A view on the way up
Forrest suggested another road up into the mountains. It was easy about 98 percent of the way as it climbed through woodlands and pastures. Then the road crossed into the National Forest and the road said, "Hi. I don't get maintained, so things get tougher from here. Good luck in that puny van."
Things got lumpy, rocky, rutted, potholed, washed out and muddy. I had to pick my lines carefully to avoid scraping, getting high centered, tipping over or hitting trees. It was a lot like the drive to Yankee Boy Basin. I made it okay.
Each time I drive "roads" like this I gain experience, skills and confidence. The thing is, one of these days I might get too confident and get into serious trouble. Not just badly stuck. Damaged. Maybe hurt. Here's hoping my innate aversion to trouble and pain will continue to keep me safe.
This road was still just within my and the Rolling Steel Tent's limits when I came to a spot where someone had parked their truck smack in the middle of the road. Okay. Maybe it was a message to not push things any farther. At least the guy had parked where there was room to turn around. I headed back to a flattish camping spot and hung out for a while, enjoying the beauty and silence.
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