Being able to build a rig ready for adventure, and subsequently fix it on the fly on the trail is all a very satisfying part of the story.
I remember when I first started getting into wrenching and wheeling, I was out in my TJ night wheeling with some other Jeeps, guy got stuck, no one could get him out (turns out he was hung up on a tree stump buried in the mud) so a buddy and I left to go get help. Racing down the washboard dirt roads, the vibrations were too much and snapped the shaft in my fan clutch. Made it to a gas station and had to park it and leave it overnight while I hopped in my buddy’s XJ and carried on to find help for the first guy. He eventually got out, and we returned to my TJ the next morning with new parts and replaced the fan clutch there in the gas station parking lot.
That feeling of accomplishment is probably the bug that bit me and pulled me into this lifestyle for life.
My suburban has had its fair share of misadventures. Everywhere from a belt snapping on the drive home purchase weekend:
To overheating while pulling a boat through the lower Appalachians and having to stop 3-4 times to let it cool off:
Yes that’s the same truck. Fresh off a cheapo rattle can paint job that’s already looking worse for wear.
Very little Offroad adventure experiences as of yet. It has spent probably 90% of its time in my hands being rehabilitated from the neglectful abuse of POs, but has taught me more than I ever could have dreamed of about caring for, repairing, maintaining, and modifying an adventure rig.
It’s very easy to get frustrated and angry when things go wrong. But you learn from them, grow in the experience, adapt, and walk away knowing God’s given you an ability most people don’t have. I consider the near-permanent great stains in my knuckles to be a badge of honor.
