The
Roughwheelers IV Wheel Drive Club
April 1996 - Calico Run
My name is Robert and my handle is Sandman. But lately
everybody seems to be calling me Bobbo (Bob - o). Actually,
I think my full handle is Bobbo, Bobbo, Bobbo... Ba, Ba, Ba,
Bobbo (sung to "Strangers in the Night"). Anyway, this trip
report is suppose to be about the Roughwheelers April trip
to Calico. I met up with Diane in Victorville and
immediately head- ed to the Ralphs on Palmdale Blvd. I had
forgotten ALL of the cold stuff. You see, I messed with my
routine. I did some early packing Thursday night and put the
ice chest in the truck. I don't know why, just to get it out
of the way, I guess. Well, I normally put it in the kitchen,
and trip over it all Friday night, until I remember to pack
it. I guess I had been on the highway about an hour and a
half when I happened to think about something that was
suppose to be in the ice chest. Uhhgg! Well, anyway, this is
suppose to be about the run, so never mind all that last
stuff. So I met up with Diane, did some shopping, and then
parked at the Taco Bell. We were waiting for my cousin Alan
(from North Carolina, in town for a few days). He use to go
fourwheeling with the club (as a designated guest) a few
years ago, but then moved back east. But there I go again,
getting off track. Let's see... Calico, that's right.
Well, the three of us (an F250, a CJ7 and a rental car) made
our way towards camp. After we came over the hill that you
climb going out of Barstow, I heard Keith jabbering on the
CB. Well, I must have talked to him for another twenty
minutes until we got to camp. He did a fine job of guiding
us in, which is good cause I hadn't been to this camp before
and he had moved it from where Bob's hand drawn map had said
it would be (which, by the way was drawn "Not Even To
Scale!"). I turned toward a camper, figuring that surely
this was camp and Keith got on the CB and said I'd made a
wrong turn. I had the feeling like we were being watched. I
started to turn around, and Keith said to hold on a minute.
Right after that he came walking up, right out of the dark.
No jeep or nothin'. How does he do that? He told us to
follow the signs into camp (including one "Bobbo, Bobbo"
sign). In camp we found a few early Roughwheelers (don't
these people have jobs?). Hector and Ginny, Steve and Carol,
and Victor were there. I'm not exactly sure cause it was
dark, and everybody else showed up soon after. The next
group (the main group) blew into camp with the wind (I
should write for a living). Bob was leading, with Bob
(another one) and his son, Andy and Dave, with his mighty
Montero. And yes, the wind! If I forgot to mention the wind,
I would have felt like I'd blown it.
The next morning, the Gear Grinders ground into camp, we
mounted up and away we went. Many people "commented" on the
weather from the night before, but Saturday's weather was
great. Sunny, scattered high clouds and a light breeze. We
went up and down and here and there. I didnít really
pay too much attention because I was still suffering from
the effects of too much stress at work. Fourwheeling is one
of the best cures for job related stress (I won't comment on
the other "best cure") but it does take awhile for the
"cure" to work. My head went from a dull aching to sort of a
gelatinous state. When the stress was finally gone, I
realized that I had driven up some ridiculous stretch of
"Jeep Only" trail. The smart ones either had the right Jeep
for the job (OK, Hector... Landcruiser), or had gone around.
Let me paint you a picture: 1984 F250 with 35" tires, ONE
locker in the rear, and all my stuff in the back under my
nice, NOT damaged shell. I figure that I'm about 2000 pounds
heavier than the average Jeep. And what was my attitude? I'm
here to go FOUR-WHEELIN'! Considering that I had just put on
one of my two spare tires, youíd think that I'd play
it a little safer. Well, all I can say is that with a
audience of about 30 strangers, several Roughwheelers and a
few Gear Grinders, I did finally make it up the tough
spot... UNDER MY OWN POWER. No straps. And there's no truth
to the rumor that Hector was backing down to get me (or that
I put a big dent in the side of the truck!?). Well, that's
what four-wheelin's all about right? RIGHT? Anyway, one or
two other people made it up the rock chute, but they were
too boring to mention here. With the hard part behind us, we
continued on... to the hard part. Some of us did better than
others. Some showed skill. Some showed bravado (I just like
using that word). Others managed to stay out of trouble. All
I can say is that no exhaust systems were left out there. No
major body damage was done. No Montero's were left out there
(although, there was some discussion). There was one camera
that may have been left behind. I won't mention any names
but anyone finding a camera should immediately call Bob
Hughes. But you didn't hear it from me. Just before five
o'clock, you could hear the word "camp" being muttered up
and down the line. Put the fork in us, we're done. Returning
to camp, we took stock. Two flats, a few dents, a smashed
and leaky pumpkin cover... We'd had a hard day. That meant
only one thing... Tequila! (By the way, we usually celebrate
a "good" day with... Tequila!) Lets just say that it was a
good campfire. Lots of anti-stress medicine was
admin-istered. Now donít get me wrong, nobody in our
club ever drinks more Tequila than is necessary
(Necessary?), and I donít want to start any rumors,
but Steve had to be "put" to bed, Andy looked "beat" the
next day, and people were taking pictures of Dave the next
morning. We also found out that, like Bob, you ain't never
seen Carol drunk. Although she did keep saying that she was
going to do some sort of "dance". Also, I can't let Saturday
night go by without mentioning my original idea for doing
this trip report. I brought my laptop to the campfire with
the intention of having "everybody" write the trip report.
Well I typed what was said, and that trip report may or may
not appear elsewhere in this news-letter, depending on what
our editor deems suitable. All I can say is that Carol
thought it was hys-terical when she read it back, but she
had been drinking, although she wasn't drunk, but she had
had much more than Steve, who was passed out in the Blazer,
but you've never seen Carol drunk. I should also mention
that my laptop smells of campfire as I'm sitting here typing
this. Does anyone know how to get smoke out of a keyboard?
Well, anyhow, we parked my truck and Joe's truck in front of
the fire as a wind block and had a real good time.
Sunday morning, Rooster showed up (for his butt whipping?)
and we were heading for the Calico Ghost town. But wait...
That camera's still missing. A small group was thrown
together to rerun the trail to the point where the camera
might be. The ground rules were as such: this would be a
quick run, no stopping for stuck vehicles, no waiting for
any reason. Diane and I wanted to go, but of course, we were
two minutes late. We caught up with the group (which was
moving pretty fast) and began searching for a camera. We
reran almost the entire previous dayís run by about
11:30, with no luck. It was kind'a fun seeing just how fast
we could do the trail, but I do believe it was a bit rough
on my truck. The end of the trail dumped us out right next
to Calico, so without even slowing down to unlock the hubs,
we drove into the ghost town. Some of our group were already
there, looking around. Some people were doing some serious
shopping, but I won't mention any names because Ginny would
get mad at me. But enough of all the tourist junk, we're
here to throw some horse shoes. Bob had brought in a ringer
in the form of his brother-in-law and we got to meet his two
sisters. His sisters seemed like nice enough people even if
they did claim to be related to Bob. Well, some of us threw,
and some of us watched. Victor seemed to be throwing a lot
of ringers but overall the games seemed to last an awful
long time. Could it be that there was too much anti-stress
medication last night? After a couple of hours (one or two
games) it was time for pizza. We pooled our money and
ordered something like $80 worth of pizza and it wasn't too
bad, but then after all, you know what they say about
pizza... When it's good, it's good. When it's bad, it's
still pretty good. Afterwards, a few of us stopped for ice
cream. It's a little known fact that like tequila, pizza and
ice cream are loaded with anti-stress vitamins and some of
us needed more anti-stress vitamins. Tomorrow would be a
work day after all. After a few more hours of horse shoes
(one or two more games) it was getting time to be home.
Several different groups left at their own times, but we all
seemed to wind up in the same traffic jam in Barstow, so we
all regrouped and headed down the "secret" back road to
Victorville. Thatís where I said good bye and headed
south, to San Diego, at warp speed.
I'll see you all next month at Hi Desert for some more
stress relieving activities.
Sandman
no wait... Bobbo