The InterVANtion, After Being Turned Around Twice | InterVANtion #2

I spent an extremely pleasant - if a little windy at times - night on the ridge. Luckily, years of ignoring my parents' advice to use hearing protection when woodworking, preceded by the fact that I was once - a very long time ago - a youngster who listened to music with the volume turned to teenager, relieved me of the worst of it. Oh, and the earplugs I had handy in the tent probably helped a bit too.

At any rate, I slept through all of the noise with no problem, waking only once - about half an hour before sunrise - to go to the bathroom and snap a quick shot of the smoke that was accumulating to our east.

Luckily, with the wind blowing out of the northwest, this particular smoke wouldn't be an issue for us.

Then, it was back up into the tent - for a few more hours of shut-eye - until the sun streamed in through the windows and warmed my already-cozy sleeping situation to the "sweating" level. Overnight, the wind had pushed all the clouds south, and it was going to be another beautiful day!

Good morning, Pioneer Mountains!

The same sun that eventually got me going seemed to motivate everyone else as well, and before long, there was a bustle around camp as breakfast was made, frisbees were thrown, and everything we'd pulled from our mobile homes the previous night was fit like puzzle pieces into our rigs.

After packing up, I pulled right up to the edge to wait for the rest of the gang.

As tents were being stowed, this undesirable - responsible for killing many of our forests - was found trying to hitch a ride. (Pine beetle)

Padfoot was ready to go go go!

Not surprisingly, with a setup that requires little more than pressing a button to lower the sleeping area to roof-height, Ben was the first one ready to hit the trail. Hoping to save us all a bit of time - and in particular, me a bit of very slow going - I mentioned over the radio that he should get a start down the trail, and that we'd catch up shortly. I was a little worried that he'd take offense to my suggestion, but he seemed happy - and maybe even a bit relieved to not be holding us up - and we soon heard the drone of the diesel fade away as he plunged over the ridgeline.

Leading the way into the unknown.

The slow speed of Ben's descent cannot be overstated. In the 10-minute window between when he departed and when we began down the back side of the ridge, he'd made it less than half a mile. This, according to him, was apparently due to the fact that he had to steer with one hand, while holding the 4wd transfer case in low gear with the other, to prevent it from popping out into high.

We were already three quarters of the way down the hill by the time Ben reached the dry creek crossing at the bottom.

Heading back up the other side.

This, adjacent ridge - it would turn out - would be as far as this road could take us. As it plunged into the trees on the far side, towards a set of tight switchbacks that had me worried the previous evening, the grass got taller, the tracks got fainter, and finally, the road was no more. Pulling off to the shoulder, Ben keyed up his radio, "You seeing what I'm seeing, Monte?" he asked.

As end of road views go, we didn't have any complaints about this one.

With less than half a mile to a well-graded Forest Service Road that would take us to Lake Agnes, Monte plowed ahead through the grass, hoping to pick up the trail as it entered the trees. Alas, it was not to be, and soon we were retracing the route that'd consumed most of the previous day, winding the big gray elephant back along the narrow, wooded trail that'd delivered us to Storm Peak.

With Devin piloting Igor, we headed back the way we'd come.

Up, up, up.

This section was quite steep, and Ben was white-knuckling it a bit as parts were also slightly off-camber.

Back across Storm Peak.

Back into the trees. Sorry Ben!

Down through the trees, we tried something new. Knowing that Ben had the GPS tracks - and that there was only one way down - we put him at the back of the caravan to see how communications would go in that configuration. Turns out, they worked reasonably well, allowing us to travel at a more reasonable pace, waiting for Ben - with our engines off - as he picked his way through the harriest sweeping turns and bumpiest 5-inch-tall rocks.

There's nothing remotely interesting about this photo, except that as I took it, Zane calmly told me to get into my truck, because he'd heard over the radio that "Ben has lost his brakes."

Turns out that Ben didn't actually lose his brakes on the way down, it was just that the van stalled. This in turn disabled the power steering and brake booster, but was easily remedied by restarting the diesel generator under the hood.

"It was funny to watch the Tacomas scurry like rats," he joked as he pulled up behind us so we could being our long-way-round to Tendoy Lake.

Back together for only a moment, I resumed the tail-gunner position, and the other three Tacomas quickly pulled away.

Our new route had us pounding the pavement for a few miles, which worked out perfectly for a few reasons. First, we made it to Dillon, where Mike and Zane finally found some of the premium grade juice that their Tacomas require. Second, we were able to find a nice Taco-and-Ice Cream joint where we could indulge in a myriad of tasty treats. And finally - even if just for a few minutes - Ben wasn't the slowest guy on the trail. My 62mph pace, and 42-second 0-62 acceleration put me squarely at the back of the pack!

Tasty tacos and the first time I've had quesabirria. Not as good as Monte's, though!

It was in Dillon - over lunch - that Ben first broached the subject of his green Tacoma making a reappearance on our trips. It was subtle - almost more of an apology for slowing us down on the trails - and we all brushed it off. After all, having Ben on the trips - whether he's driving a glacier or not - is way more important in our book!

Dillion is south of Tendoy Lake, which was south of Storm Peak, and the idea had been to hit Dillon the next morning, after we camped at Tendoy Lake. Despite the fact that it wasn't the most efficient route, we still liked the idea of camping at Tendoy, so we exited town the way we'd entered, and soon we found ourselves winding our way back into the Pioneer Mountains at Birch Creek, and then Willow Creek Road.

Like all afternoons, this one started to get a little smoky, but with cooperating clouds, our complaints weren't all that valid.

Rally point, just before the spur to Tendoy Lake.

I forget exactly what led to Ben finding the actual, in-service spur to the lake, but somehow, the rest of us ended up on an old road-turned-foot trail that quickly petered out after a creek crossing that would have been difficult even for the Tacomas. As we were discussing next steps, the radio crackled to life, Ben letting us know that he found a signed spur suggesting that a once secondary route might now be the only route to our goal.

Zane led the way as the trail started to get rocky.

The trail quickly became interesting as Mike worked his way through the large, loose, river rock.

This would have been a fun little trail - at least, as far as we could tell - in the Tacomas, but we knew it wasn't going to work for the behemoth behind us.

“Wow, we got f#%ked out of two trails today,” Monte announced over the radio, all of us now wondering as to the backup plan for the evening.

Hoping to find something further up the main road, Ben - who'd hung back as we'd investigated the spur - let us know that he'd head that direction as we made our way back to the fork. And, only a few minutes later, he let us know that he'd found another lake - with a nice spot to camp - that was easy to access, even for him!

Our own little slice of paradise.

Within minutes, we'd all rendezvoused along the edge of Long Branch Lake - we'd found our home for the evening. And it was at this point that Ben began to talk in earnest about his plans for the future. Or at least, his plans for the future as it pertained to the most important aspect of his life: Tacomas.

"Hear me out," he started. "I've had a lot of time to think about this on the trail the last couple of days."

"That's the truth," someone piped up, "your van is slow as shit. You've got enough time to think about anything!"

Anyway, Ben proceeded to lay out his plan to resurrect the Tacoma, which he's had in storage since he started using the van as his primary adventure vehicle in 2022. At that point, he made the [terrible] decision to turn the Tacoma into a race truck, cutting off all the useful 4wd bits, ditching all the nice suspension, and selling all the gear that he used to go camping. Now, though, he informed us that with the "the help of his friends" - specifically, those of us lounging in chairs next to him - he had a plan to get it all back. Or at least, enough of it so that he wouldn't be lumbering along in the Sportsmobile, fighting through every inch of terrain. His idea was that he could make a trip out to Seattle, and in the process, he'd:

• stop at Zane's, hopefully to piece together some sort of leaf pack out of the several that must be laying around the shop.
• stop at Mike's, to pick up an old canopy that Mike's been trying to get out of his garage for almost as long as I've known him.
• stop at my place, to build a sleeping platform for the bed, an in-cab doggo platform for Venice, and perhaps take my old tires off my hands.

We hadn't done it on purpose, but clearly our nickname for the van - The Elephant - and all of our teasing and ribbing about how slowly Ben was going on such easy trails, had "worked," even if we didn't have any outcome in mind. It did however leave Ben exhausted. Though it was only 4:00pm, he soon abandoned his reclining camp chair for the comfort of his plush pop-up bed.

Only a few minutes later, Zane - always quick on the draw - nonchalantly proposed a name for this trip: The InterVANtion. It was perfect, made even better by the fact that - as easy as the entire ordeal had seemed to us - Ben had spent so many brain cells on his interVANtion that it'd worn him out. Ultimately, he'd nap for so long that - sometime around 11:00pm - Mike got worried and went to check on him.

It was perhaps the most successful interVANtion in the history of interventions.

While Ben caught some Z's, we setup camp and engaged in our evening campfire rituals.

"Hey everyone, we're ready to play!"

Still as glass.

Predictably, just as - or perhaps because - things were quieting down, Ben rolled out of his van and caught Monte just as he was dousing the final coals of the campfire with water.

"Dude, I slept through the campfire! " Ben exclaimed, throwing a couple more logs into the ring. "You gotta stay up with me for a little while so I can enjoy it," he added.

And of course, being the best friend of the bunch, Monte obliged.

 

 

 

The Whole Story

 

Filed Under