Adrenaline Rush

Just ahead, brake lights blink once, then swing up to face the sky. The arctic-white H2, dusted with high-desert dirt, is now nearly vertical. It sinks from view. I swallow hard: My Jeep dives next.

I release the clutch and roll over the edge. A blur of images — sky, hilltops, trees — scrolls up my windshield, and the engine roars against gravity. Suddenly I’m no longer sitting upright but hanging by lap and shoulder harnesses above the steering wheel, with 20 stories of descent beneath. My instinct yells, “Brrraaaaake!” But I don’t.

Sometimes, good advice is counterintuitive.

Tom Severin, a certified four-wheel-drive trainer, teaches from behind a gray push-broom moustache and thin-rimmed spectacles. His crisp khaki shirt with epaulets lends the natty ruggedness expected of an outdoorsman. But more than official-looking, he’s authentic. With over 40 years of four-wheeling experience, Tom’s seen it all. In California, his company, Badlands Off-Road Adventures, teaches off-pavement driving skills to Marines at Camp Pendleton, as well as to ordinary SUV owners like me. When Tom says, “Skill trumps equipment,” you believe him.

The Basic Off-Road Driving and Safety Clinic begins Sunday morning at the Hungry Valley State Vehicular Recreation Area. Located about 70 miles north of Los Angeles International Airport, between L.A. and the San Joaquin Valley, this 19,000-acre area is a playground for four-wheelers, dirt bikers, and ATV riders. Hungry Valley’s ongoing maintenance and protection efforts have ensured pristine landscapes and healthy wildlife populations.

I’ve driven here once before, just after modifying my Jeep Wrangler with bigger tires, lower gearing, wider wheels, and a taller suspension, all of which improve off-road capability and make it look good, too. But grand expectations of monster-truck performance are soon dashed when I lose traction and get hung up on bunny-hill terrain, where lesser-equipped rigs roll with ease. What do they have that I don’t?

I’m about to find out.

Just before 8:00 a.m., about a dozen of us fuel up on caffeine as Tom details off-highway driving technique and safety guidelines. By noon, we’re wheeling.

First, we deflate the tires. While 35 psi ensures a smooth highway cruise, 20 psi allows the tires to spread so the vehicle can float over soft soil and mold to uneven, hard surfaces. “Shift into four-wheel drive,” Tom instructs, and our convoy moves out.

Soon we arrive at the base of a steep incline, 50 feet tall. Tom says, “Let’s get familiar with reversing direction on a hill before climbing one.” Seems uncomplicated, but gravity tends to deny traction to accelerating or braking wheels on loose or slick grades. Worse, a simple turnaround on a hillside can easily become a rollover. I scale the pebbly 40-degree incline to about midpoint, where Tom waits. He says, “Set your parking brake,” which groans under the load. “Kill the engine and put it in reverse,” he says. My eyes widen as the Jeep slides back, settling its weight in the dirt.

“Use the engine’s starter to get you going,” Tom says. I release the parking brake and, with the clutch engaged, crank the engine. Wow! Without a stutter, my Jeep begins crawling, engine compression overriding gravity. I twist to look through the rear window, and back up, er, down the hill, steering carefully with my hand riding the steering wheel at 6 o’clock.

Next challenge: the rock ladder.

The 50-yard rock-studded concrete staircase rises about 40 feet. A spotter, Tom, using hand signals, directs my front wheels left or right, over and around obstacles that are now hidden by my Jeep’s hood. Side mirrors, showing the rear tires, become my compass. I shove the right front tire onto a beer keg–sized rock, which lifts and tilts the axle enough to clear menacing center rocks. Tom falls from view, then resurfaces, showing two open palms as my tire begins to drop off the rock. I hold fast, and instead of bouncing, the Jeep touches down lightly, saving a face-off between oil pan and center rocks. Whew! Rock crawling is tedious, and like chess, each choice assists or jeopardizes the next. Eventually, I reach the top.

By midafternoon, I’m convinced that my Jeep is capable enough. Any previous problems are skills-related. Certitude swells as we roll up on an unassuming 40-foot ridge, which I know from before as a deceptively defiant hill.

A hill climb may require any number of techniques. A slow, low-gear, foot-off-the-gas-pedal crawl works best on a firm grade. This is my failed strategy from before, and my default today. A high-speed charge is another option — but I balk, even after hearing everyone else rev their engines. By walkie-talkie, Tom’s voice crackles as I climb: “Give it gas! Turn the wheel!” Tom advocates a brisk left-right steering over loose soil in an attempt to get more tire bite. I try it as my wheels begin to spit dirt, but I stop short of the summit. The radio barks, “Start over.” The Jeep whines in reverse, back to Tom. He leans into the half-zippered window, “This time, punch it and keep that foot down.”

My tires still slip and spin a little, but Tom calls it. Momentum pushes me quickly to the top. Yeah, baby! For the most part, just following his direction gives me a closer connection with the ground. I suspect that relying on specialized equipment may interfere with that, and conclude that the only essential modification to any four-wheel drive is simple — driver skill.

Off-Road Adventure
Put yourself in the driver’s seat at Badlands Off-Road Adventures. For more info, call 310.374.8047 or visit 4x4training.com.

Christopher Drozd is a writer and fitness trainer based in Los Angeles.