O.D. Road Trip

Christian and Pete topped off the 90-Weight in their miscellaneous gearboxes, and we made a couple poser runs down the highway in front of Osborn Overlook for Jason and the jpmagazine.com Web site before heading back to the dirt and south on Ted Kipf Road. It isn't much more than a soft, graded dirt road, but it spans the distance between Yuma, Arizona, and Glamis. In military fashion, we hit it at top speed, which-unimpressively enough-was just over 50 mph.

With the U.S./Mexico border within eyesight, we checked out the old plank road and stopped for lunch. This moveable road, made of wood planks, was used to cross the ever-changing contours of the Algodones sand dunes from 1916 to 1926 when it was replaced by concrete. Not much remains of the wooden road today and you can't drive on it anymore, but it's still a neat stopping point.

After a short lunch break, we decided to stay off the highway and scooted west down the Interstate 8 frontage road, which was rougher and even more poorly maintained than the dirt road we had been on early in the day. Jason lost a filling or two and gained a large callous in the middle of his back from the passenger plank in the deuce.

Eventually, we rolled into Hot Springs North off of Evan Hewes highway, west of Yuma. It's pretty well populated with retired snowbirds that camp in the winter months. Let's just say there are plenty of people in swimsuits who you don't want to see in swimsuits. The hot springs are great if you can get past the murky water and a dozen old bodies stuffed into a pool of water not much larger than a refrigerator. It's kinda like sitting in 10 pounds of wet pork sausage packed in a 5-pound bag. The pond nearby had fewer people in it and was more to our liking, although the water was much cooler. Clifton was still able to find a couple half-naked pals who insisted on talking and standing too close to him while in the pond. We think he should've left a warm spot for them.

For some reason, our military trucks attracted the attention of one half-naked Canadian in particular. He didn't speak a word of English (only French), but we were able to figure out he was from Quebec and had been at the springs nearly three months. Apparently, Pete speaks perfect French and was even president of the French honor society in school (dork), however, he failed to mention this (until later) to Christian and Cappa who ended up struggling with the sun-burnt, nearly naked man's difficult-to-understand questions and enthusiasm. We tried to tell him our five-vehicle convoy was on its way to invade Canada. Being that Canada has some French roots, it probably wouldn't have been all that long before they surrendered had he understood what we were talking about.

Further west in El Centro, we stopped for fuel. Pete looked for a towel at a 99-cent store, which Christian later figured would've already been used at that price. Meanwhile, Christian was looking for a toggle switch to activate his dead brake lights when in more populated areas. He eventually found an auto parts store where the clerks behind the counter made fun of his dilapidated dirt-bag M-715 before they realized it was his.

Just before dark, we rolled up into our camp spot in the Superstition Mountains overlooking Plaster City. Later that night, a park ranger unwisely drove up by himself blacked out and using his night vision goggles. He jumped out of his vehicle and kept telling Pete to stay where he was. Pete is half deaf and couldn't hear the ranger, so he kept walking toward him to better understand what he was saying. The guy was about ready to go for his gun when Pete realized the ranger looked a little uncomfortable. After eyeballing all the military trucks, the ranger asked if we had any weapons. Pete sheepishly replied, "No, sir."

After what seemed like about an hour of he-hawin' around our campfire, the pesky ranger took off to try and persuade the lurking Border Patrol agents in the area to chase him with his lights out. We watched the whole thing from our hill-top viewpoint-California tax dollars at work yet again.

On Friday morning, we awoke to the Blue Angels practicing their performance overhead. We could lie and claim we had it all planned out that way, but there's a naval military base nearby. Navy planes often fly over the area practicing maneuvers. We just got lucky. Sorry, Jp has no actual pull with the military or anyone else for that matter. Truth is, we have to ask for extra napkins at McDonald's just like everybody else. Anyway, after nearly an hour of watching the Blue Angels performing aerobatics overhead, we went to work packing up camp for a trip to the Superstition dunes and to the top of the Sand Dam.

We've been to the Sand Dam several times in 4x4s and on motorcycles, but getting Cappa's dump truck and Bill's trash truck there took a little more ingenuity. With the CTIS (central tire inflation system), Bill seemed to move along pretty well in the M35A3. Not even self-opening drawers and flying dishes landing on the dashboard slowed him. Only the off-camber sections spooked him enough to move to flatter ground. Plus, using Cappa as a guinea pig for dune fodder allowed him to judge if the terrain was too soft or not (thanks, Bill). Christian and Pete had no problem motoring through the dunes with their V-8 powered M-715s. And Clifton and Dave had little trouble in the Willys Wrangler.

Eventually, we popped up to the top of the Sand Dam where Hazel proceeded to get stuck on the double razor back peak. Pete pulled him out, and Christian thanked him by backing into the rear of his Jeep. With no regard for his own Jeep, Pete was mostly bummed that one of Christian's somewhat rare civilian converted military taillights broke.

With the wind picking up, we blasted out of the Superstition dunes and back to the desert flats and around the nearby military bombing range, praying that we wouldn't be mistaken as moving target vehicles by Navy pilots. We followed the Plaster City railroad west, which seemed as though it had been graded with 500-pound bombs. Christian noted if there was an earthquake in Ocotillo that day, none of us would've felt it. The trail and trip ended at Split Mountain Road in Ocotillo Wells, where each of us filtered into the surrounding Tierra Del Sol Desert Safari event held that weekend. Sure, our trip could've been completed in any comfortable 4x4 and maybe even a car, but taking a convoy of military vehicles made our 500-mile loop that much more memorable. For more pictures and video visit www.jpmagazine.com.