I grew up in a Toyota family. For several years, my dad had a first-generation 4Runner. There was a time in my adolescence when both of my parents and my older brother drove Cressidas. A few years later, all three had 4Runners: my brother rocked a cool 1993 with a brush guard, aftermarket wheels and tires, and four-wheel drive; my mom had a ’98 Limited; and my dad drove a 2000 SR5 4X4 with the Sport Package.
Despite all that potential for off-road adventures, my dad never took my brother and me to get some dirt under the tires. My brother also seemed to keep his 4Runner on paved roads too. It wasn’t until I was in college that I went off-road for the first time—in a Land Rover.
Two of my friends from high school, Evan and Megan, were in a relationship when they enrolled at UT Austin in the early 2000s and moved into a house not far from campus. To offset the cost of the mortgage, they took on roommates, Kristine and Ryan. One Saturday afternoon, I dropped by the house looking for Evan and, after knocking on the front door, I looked at the pair of 1980s Saab 900s in various states of disrepair in the driveway. Ryan answered and told me Evan wasn’t home. I didn’t really know much about Ryan because I hadn’t talked to him much before, but I did know that he drove a Land Rover Discovery. Shortly after I struck up a conversation about it, he surprised me by asking, “Do you want to drive it?” Without thinking, I immediately accepted his offer.
The timing of our excursion was perfect. A rainstorm had just passed through the area, leaving spots of mud in its wake. Ryan directed me to a nearby stretch of land where I could have some fun in his rig. He was brutally honest about how beat up it was and how many of its features didn’t work, but I didn’t care—I was thrilled to be driving a Land Rover in its natural environment (and no, I don’t mean a mechanic’s shop). It seems even the Disco’s carpeting had malfunctioned at one point in Ryan’s ownership because he had covered it with squares of artificial turf. That proved to be a wise decision because I didn’t realize the front windows were down until I bombed through a puddle and sent a spray of mud into various parts of the cabin.
My first off-road experience was the perfect introduction to the hobby because it was simple and fun. Years later, I had the chance to pay it forward to my pal Dan and his then-girlfriend Sarah, both of whom had never gone wheeling. Once again, the timing worked out nicely, as Dan and Sarah were free the same weekend I had the keys to a 2015 Jeep Wrangler Willys Wheeler. They agreed to join me for a day at the Hidden Falls Adventure Park in Marble Falls, Texas, which I had recently discovered.
Our journey through the park started with some hillocks and mild ruts, the kind of stuff a Ford Crown Victoria can traverse. I knew if I was going to test the Wrangler, I needed to point its seven-slot grille toward more challenging terrain. Hidden Falls had five levels of difficulty but, given that I was in a press loaner, I figured it would be best to stick to the level 3 and below trails.
My understanding was that one of them would take us up a steep, rocky incline and we would reach the peak right by the fence line. When I reached the bottom of the path, I put the five-speed automatic into neutral, muscled the transfer case lever into 4L, then started inching upward. Sarah was riding in the back, so her best view was out of the sides of the removable hardtop. In the shotgun seat, Dan soon got two eyefuls of sky and tree limbs as we made our bumpy, jostling ascent. We reached the top, where I felt a sense of relief for not maiming the Wrangler—or my friends. But it was short-lived: the best way to get to where we needed to go next was the exact opposite of the way we had just come. If I made a mistake, Dan would have a front-row seat to his violent, rocky demise. We soon made it to the bottom unscathed—physically, at least. Neither Dan nor Sarah made a sound during our adventure, but afterward, Dan let me know he had a white-knuckle grip on the closest thing he could hold onto the entire time we were returning to level ground.
Back on one of the main park roads, we came across a large puddle of muddy water. Given the Jeep brand’s reputation and the Wrangler’s image as a rugged, go-anywhere vehicle, I thought it would only be right to drive the Willys Wheeler through it. A mist of brown muck washed over the front end and fountains of it blasted out of the front wheel wells as we erupted into a three-person chorus of cheers. Our excitement didn’t diminish with the two subsequent passes we made through the automotive mud bath (for research purposes, of course).
When it I dropped Dan and Sarah off at their apartment, Dan thanked me for bringing them along. One thing he’s never told me in the last 11 years is, “I forgive you for scaring the daylights out of me.” I guess he never will because that day is one that we both look back on fondly. As scary as Dan’s first off-road adventure may have been at one point (or two), he’ll never forget it. I know I’ll never forget mine.
