I have always been fascinated with machines. Land Rovers in general. No, I’m not talking about plastic bumpers, high tech electronics that manipulate the good vibrations you feel through the seat. I’m talking about a motor, a gas pedal, maybe a heater that works in the summer, simple no frills attached reliability. Old hoopty.
It all started when my dad would tell us boys stories of his college days and exploring old farms and mountain trails in his 1965 Land Rover 109. How he would load it up with friends and just go. Eventually I came upon the Camel Trophy events and was fascinated by the exploration and adventure associated.
Through the years we’ve managed to have a few adventures of our own on the miles of forest roads through the National Forests and the old deteriorated logging trails.
One night recently we trekked up into a favorite secluded spot we used to hit in our high school days. We were celebrating Isaiah Goodall’s 30th birthday and he was down from DC to do man things. We made “hobo” meals in aluminum foil and threw them on the fire. Had a few rounds, talked about our women and the troubles they cause, ate our meals, enjoyed the cool breeze, climbed trees, pushed each other around, shouted out loud because it felt so amazing in the hills, and eventually sat back down around the fire and stared at it like men. Eventually the serious/deep conversation started. You know the kind that puts men to sleep. Right before we turned in for the night a pathetic Toyota all duded out came flying down the road. It was obvious by the slurring that these boys had too much to drink. We told them to get lost in a nice way. They asked us if we were gay and then pulled a 9mm pistol out and fired multiple rounds who knows where and sped off. We didn’t really move or say much. “Huh.” Sat around a little longer and then all fell retired to the tent.
My brother works as a 911 dispatcher and waited until the morning to collect the spent casings.