Relighting an Old Flame…

Is it wrong to love a truck that gets 9 miles to the gallon?  Can I sleep at night knowing I drove said truck down a real stream?   Could I ever be at peace with a past time that is an environmental nightmare?…

Once again, we gave into our basest redneck instincts.  This time we headed out to Attica, Indiana for a little four wheelin’ in the Bronco.  The DH tuned up the old behemoth and loaded it full of tools and useful equipment.  I loaded the terrors and we were ready to rumble.

Of course, first we had to get to Indiana.  This meant the DH drove the suburban with O man and the Rookie, towing the camper.  I was given the pleasure of piloting the Bronco with J in the co pilot seat.  It is necessary to have a co pilot in the Bronco since nothing is “powered”, so if you want the passenger side window opened their damn well be someone sitting there to crank it down.

You might think that I don’t like the Bronco.  The exact opposite is the problem.  I love the Bronco.  That 1978 piece of sh*t took the DH and I on the Big Camp for 5 months one magical summer, and served us well.  She isn’t so much one of my cars as she is one of my homes.

I was sleeping in the Bronco the night on the Brooks range when it was actually so dark I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face.  Seriously.  I could touch it to my nose, but not see it.  Creepy.

Some things have changed since we took her on the Big Camp.  The DH took the old camper shell off, put in a bench in the back for the terrors, and lifted it about 4 inches.  I haven’t driven it (willingly) in a while, so I was a little nervous.  But we fell into our driving rhythm as though we were driving the ALCAN, rekindling my love affair with that big ol’ nasty truck.  As you know I have a weakness for kick ass gear, and the Bronco is the kick ass-est.  I have the trucker’s tan to prove it.  Never mind that the heat is always on.  She purred like a well fed lion and I felt right at home.  J kept proclaiming that he “can’t wait to drive” it.  I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

J was less enthusiastic about the actual 4 wheeling in the Bronco, however.  He wanted to turn back almost the second we hit the sandy paths.  Imagine his horror when the DH attempted this.

The nice man in the orange shirt acted as our tour guide for most of the day.  He thought we were insane for being there alone, and took us under his wing and on a tour of the off road park.  He and his lovely friends took us to places we would have never found on our own…like the creek:

I smell Christmas picture:

Don’t know why the terrors each held a rock in exactly the same way when I said “Hey guys, let me take your picture”, but I’ll take it.

We were hot and muddy but had a great day.  A dip in the pool and a couple of rounds of air hockey at the RV park topped it all off nicely.  Neither the truck nor the terrors got hurt.

I have a crazy farmer’s tan, ball grease on my back (?) and the satisfaction of knowing that once again, we spent the weekend camping and didn’t kill each other.

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