Kind long. About 7 years ago so I was 20-21. I had just finally installed my new front driveshaft and had a couple hours between my classes so I decide to go mess around in an area known as the 7th street pits. It had been snowing the day before and was raining on this day. I was driving up a trail that goes through a canyon and up to a place where several trails converge to make a nice turn around point. Most all of the trails are usually hardpack clay, but the snow rain combo had made it so the top 3 inches was peanut butter and slick as snot on top of the hardpack. I make it up to the turnaround point, where the mud is a solid 12" deep of peanut butter and there is a Grand Cherokee on bald street tires hopelessly stuck. The 2 kids are 16 years old and cutting class to go muddin. As I was turning around and backing up to pull the jerks out, my truck slipped off the road and into a big hole. The jeep somehow freed itself but was worthless to pull me back onto the road. I wasted my highlift trying to winch my truck out while anchoring it to a bunch of sagebrush. Only way out was to try and back down the hill and hopefully drive up around the hole, through the sagebrush and back onto the road. As I started backing up, the two kids took off, ditched me. My chitty 35" pro comp mudders were so packed with mud that I couldn't find any traction to drive back up through the sagebrush, so my only option was to keep backing down the hill to some trails at the bottom, behind some houses. I made it down to the trails but the only way out was uphill, I had 2 options 1 hill was about 200' and steep, and the other was about 300' and not as steep. I tried them both multiple times; slow, fast, 4 low, 4 high, redline screaming. Everytime, the same result, 2/3 up the hill I couldn't keep the wheel speed to clean the tires out. I found an old busted wooden fence and scattered it's pieces over the less steep hill, I still couldn't get the traction. At this point, some guy came out in his back yard and started yelling at me for making so much racket. So I decided that I was going for broke and would blow up my motor if I had to to make it up the short steep hill. Started backing up to get a run at it and again I slipped off that trail. I made a couple attempts to get back on the trail, but everytime I hit the gas the truck just went sideways and being off camber on a slippery as snot trail with an 8" lift was pretty scary so I locked up the truck where the picture was taken and called for help. 4 attempts were made to stage a rescue that night, but the ground was so slick, we didn't want to tempt fate and get another truck stuck down in the same bowl. The plan was to use my neighbor's HUGE brand new f-350 to winch it out, but the closest we could get without risking another stuck was about 600'. We gathered all the straps and chains we could, but just didn't have the distance we needed to hook the winch to the truck. So my truck had to sit on the mountain overnight and I called in the professionals the next morning. The "off road recovery vehicle" showed up the next day: An old early 70's ford tow truck with nothing more than a bunch of cable and some mud wedges, not lifted or anything, just some skinny mud terrains on old steel wheels, rescued my big old chevy, for a hefty price. Lesson learned for me, never go alone, don't help dumb kids, pro comp tires suck, think twice about trail conditions and if you don't do all of this, you AND your old man lose 2 days of work, which didn't make my dad happy.

About a year later, the 7th street pits were fenced off due to "misuse" by shooters, 4 wheelers and dirtbikers. They ended up bulldozing it all and building houses there.