The Adventures of Flaming Gorge

If I’m going to spend the time to actually start describing the adventures we’re having on the road, it seems like The Great Flaming Gorge Mishap is a fabulous jumping off point. You see, there are a lot of short snippets we can share just by posting a picture or two online that can give an idea of of the great adventures we’ve been having, but our adventures in the Flaming Gorge National Recreation Area took this whole thing to another level. The brief layover in this part of the country wasn’t originally planned. Although the intent of our journey is to travel without a scheduler over-arching plan, we did have one driving force that motivated us in the beginning – we were aiming to see our friends in Oregon and aim south before the weather turned. My (Heather’s) dear friend from college and her family live in the Portland area and due to COVID restrictions, we had several trips planned with them that had been cancelled. Since we now had the freedom to see them, it was a mission to do so before the year was out (or weather got in the way). They had arranged time off work to spend with us when we made it to Oregon, so we had a date to keep to make it out there.

When we started planning this adventure, we had taken a few vacations with our old hybrid trailer, and of course, we had a ton of roadtrips under our belt to give us perspective. We did plenty of research online to determine what the optimal amount of travel time per day is when you’re living and traveling in a RV full-time, but what we quickly realized is that is something you can only figure out once you get on the road. To begin with, RV driving-time is different than regular driving-time. When you’re hauling that much weight down the road, you don’t drive the speed limit. You drive the optimal speed for your tires and for fuel efficiency. You also have to account for bathroom breaks and lunch breaks and if-we-don’t-get-out-of-this-truck-right-now-someone-is-going-to-go-insane-breaks. If Google Maps says it will take 4 hours, it’s wisest to plan on 6. It’s also not just road-time each day; it’s tear-down and set-up and how long you intend to stay at each campground. Although Brian and I can stay motivated and enjoy the scenery for hours behind a windshield, there is a different level of road-weariness that happens for a 6 and 7 year-old. Not to mention, in addition to this, there is a distinct difference in the through-the-roof energy that the kids have after sitting in the truck for hours versus mom and dad after we’re finished setting up camp for the evening. All this to say, it was at this point in the trip when we decided that we would sacrifice staying multiple nights in campgrounds for shorter travel-days and daily moves.

Enter Flaming Gorge National Recreation Area. The original plan had been to head almost all the way to Salt Lake City from Rawlins, but that drive was just too much. After a bit of digging, we found this area. The northern entrance to Flaming Gorge was just a few short hours from where we were, and although research told us that the main campgrounds were all closed for the season, the land was public use, so we were able to set up camp anywhere so long as we were fine boondocking. The reviews made this place sound heavenly, so we were eager to check it out and spend an afternoon hiking and exploring the area.

I have to say, the reviews weren’t kidding. This place was flipping gorgeous. We stopped seeing cars on the highway a few miles even before we got to the entrance of the park, and once we got in, it was as though we had the entire area to ourselves (#perkoftheoffseason). There weren’t even day-use travelers there, let alone campers. We had read that if you traveled past the campground, there were several access roads that had clearings big enough to set up the rig with sweeping views. We drove around for a bit, laughing about how crazy it was that we were hauling this massive trailer on these rutted-out dirt roads, until we found an area that just fit the bill perfectly. The view from the rig was epic. we were out on a bend, deep in the gorge with the Green River flowing right next to us. Brian and I marveled at how crazy it was to be feeling that perfect level of isolation while traveling in a RV. That type of feeling is typically reserved for our backpacking trips.

Brian and I hiked around for a bit with the kids. He had thought about taking them mountain-biking (the terrain was ideal for it), but he decided that he wanted to have a bit of fun with the truck. At the time, our truck was equipped with some pretty heavy-duty off-road tires, and with a four-wheel road heading up to a ridge within our site, we opted to hop back in the truck and take a drive. Let me clarify here by saying that I have zero experience in off-road, four-wheel driving. My husband, on the other hand, used to own a jeep and played extensively in Colorado, and since those who know him have also nick-named him Captain Safety, after more than a decade together, I tend to trust him implicitly. So, off we went. The kids were in heaven, the dogs had to brace themselves against the inclines, and I mostly sat wide-eyed and white-knuckled as we traversed up and down 17%+ grades. When the road became too steep and rutted for Brian’s comfort level, we turned around and headed back toward camp. The kids, of course, were begging for more. For giggles, Brian decided to drive them down onto the beach.

It was all very exciting. For the most part, it was a rock beach, so he was able to drive down into the water. The issues began we decided turn around and head back to camp. I believe it was Owen who first mentioned how it suddenly felt weird. I don’t know if I’ll ever forget the expression on Brian’s face when he turned and looked at me for a brief moment, then opened the driver’s side door and looked to the back of the truck. Somehow, in all the excitement, he had missed the change in the color of the sand. This was no longer the hard-packed rocky stuff. We were stuck. Brian and I got out of the truck to survey the damage. It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t moving. The beach was soft enough that as I stood there, I could feel myself slowly starting to sink into it. We sprung into action and quickly did all the things one does when you get your vehicle stuck in the mud. Nothing. Zero movement…unless you count the wheels sinking deeper as movement. We had kept the kids in the truck with the dogs up to that point and when I popped my head in there to check on them, there was a distinct level of fear and borderline panic creeping across Jovie’s face. We were in quite the pickle (selective language edited here) and it was obvious that I wasn’t doing much to help, so I opted to take the kids and the dogs and hike back to the rig. We could see it in the distance – it was only a mile or mile and a half away and I thought it would be best to distract the kiddos and myself and remove us from the situation.

We got back to the rig and we waited. After about an hour, Brian came riding up the rig. Riding on his bike. No Truck. He was covered in mud. He grabbed a bag, removed nearly all the stabilizers from the rig. Words were relatively short. It was stuck. He hadn’t made any headway. Although it was still light out, I told him to take a headlamp – who knew where this night was headed. In true Brian fashion (and with utter resolve), he looked me in the eye and said, “I’ll fix it.” I responded with an, “I know. It’s not like we have a choice.” Brian bolted down the road on his bike to continue his excavation. I made the kids dinner. I poured a glass of wine and I waited. It’s one thing to get your vehicle stuck. It’s another thing when that vehicle tows your house…and you’re boondocking, so there is a limited supply of water and power and there’s zero cell phone reception. Did I mention that we were isolated and hadn’t seen anyone for hours? Let’s add to this one final factor: This was the off-season in southern Wyoming. There’s a reason the campgrounds were already closed – there was a storm expected to blow in that night, with snow accumulation. Snow & moisture = deeper sinking of the truck.

It was hours before Brian returned and very dark out. I had already put the kids to bed and my one glass of wine had turned into, well, more. He returned on his bike, no truck, but he was smiling. He had dug and prodded and scraped and levered until there was nothing left to do and in all that time, he had only been able to move the truck about a foot. There was hope, though! While he was out there working, one solitary boat had driven by. Brian signaled them from the beach with his headlamp over and over again. They passed him, but he kept signaling. Eventually, they turned around and came toward the beach. In the boat, were Paul and Quinn, 2 guys local to the area that were out fishing on the river. Brian explained what had happened and the 2 listened sympathetically – they had both had their own “idiot moments” and gotten their own trucks stuck a time or two. Paul happened to know a guy that owned a tow truck company. He gave Brian the number and the recommendation that if he rode to the crest of the hill that we had driven up earlier, he might be able to get reception. Paul told him that it would be another hour or two before they were off the river and back to their truck, but they would make sure we were okay. Ahhh…Hope…

So here’s how it played out: Brian rode off again and was able to find a signal to call the tow truck. By this point, it was a little after 9pm. The guy was incredibly nice, but he said that he wouldn’t be able to come out until mid-morning. With the storms rolling in, and not knowing how badly we were stuck or how much it would need to get us out, he would need to make sure that he brought all his heavy-duty equipment to get the job done right…and it wouldn’t be cheap. Whatever. At least there was a way out. Brian then texted Paul to say thanks and let him know the status. Paul’s response was short and sweet: We’re on our way. The two saints had gotten off the river, picked up their own F350 dually, chains, rope, 4×4 ramp and shovels. Brian was afraid that they were going to end up getting their own truck stuck as well, but they said not to worry – they had a backup plan. They had told a buddy where they were going. They had plans to meet up with him later on that night. If Paul and Quinn didn’t show up by midnight, their buddies were supposed to arrive in Flaming Gorge with reinforcements. Let me be completely clear: These guys were saints. They hauled our truck out of the muck and mire, and did it with a smile. They barely even allowed Brian to help. Brian tried to pay them – tried to somehow compensate them for their time and kindness, but they refused, repeatedly.

And so shines a good deed in a weary world.

When you’re backpacking, you call people like this Trail Angels. I don’t know what you call them in the RV World, but I am so thankful that they exist. It’s been an exhausting year and I think it’s been easy to forget about all the good and decent people that are out there in this world. Trust me, Paul and Quinn, it’s become our mission to somehow repay this out into the universe…

So that’s the beginning of our Flaming Gorge story. It was late, but Brian was able to drive back to the rig before midnight and before the nastiness of the storm rolled in. There was no harm done to the truck, other than the mountains of mud that were caked to the poor thing, but most of that was washed off with the epic storm that rolled in. That’s a story for another day.