4X4

Many of you know I'm serving hard time as a scout leader. As part of my sentence, I'm required to sleep outside from time to time. We (13-year old boys and some other leaders) have been calling it "camping."

Last weekend, camping meant driving away from society until we found a place where we could burn stuff without other people caring. Our journey took us to the base of some mountains, where we proceeded to baja-race up an antelope migration trail.

Eventually the trail took us to a nightmare of a slope. The other two leaders, in their 4X4 trucks, scooted right up it without a problem. I was in my little Honda CRV, which my wife and I bought last summer. I had only taken it off road once before, when I had to park on some grass.

I made it half-way up the slope on my first try, then my tires spun out and I had to back it down. There were three scouts in my car; the two older boys in the back were calling me a wuss, and the 12-year old in the passenger seat was in a state of shock.

"Let me out, I want out" the 12-year old screamed. "We'll die if we go up that again!"

"Listen soldier, you're gonna man your position," I said, while locking the doors. "You're not getting out until we ascend this hill."

He looked around for an item of comfort, and found nothing. He eventually grabbed the tire-pressure gauge that was laying on the dash, and clung onto it as if it had some life-saving quality.

We proceeded to climb the slope a second time. My engine started making weird noises, the windshield filled up with blue sky, and dust surrounded us. As I reached the point of failure from the first attempt, I looked to my right. The 12-year old was glassy-eyed and tears were streaming down his face. The tire-pressure gauge was still locked in between his hands. The boys in the back were yelling something about the car rolling over.

I looked up to the top of the hill, and saw the other two leaders standing proudly next to their big trucks. They began to yell things like, "just drop to a lower gear and get your RPMs revved up," and "ya gotta crank 'er to the right, or you'll tweak your driveshaft!" Even though I know nothing of auto mechanics, I wanted to counter with something intelligent. I leaned out my window and shouted, "yeah, I'll just pop the clutch a couple times to boost the alternator's intake." They both stopped yelling and looked at each other.

The soldier in the passenger seat held his ground and we made it to the top. The boys in the back got out immediately and jumped into the other leaders' trucks. "I think my manifold distributor is shorting out, so it will best if I have less weight anyway," I said.

The 12-year old was mad; his face was as red as my check engine light. "Dang it, you should have let me out," he exclaimed. I apologized and told him he could join the other boys in the trucks. He consented and quickly hopped out of my car, still clinging to my tire-pressure gauge.