing everyone. I hope he got athletes wheel! Also Sunday morning one of our Japanese cousins Toyota truck showed up with his driver, passenger, and subpassenger. His driver had brought one of a number of small deformed cousins called ATVs that were on the trip. He drove that thing like he was Hot, shot out of a cannon. That night one of White CJ7’s subpassengers tried to burn up the strange relative they had brought to live in, but he escaped destruction by self activating the fire extinguisher, although the subpassenger claims to have saved him. Do these strange relatives have insurance like we do?

Monday I hung around hoping to get towed by F-250, but my driver just kept loading up water. After a little welding job on the deformed ATV cousin who came with Toyota, we left around 3PM and sure enough, I drank three gallons of water but made it home without being towed (too bad). Now if my driver will just fix my wiring, learn how to adjust my fuel injection, and chain my engine down, I’ll be ready for the next goofy “trip”.

The Roostermobile

93 Roughwheelers Vacation Run

“There Ain’t No Fish In That Lake”

On the 93 vacation run, we enjoyed a wide variety of jeep trails, scenery, points of historical interest, and a total lack of fish cooperation.

The start of this run was quite different from other Roughwheeler runs in that we left only 5 minutes later than the scheduled time rather than the usual 30 minutes. Included in the group were Charlie Brown, Mickey, Red Dog, One-Eyed Jack, Four-Eyed Jill, and Sundance.

After breakfast in Mojave, we headed up Hwys 14 and 395, early enough to beat the desert heat. We stopped in Bridgeport for lunch before continuing to Hwy 89. Upon reaching Hwy 4, we headed west on a winding up and down road. About 4:00 PM, we reached the Utica Reservoir trail head, just past Alpine Lake. This trail follows along the edge of Silver Creek. Although the trail was not terribly challenging, it kept our interest and the scenery was beautiful. Just prior to the Silver Creek crossing, we found a camp site large enough to accommodate our group.

As we were setting up camp, we heard the sound of spinning tires and flying rocks from further up the trail. Walking down the trail, we found a crowd cheering on (and advising) a guy with a brand new, bone stock Wrangler. He had encountered a seemingly difficult rocky hill to climb. After several trys and conflicting advice, he made it up the hill. Although his vehicle may need some improvements, I would have given him a “10” for perseverance.

Following a quick Sunday breakfast, we continued down the trail until we reached a bridge that was probably built by the pioneers. After an inspection of the structural integrity, I crossed the bridge, followed by Charlie Brown and One-Eyed Jack. As we reached the end of the trail, I noticed a strange looking green structure perched high on a hill. It was a small building, only 4′ x 4′ x 7′ high. One- Eyed Jack went in to explore for about 10 minutes, followed by Charlie Brown for another 10 minutes. I’m not sure what was in there, but each one came out with that Al Bundy type smile.

Following the blacktop back to Hwy 4, we headed back down the winding road to Hwy 89. We continued past Lake Tahoe to Hwy 49 and then west to Gold Lake road. We reached Gold Lake and found a camp site about 5:30 PM. After dinner and rain preparation, we sat around the camp fire until it started raining. The rain didn’t stop until about 2 AM. There must have been a river flowing under my tent because the floor felt like a baggy filled with water.

Monday was spent drying out tents, taking Red Dog to the Vet, and fishing. My 9′ inflatable raft did a great job of getting One-Eyed Jack and myself to the middle of the lake, however, we didn’t catch any fish. Although other campers were catching fish, One-Eyed Jack concluded: “There Ain’t No Fish In This Lake.” About 2 PM, Gasman and Suds arrived in camp after completing the Sierra Trek run.

Tuesday started with One-Eyed Jack catching a fish. I guess there was at least one fish in that lake. After breaking camp we headed toward the Snake Lake trail. After several wrong turns on the unmarked dirt roads, we found the start of the trail to Snake Lake. The trail started with a narrow squeeze between two trees and continued down a steep switchback descent on ball bearing rocks. This trail has been adopted by Esprit De Four and they have done a great job of maintaining it.

Following a leisurely lunch at Snake Lake, we headed toward Little Deer Lake. Although there are exceptions such as Cadillac Hill and Thompson Grade, most Sierra trails that we have done have been mostly rock crawling with few hills. The trail to Little Deer Lake was another exception. There were several difficult hills with ball bearing rocks to climb. Fortunately, the recent rains improved traction and almost eliminated the dust.

Upon approaching Little Deer Lake, we encountered the most fearsome hill of all: the notorious Hot Head Hill. At the bottom of this hill, One-Eyed Jack’s right rear tire slid into a hole, raising his left front tire about 3′ above the ground. At about the same time, his brakes went out. He and Four-Eyed Jill were close to a rollover down a steep embankment. Charlie Brown held One-Eyed Jack’s Jeep from rolling with a tow strap until he could drive to safety.

Although the camp sites at Little Deer Lake were small and limited, we managed to find room for the four tents. The scenery at this lake was beautiful. There must have been an abundant snow fall in this area because there was still a patch of snow near the lake at 7,000 feet in August.

After several days without a shower, and bodies producing odors that the flies rejected, One-Eyed Jack and I braved the cold waters of Little Deer Lake. The clean refreshing feeling was well worth the discomfort of the cold water. Charlie Brown, One-Eyed Jack, and I continued pursuit of the elusive fish without success. “There Ain’t No Fish In This Lake.” Later that night, Suds thought she heard a bear and went outside the tent to find it. Fortunately, they did not meet.

After a leisurely Wednesday morning breakfast, we broke camp and finished the last two hills of the trail. We then continued on dirt roads until we exited at Gold Lake. Heading down Hwy 49, we eventually arrived in Nevada City. The Wimpwheelers stayed in a motel while Charlie Brown, Mickey, and Red Dog continued on to the Auburn KOA.

On Thursday Morning, we started for the Malakof Diggins. After a wrong turn, and 26 miles of unnecessary travel we arrived in the Ghost town of North Bloomfield. The museum offered much information about the hydraulic mining that once gave this town its livelihood. This quaint little town had a population of 1229 people in 1880. Beyond North Bloomfield we found the Malakof Diggins. The mighty waters of the Sierras were channeled down a system of narrowing pipes until they reached the 6″ monitor. These monitors were used to blast away the earth and down into a sluice where the gold was retrieved. The tailings from these operations washed down into the valleys and caused massive flooding until the process was outlawed in 1884. More than 100 years later the damage done is still evident. I wonder if 100 years from now the tire tracks from our jeeps will still be seen. I doubt it.

From the Diggins, we proceeded back down to Lake Tahoe, where Gasman and Suds decided to stay for a few more days. The remainder of the group continued down 395 past Mammoth where we camped for the night on the Owens river.

Upon crawling out of our tents Friday morning, we observed a fisherman (a real one) catching 9 fish. Once again Charlie Brown, One-Eyed Jack, and I tried our fishing luck to no avail. “There Ain’t No Fish In This River.” In a state of despair, we broke camp and drove to Toms Place for an excellent breakfast. After breakfast, Charlie Brown, Mickey, and Red Dog headed home, leaving all fishing responsibilities to One-Eyed Jack, Four-Eyed Jill and myself. For one last attempt at the elusive fish, we headed up to Rock Creek. Although we saw others catch fish, we didn’t. “There Ain’t No Fish In This Creek.”

For those that haven’t mastered the art of fishing, there is a place near Crowley Lake called Mc Gees fishing pond where any one can catch fish – even One-Eyed Jack and myself. It was like shooting fish in a barrel. One-Eyed Jack caught four and I caught five. “There Are Fish In This Pond.”

After the mighty anglers reaped their harvest, we camped at Lake Diaz for the night before heading home Saturday morning.

Sundance

08/22/93