When we couldn't even figure out where we were, my vote was that we had been the subject of some cruel teleportation joke by space aliens on the mother ship hovering somewhere overhead. Visualizing their huge metal disk hiding in the darkness above, I remembered that I had rigged up a GPS unit for the trip. (Secretly, I hoped the GPS satalite in my vision would collide with the alien ship and wipe the smiles off of their little green faces.)

Once we pinpointed our coordinates on the map, we were even more confused than before! According to the map there was no way we could have gotten where we were at the creek to where we sat at that point in time. I was about to say "That can't be right," when I remembered the old pilot's addage of always trusting your instruments. Ok. So we had to assume that we were where the GPS unit said we were. At least that would allow us to get back to where we wanted to be, and where we would hopefully figure out where we went wrong. We did. The road we traveled back to the river was the same road we had traveled to get there the first time. Then we hit the junction that was not on the map. The unmapped road had lead us into a loop. So now we were on the right route, and we were determined to stay on the right route.

We would soon discover more surprises that our route had in store for us. Once again leading (and wondering why Jim and Mike were still actually *following* my lead), we nosed back down into the Cienega valley. What greeted us there was a swampy crossing that looked rather ominous. A group of people driving a modified 4-Runner was on the other side, doing the same thing we would soon be doing: trying to figure out if the stream crossing was passable. The main, much-traveled route seemed too much traveled. Though straight, and clear of vegetation, it dipped to a disturbing depth. A depth that was not fully tested because I didn't want to get my clothes completely wet. I knew it was more than three feet deep though, and that it was rutted . . . and that the ground wasn't very solid.

There was another route, however. To me, it didn't look much better. the alternate route was shorter (about 50 feet instead of 75 feet) and spent less time in deep water, but it was still a deep crossing. The kicker on the alternate route was that at the other side was a steep, mucky climb-out followed by a maze of trees. Hitting the swamp at the speed that would seem necessary to climb the opposite bank would leave one careening through the tightly spaced trees. The 4-Runner folks offered their help in getting across if we got stuck, so it was decided that one of our group would go first. Jim needed to stay on our side in case a winch backwards was necessary, which left Mike and myself. Mike sounded willing, but less than enthusiastically so. I was in the lead, so decided to be the guinea pig. I tentatively eased THE BEAST to the waters edge, fully expecting to have her stuck within the next few seconds. Then . . . I STRUCK!! I raced into the muck and flew up the opposite bank! I flew by the trees like they were standing still. (Oh, they were, but I was going really fast past them anyway.) I had made it! There was much cheering before, during and after the occasion.

Notice how tight those trees are on the opposite bank . . . I got out of my truck and the first thing Jim said to me is, "What did you hit?" Huh? What did I hit? Nothing! I hit something? I looked under the truck and didn't see any damage. "No no, on the side," he said. Sure enough. Right where my right rear flare would have been if I hadn't removed them all . . . It wasn't serious damage. It sure would have been if I'd had the flares on though. (ZR2-listers take note: This is now Reason #43 of why to remove ZR2 wheel flares.)

I then went and looked at the stand of trees. I could see the tree I hit, which was fortunately not severely damaged. Fortunately, I don't really care about the condition of my paint or my body panels. I cared more about the condition of the tree, and it was fine.

The 4-Runner decided to cross next. With his Mud Terrain tires and lift kit, he made the crossing look much easier than I did. Of course, he didn't have to worry about a steep climb-out or trees on the other side either. Next it was Mike's turn. After seeing my body damage, Mike didn't want to try the route I took, and opted for the longer, deeper route. To be honest, I didn't think he stood a chance of even getting past the half-way point. He eased up to the crossing, then put the power to his BlaZeR2. Much to my surprise, he made it clear to the opposite side.

He didn't quite make it up the opposite bank though, which had a steep break-over angle. He high-centered and that was all she wrote. With virtually no maneuvering room on that side of the creek, our options were limited. I had barely enough room to hook up to him to try to pull him the last couple of feet to dry ground, but had to pull up hill in soft sand. We got the trusty come-along out and tried winching him out using a tree as an anchor point. That didn't work, so Jeff and I started digging. We had to dig out under the Blazer to have any chance of getting it unstuck. We tried many different ideas, but none of them worked well, and after over an hour, we found ourselves only in a slightly better condition.

By this time, it is starting to get dark, and we needed to get something going. That's when Jeff came up with the idea of moving one of the logs that made the alternate route through the trees difficult to navigate so that Jim could cross there. Jim decided to chance it, and take the route across the creek that I took so that he could use his winch to get Mike unstuck. With the new knowledge of the conditions there, Jim was able to take the crossing slower than I did, and was able to slow himself down in the tree maze. The result: no carnage for Jim.

Before getting the winch out, we decided to try a double pull with my truck and Jim's truck pulling. That didn't work, so we had to use Jim's winch, and use my truck as an anchor. We were finally able to get Mike's Blazer unstuck using the winch. We rejoiced quickly, then hunted for all of our gear so that we could find a camp site. We finally found a decent site well after dark, and quickly set up. We had a great time talking around the camp fire, but nobody lasted very long, as we were all pretty tired.

The next morning we woke up to a beautiful day, that turned out to be less eventful than the first, but just as fun and equally spectacular. Here is a pic of the tree branch my truck collected on Day 1 that became my mascot.

There were a couple of minor obstacles, my first ever flat tire and some muddy roads to contend with on the second day . . .

. . . but the real obstacles turned out to be signs. The three routes I had picked out to get from point A to point B were blocked by locked gates or No Trespassing signs. I could have found a longer way around, but Jim had a really bad headache, and it was already mid-afternoon, se we decided to call it a day and head home.

In the end, we had traveled half the distance in two days that I was hoping to travel in one, but that doesn't matter. Two stuck vehicles, a complete electrical failure, a flat tire, and two counts of body damage . . . Yep, it was a VERY successful trip! Everyone had a fantastic time, and we're all just waiting for the next time when we can get together . . .

At this point, I'd like to finish by thanking Jim and Mike for being such good sports about being lost, scratched and stuck. I would also like to thank my very dear friend, Jeff "Gate Slave" Hansen, for getting us through many a fence, doing alot of digging, brainstorming, and laughing along with us. He's not a ZR2 owner, but he's cool anyway. And finally, I would like to pay tribute to the GPS unit that got bailed us out or otherwised confirmed our position (or confusion) on many occasions.

Oh. And Mike's new nickname: Swamp Thing.

If you're in the Tucson area, drop me a line and we can go wheelin' sometime.