Morning was upon us, and the duck was alive and quacking at 6:00 AM. On the drive up, we did everything we could to loose that duck, but in spite of it all, it found us. Preble put on the coffee, and some dabbled in a simple breakfast of either cereal or donuts before we loaded up and headed for the Big Johnson trails, Upper and Lower. Though we had never been to this particular trail before, we were getting better at locating these well hidden sections. Even with the GPS coordinates, finding a trail in Johnson Valley is an exercise in patience in perseverance. Between our two built in homing pigeons, Rolo and Pebbles, the trail head was located. Almost immediately The Hammers began exercising its muscles. Jeff cut a sidewall and smashed the rim. And it was almost that fast. There was plenty of time for destruction and mayhem, but he wanted to get an early start. Not content with simple tire problems, Jeff was also having problems with his clutch. It was becoming obvious that his Jeep was geared way to tall, and slipping the clutch was the only way to keep the speeds down. The unusual part of this story is that Ray was riding with him, and Ray knows all about slipping the clutch and speed. Do not do it. Give it a few RPM, point, and drop the clutch. The rest takes care of itself. The advantage of that method is that you get great aerial views of the trail. The drawback is that it has a proven potential of destroying parts. Jeff did it the correct way. No way would a vehicle survive ‘The Hammers’ using the point and shoot method. Jeff turned around, and with Ray, headed back to camp. We would later find out that this was no easy task. The Jeep would only run for a few minutes at a time so the two mile trip back to camp was slow at best. Making its final lunge about 1/2 mile from camp, Jeff had to walk back to get his rig so that they could tow it back to camp. Everyone else continued up Big Johnson to see what it had in store for us. Bret led us up the hill to a large boulder outcropping at the entrance to a tight right hand turn. This would be a good section. He attempted to put his right front tire high on a boulder to the right, so his left tire could follow the groove to the entrance of the turn. Sometimes the things we plan just do not have the outcome that we predict. His right front tire ended up way higher than he had hoped for. In fact it was sky high, as in a roll over. The only thing that kept him from a very ugly roll down the side of the mountain was the large boulder that he rolled into. And the only thing that kept him in the seat was suction, noted by the pucker marks on the upholstery. Not that there is ever a good spot to roll, but this spot could potentially be one of the worst. Using the winch to pull the front end back to earth, Pebbles carefully pulled forward and cleared the obstacle. Next through this spot was Jerry. Since everyone had now walked up to this spot, Bling must have felt that a show was necessary. He managed to keep the rubber side down, but barely. The Flying Valendez Family has nothing on this guys aerial antics. While he did maintain the rubber down position, there were a number of times that one or two wheels were grabbing for air, big air. And clearing the boulder entrance is not where this section ended. After the tight right turn was an up hill turn to the left that could not be completed in one maneuver. A multiple part turn was required. Sean (shawn) was next and almost matched Bret had it not been for the spotter strap. El Rolo followed. Judicious application of the skinny pedal usually works. It that does not hold true, then just hammer it. Well, for this section, it was option #3 – hammer it. Mouth was next. He tried his best, but ended up with a small winch assist to be successful without breaking parts. Further up the trail, our friend from camp, Shawn, had a decal on his tailgate proclaiming ‘Chicks Dig Body Damage’. Well, not one to disappoint any chicks, he backed that sticker directly into Keith’s stinger. Lower and then Upper Big Johnson proved to be a good run, and we headed back to camp for lunch.

It was a bit on the warm side, probably in the low 90’s. So to keep the rigs and our bodies from overheating we just sat and killed some time waiting for the sun to lower. As the afternoon was fading, we were off to Outer Limits. This had been pre planned as a night run, but we wanted to get there early enough to see some of it in the daylight. Since it was such a long drive to get to this run, we decided to head out. El Rolo lead the pack out and around the mountains, to the far side where the ‘Outer Limits’ trail began. Kris was next, with me as his passenger. Then came the announcement over the CB that Jerry had lost his brakes. Keith and Kris turned around, heading back to find Jerry and the rest of the group. When we found them, they had already discovered that the left front wheel was very loose. Then the really good news hit. Jerry removed the locking hub only to find the end of the axle stuck inside. Just as last year, he had sheared and outer stub axle. However, this time was much worse. Broken pieces of hub, axle, and the hub nut were everywhere. Preble and I managed to pick out most of the broken parts. Jerry then tried to remove the hub assembly, and it was going nowhere. It appeared that the broken stub axle had mushroomed the spindle to the point that the wheel bearing would not slide off. He decided that the best bet would be to limp back to camp and fix this another day. We did not want to send him that long distance without any support. If the wheel did fall off, he would be high and dry, and a long ways from camp. Kris and I escorted him back to camp without incident. By the time we returned to the others who were waiting for us, well over one hour had passed. Off again on our search for the trail head. As I said before, even with GPS coordinates, and the fact that we had been here four months ago, did not seem to help much. We ended up turning too soon, about 100 yards too soon. That does not sound like much, but we were trying to find a well hidden canyon wash amongst miles of sagebrush and rock. It was Rolo who first spotted the correct route, and within minutes, we were all there. The lower part of this trail starts out somewhat simple and gives an opportunity to warm up. Then, as we learned in January, it turns real nasty, real fast. This is the trail that we would walk a section, and then proclaim that this must not be it, it was a dead end. Well, it was not a dead end. That extreme wall of boulders the seemed to block the route was indeed the path that we needed to follow. On one of the first truly hard sections, everyone sans Rolo needed a little winch help. It was here that Shawn blew his Dana 44 front end inner axle. Being a good traveler, he had a complete spare. As fast as anyone could expect, it was repaired and we were once again on our way. Then we approached the section that in January, had everyone on the hook, except Anthony who took a bizarre upper route. This time, El Rolo managed to bounce and throttle his way up and through. Then climb the steep undercut ledge and poise on top waiting to help anyone whom may need it. And the rest of us did. Not a lot mind you, but this section is very tough, off camber, and up hill. One by one everyone got through and we would close the book on this one, one more time. As everyone started their rigs to move on, one did not fire. El Rolo had a dead rig. No fuel pump, no starter, nothing, except headlights. I rolled under the dash, and with a tester, found that the top slot of the fuse panel was dead. I moved a few wires, we had ignition, and we were once again on the road.
Back in camp, it was time to reflect and have a little food and drink. It was Shawn who first brought up the Sobe bomb’s that we would learn to love. Fill a Sobe bottle with gas, screw on the top, poke a small hole in the top, and set it in the fire. Sound a little nuts to you, yea well, remember whom you are dealing with. The bottle would heat, spew a little flame out of the bottle top, before the lid would blow off and send a fire ball 30 feet into the air. It was awesome. We were trying to pace ourselves; we did not have an unlimited amount of Sobe bottles. Then as all maniacs do, we started to think bigger. If a Sobe bottle was good, a 40oz. Budweiser bottle would be better. We needed some Fody’s. And being a little more maniac than the rest of us, it was Rocketman who wanted gallon jugs of vino, yea. He was volunteering to drive to town the next day and buy Sobe’s, 40 ounce Buds, and one gallon jugs of vino. He wanted bigger fireballs. We spent the rest of the night popping off about four Sobe bombs, they were great. A few larger bottles were located, and loaded. The first one went off with a resounding blast and a very impressive fire ball that leaped at least 40 feet into the sky. It lit up the dry lake bed like quartz flood lights. The next one fizzled and we were all disappointed. Sunday morning was upon us, and we would head off to a new trail, Wrecking Ball. This was supposed to be another good one. With the vehicle losses we had more people than rides. Ray decided to drive his F150 to the trail head, and we would both walk the trail. It was not a great distance before the first challenge. Uphill, between/over two large boulders, and into a rock garden of more large boulders. After multiple attempts, Keith ended up taking what he thought was the roll over line. It turned out to be just what he needed, as he rolled up and through this spot. Bret came very close to rolling over here, very close. Impatient, a few buggies bypassed Kris’s Toyota sitting in the trail. The first buggy took a number of tries before he made it through. The second buggy was driven by a guy with perhaps more money than brains. Meaning, that he had enough money to build or buy this rig without learning how to drive it. He had absolutely no idea what was under his wheels. He did have horsepower though. Enough to ram boulders head on. Hit them hard. So hard in fact that it managed to dislodge a female body part of his passenger. And apparently she did not know it as she bounced and trashed about this careening vehicle. It was not until a friend made her aware of the dangling boobie that it was put back into its home. I missed it too. This guy hammered and hammered, banged and clunked, and just plain rammed it. Winch, no way. Just hit it again harder. If there ever was a time to question sanity, this was it. After a lot of antics, it was Kris’s turn. With some careful spotting he made it most of the way, and only needed an assist to clear the get out of this section. Just around the corner was another 3 way option. Alesha guilted Rolo into taking one of the harder options. A little throttle had Rolo up and over the narrow gap with 4 foot boulders on either side. This was the major carnage spot of the weekend for Rolo as he managed to scratch his dovetail. Bret came next and decided to try the same line. After a couple attempts he decided that the line up the 10 foot high climb to the right of the squeeze looked better. He almost made it before resting on the frame rail perched about 10 feet above the rest of the trail. After some discussion we decided that rolling down that was probably going to be ugly, so Rolo maneuvered around to get the winch cable around Bret’s cage to keep him from plunging into the depths below. Mouth, after watching the insanity, took the normal line following the trail. Not very far down the trail, I heard Rolo yell that perhaps this section deserved preservation on film. As I approached, I was amazed at what this trail was not throwing at us. It was a near vertical twelve foot wall. Affectionately known as a ‘waterfall’. This is the term given to any section that is a near vertical granite wall that must be climbed. Everyone hiked around and stood on top. Rolo informed us that he was going to pull up onto the vertical climb, set his brake, grab the correct gear, give it some shit, and pop the brake. I suggested connecting the winch cable to something. Not to winch him over, but as a safety line to prevent a backwards roll. Instead of that idea, we threaded a tow strap through his front bumper and about five of us hung on and would pull. This waterfall was big; here he sat as we attached the tow strap. Ready to go. The e-brake idea never did happen. He was near vertical, yet his front wheels were about one foot from the crest. As his front wheels moved up the wall, he decided that it was now or never. Put some hammer down, and hang on. His passenger, Alesha, was wondering what happened to the stop and get ready part of this launch. A good amount of RPM and a little bouncing, and he came up over the top. Not to minimize this task, it was not as difficult as it first looked. Next Pebbles approached. With a longer wheelbase, he just applied a judicious amount of the skinny pedal and he also was up and over. That left Kris with his 112 inch wheelbase. He should be OK also. Kris pulled up, lined himself, and hit it. He also came up and over. We did good. I say we, because I watched with terrific skill.

From here it was a tight left hand turn into another good one. This section had a granite wall on the right, at about 70 degrees. A small gap, then a large boulder to climb on the left. The correct way to do this turned out to be riding the right hand wall about five feet up. This put the left tire in a good spot to climb the boulder that it faced. It took a number of tries. After successfully entering this section, it took a fair amount of throttle to pull, jump, bang, and clear the rest. Keith landed so hard that he broke a small piece of the casting on his 44 front, and that is not easy. Pebbles and Mouth finished this section with the same flare and impressive pilot skills. We were up and over, wow. Wrecking Ball – what an adventure. We drove up over the top and back down the ravine into the valley. It was then that we realized that the wind had picked up. Way up. The drive back to camp was breezy at the very least. Ray was sitting on the cooler in back of Pebbles rig, and I was sitting on something very hard between the seats. Pebbles was giving us a lift to the trail entrance where we parked Ray’s truck. Not wanting to leave anyone alone, Keith and Kris tagged along. As we were approaching the lake bed, we noted that it was hard to see the motor home and our camp. It was high winds and a dust storm. And it would turn out that this was not just a passing thing, no intermittent gusts of wind, this was here to stay. At camp, luckily, the winds were coming from directly on the far side of the motor home, we had a shield. Walk beyond the wind break and take your chances. We took turns crowding into Pebbles house on wheels, getting a break from the wind. At one point I walked out to find Kris standing in the open and making the Superman leap from tall building movements. We agreed that if we had a rope, we could tie him down, and he could lift off and hover like the sea gulls do on the coast. If the rope were long enough, we had a human kite. I would guess the winds at a steady 40-50 MPH, with gusts that well exceeded that. This was getting old, real fast. Keith was trying to talk Kris into heading out to Sledgehammer. Not only would it be another run, but the valley would be a break from this weather. Kris did not want to go. Putting my two cents in, I