The Rogue Valley in southern Oregon is surrounded by beautiful mountains. They keep the snow out in winter and the smoke in in summer, and all year long they are crisscrossed by winding dirt roads and trails that lead up thousands of feet to mud holes and snow banks and some of the most gorgeous look-offs you can imagine.
Our vehicle of choice was a 1976 Scout II belonging to one of my roommates and coveted by pretty much every man who laid eyes on it. I lost count of how many random cash offers were given while stopped at the gas station, parked in the driveway, or up in the mountains. But no, Sir, the Scout (affectionately named Cletus) is not for sale.
Our vehicle of choice was a 1976 Scout II belonging to one of my roommates and coveted by pretty much every man who laid eyes on it. I lost count of how many random cash offers were given while stopped at the gas station, parked in the driveway, or up in the mountains. But no, Sir, the Scout (affectionately named Cletus) is not for sale.
Cletus has seen a lot of adventures. In just the time I was there, we made it to the top of barely-there ruts in the mountainside, rescued more than a few stranded strangers, and went through two sets of chains in less than two weeks. We ran out of gas, got stuck in snow banks, lost on the mountains, buried in mud, hung up in ditches, and killed a battery. Once or twice, it was a combination of more than one of those things. In the end, we were always saved by another vehicle, mechanical know-how, pure manpower, and/or sheer stubbornness.
And in the end, it was always worth it.
Because holy WOW, Oregon...
Cletus likes a good bonfire. Clearly, so does everyone else.
My most recent mission with Cletus involved an entourage: Black Betty and The FJ completed the convoy as we made our way to peaks and puddles not previously tackled. Just another incredible mission with some amazing people: just another day in Oregon. <3
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