Loon Lake trailhead and amazing overflow sluice (the trail starts beyond the shack)
As the day grew closer, I continued my internet research and Erik sent me YouTube clips. I could tell that he was having some second thoughts; some of the video was rather daunting. People breaking things, people rolling over and doing major vehicle damage, people getting hopelessly stuck. What were we thinking? Did we really have any business doing this sort of thing? Or would we be like hikers on Everest wearing tennis shoes, looking really foolish while begging for a piggyback ride to safety?
One thing that I did notice in the videos was that nobody was driving an FJ. They were all Jeeps, mostly modified Rubicon's, or buggies, but no FJ's. Well there was one where a guy in an FJ, trying to clear a nasty rock shelf and ripping his entire rear bumper off in the process. I tried to ignore that one, it almost looked deliberate. Finally I found a blog called Last Great Road Trip that told a story of a group of FJ's that successfully went through during the 2013 Rubithon event, sort of a Jamboree for Toyotas. Unfortunately they were all highly-modified with long-travel kits and 35‘s with re-gearing; guided by some guy named “Woodie” who apparently knows all of the rocks on the trail by name. Only one of them escaped without body damage.
Body damage is another topic that I have thought about quite a bit. My rig is pretty nice, it's the nicest vehicle I've ever owned - it's a 2008 Toyota FJ Cruiser Trail Teams limited edition. And I really like it. But, I have always bragged that it was a trail queen, not a garage queen, so for something like the Rubicon, I was “willing to accept some body damage”. It would be a “Merit Badge” of sorts. Something that held the memory of a struggle and an achievement, kind of an off-road conversation piece. But now I didn't really think that I wanted body damage. It might be hard to control. After all, it would be the result of an error or an accident; you couldn't really choose where it would be or how large it would be. My boasts were haunting me.
One of the things that I read in Last Great Road Trip was that people were using tube doors. These helped with visibility. Being able to lean out and see where your tire was placed seemed to me to be very beneficial, not to mention that it also replaced about six square feet of nice-shiny-white-sheet-metal on each side of the rig. At least I could choose to not have my body damage there! So I picked up some used tube doors and Josh, my oldest son, and copilot on this trip, helped me install them.
My tube doors
Final plans and preparation for the trip came together quickly. I had to swap out a front half-shaft because I had torn the CV boot driving up on Fiftymile Bench road in Utah, on my roundabout wander to the Expo last May. In doing so I discovered that NAPA replacement shaft CV's lock-up with the suspension at full travel, so I had to buy a rebuilt shaft and replace it again the day before we left. “Good Practice” I told myself, I might need to do a swap on the trail. (I carry a spare shaft and the 35mm socket required to replace it, along with a spare tie rod)
Josh and I were going to leave on Wednesday after work, drive as long as we could, hopefully making it as far as Eugene before we had to stop. We would sleep at a rest area in the roof top tent, then get up as early as possible so that we could make time and get to the Loon Lake trailhead by 4:30 on Thursday. There, we would meet Erik and his son Caleb, who would be coming from a family camping trip near Tahoe. This would allow us to start the trail out of “phase” with the crowds and camp for the first night just before the Little Sluice Box; which we were going to bypass. This was part of our “stress reduction plan”.
By Tuesday night, we were packed. I had the Maggiolina up on top, the kitchen box packed in the back with my nice Worthington aluminum propane cylinder in its bracket on the roof. Two Snow Peak tables (one big, one small), some nice REI reclining chairs and an awning. The Fridge was packed with beer and tri-tip; which required that I bring the Snow Peak folding fireplace for proper grilling and campfire stories. It had been many years since Erik and I had shared a campfire - one of our favorite things to do.
Of course there were tools and spares, compressors, extension lines and Hi-lifts. Recovery gear and cameras and Go-Pro's, and and and. It really added up. I think fear is a major driver when it comes to my packing habits: “I might need and axe or a crow bar or a single jack”, “It might rain”, “I think that I need a pair of boots too”, “what about the grill?”. My inner voice of potential regret at not having “just the right thing” drives me to pack like a gypsy. (no offense intended, I just don't need to be that self-sufficient for an extended weekend). But pack like a hoarder I do. All the while, my rig gets closer and closer and closer to the ground.
During the first night of driving we discovered some of the limitations of tube doors on long trips. Your brain's subliminal subroutine to reach for the button and roll up the window kicks in several hundred times before you teach it that that can't be done any longer. Fortunately I brought along earmuffs to deal with the howl of the KM-2's and Josh took my advice to pack a warmer jacket. And a rain jacket. Because it rained - and we got wet. Passing big rigs was especially drenching.
After a fatiguing journey, at 4:15 on Thursday afternoon, we arrived at the Loon Lake trailhead for the Rubicon - and I didn't like what I saw. A bunch of beat-looking rigs, jacked to the sky with a bunch of rough-looking characters who looked at me like I was on a Sunday drive in the family wagonmaster, gonna show the kids where the Rub-E-con Trail was and then head back to McDonalds for dinner. GULP!
We found Erik and Caleb down by the trailhead shack, both shaking their heads with that deer-in-the-headlights look. I could tell that they were having a serious talk. It turns out that they had just been hassled by a buggy driver who told Erik that he “sure have pretty wheels”.
Erik's "pretty wheels"
I was floored by how tricked-out his rig looked - holy crap! I was in big trouble! What was I thinking, his tires were huge, this was serious business, I was going to destroy my rig and Jennifer (my wife) was going to kill me. Or a least say that she had previously informed me that I was an idiot (that's the true meaning of "I told you so").
So, to cover up my anxiety, I opened the fridge and we had a beer. Once that took effect, I said that there was no way "I was going to drive a thousand miles and leave without body damage!".
The reason for my feelings of vehicular inadequacy
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