Apologies for grammar and typos, I wrote this on my phone. Also for the length, though I feel it necessary to truly convey how stuck I was.
The summer before my junior year high school, my best friend got his hands on a bottle of rum. I didn't drink then but since we had no real place for him to drink, I suggested we go cruise back roads and he could indulge along the way. For some reason, instead of my two wheel drive diesel that I never would have done this in, we took my dad's relatively new King Ranch 4x4 F150. We had a good time cruisin around Johnson County but it all went to hell when we crossed into Hill.
It had rained in the early afternoon and this was around 6PM in August. Every Johnson County Road that I can think of its paved with exception of a few parts of roads that are gravel. Many Hill County Roads are little more than glorified ruts through fields of Blackland Prairie. The August sun had dried this one enough to make it look reasonably dry and, ignoring the many tire tracks that slid off into the ditch, we started off the Farm to Market and down the long hill of the County Road.
As soon as we left the pavement, the tires broke through the crust to a slick and gummy pudding. No problem, we put in in four wheel drive. After making it to the bottom of the hill (about 1/4 mile) with a little sliding, we started going up the other side. Now the sliding was bad. I knew it was bad but I also knew that we were about half way back to Johnson County and gravel. Plus, I figured continuing forward and up would be easier than stopping and then going backwards and up. Eventually, I slid into the right hand ditch but got out only to over correct into the left hand ditch. I should have just stayed in the right hand because instead of a ditch, the left hand was actually the beginning of a freshly plowed field.
We tried and tried to get it out but one the frame was touching, we knew we needed help. Even worse, a new storm was moving in and we didn't have cell service. So with lightning crashing around us, we walked up the hill to get service. The first friend we called was too far away but the second who had just started driving an '89 4x4 F250 jumped at the chance. We made our way back to the truck and in several minutes, here comes our friend in the pouring rain, his truck fish tailing all the way down to us.
We hook up and quickly get his truck stuck. Eventually we got his truck unstuck. I swear he had his four speed in fifth gear, tires doing about 60 when it just leapt out of that ditch. We told him thanks but not to bother trying again and he headed home. By this time, it's dark, though the rain has stopped.
We give a third friend with a fairly new Dodge dually with huge knobby tires a call. He's at a party and drunk but offers to come on though we declined. A fourth friend with a week old (this is 2010 and he has a 2011) Ford dually comes out. He tries and tries, nearly getting stuck several times. We try from the other way but it's raining again and there's no way it's happening.
A fifth friend says he can bring a tractor but it will have to be after noon the next day. Out of options, our fourth friend gives us a ride back, dropping me off last. As he leaves, the plastic in the wheel well falls off under the weight of about 2 inches of clay. The next day his engine throws a rod.
I walk into my house and only my sister is awake. I'm drenched and covered in mud. She has a field day when I tell her what happened. I then make my way into my dad's bedroom. It's around 11 and he's asleep. If I don't wake him up to tell him, he'll wake up at 5 am to go to work and find his truck missing. As bad as I know that would be, it almost seems worth it...
After hovering over his bed in the dark for what must have been 20 minutes, I finally muster up the courage and prod him wake. As mad as he is (and he's livid) it's not as bad as I had imagined. After a lecture, my sister is tasked with driving him to work, and I am left with this declaration: "I get off at 3. My truck will be there to pick me up and it will be spotless."
The next morning, unable to wait until noon for a tractor, we borrow my rum friend's grandad's '95 Dodge dually. The road is now dry and, without slipping, the dually pulls me out in no time. So we head for the car wash, but as soon as I get back to gravel and get above 30 mph, the truck starts violently shaking.
I'm overwhelmed. It's been an emotional roller coaster and just when I thought I was about to get off, I find out I have wrecked my dad's truck. At the car wash we find the wheels are jammed full of mud. We clean that out and hope that is what caused the shaking. $25 in quarters later, the truck is shining and we head for my house to clean the interior. I get it above 30 and there's no shaking! At 55, the shaking comes back...
At home, I find some more mud in the wheels and clean it out. As we are cleaning the filthy interior, Dad calls to check in. Hearing that his truck is free brightens his spirit a little and he asks us if we learned a lesson. My phone is sitting on the console set to speaker as we scrub away at the muddy interior and before I can formulate a reply, my friend says, "yes sir. Hit it faster next time!"
I gasp. I cringe. There's a pause. And then... laughter.
I make the 40 minute drive in 25, running late due to the extensive interior cleanup that was necessary. The shaking doesn't come back at any speed (I thoroughly researched this). I pull in to Dad's work at 3:05. He's waiting outside of the front door. I provide curbside service and he climbs in. He does a once over and points to the steering wheel. "You missed a spot," he says as I crane my head to see a dime sized drop of dried mud on the backside of the steering wheel.
I flick it off, put it in drive, and give him a condensed run down of the recovery and cleaning efforts. He laughs and calls me stupid when I tell him about burning my hands on the hot, air restricted front brakes as I clawed out clay from the wheel. Other than a one time comment to my rum friend along the lines of "hit it faster next time huh?", I never heard about it again. I guess he felt that we had learned a lesson.
TLDR: Don't go cruising back roads with a bottle of rum. Don't take your dad's new King Ranch. Don't do this between thunderstorms. And if you can't keep from doing all of this, stay the hell out of Hill County!
