the time I sank a pathfinder

If you caught this post, and the end of this one, you’re probably wondering how on earth I managed to sink a real live 4 x 4, redneck style. I mean, I think the topic had to be covered at some point because it would do you a severe injustice to neglect such things in the world of stupid epic stories. So let’s push the pause button, and begin at the beginning, shall we?

I’m a second child with an older brother, which means I inherited a lot of stuff. I was 19 months younger than him, so as soon as he outgrew something, I was just the right size for it. From a parental viewpoint, this is like the golden ticket of child order arrangements for all things budgeting. And I was a boy, so let’s be honest: I didn’t really care.

By the time I did care, I worked at The Gap as a side high school gig, and an insta-wardrobe was born. I know what you’re thinking: Me. Working at The Gap. It’s the little things you learn about people, right? But it was a dream job for a 17 year old, and super easy. Plus, I’m now an expert at folding clothes. That’s like a bonus point in the husbandry department. Cue cheesy wink and flashy smile with toothy sparkle.

All the back story for this one tidbit: not only did I typically inherit my clothes, I also inherited cars. My first two cars were hand-me-downs. One of them was an Acura Integra {5 speed, flip up lights and even a multi disk CD player}. Mid 90’s + a multi CD player = I was the epitome of cool in my world. I loved that car.

In 1999, I was finishing out college at Auburn (albeit my 5th year of undergrad but who’s really counting). I had graduate school on the horizon, so why rush the the fun of undergrad? The integra had seen it’s better days and my parents decided to surprise me with a new (to me) car.

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Since high school, I’d begged for and dreamed of owning a 4 wheel drive vehicle. I’d fallen in love with my friends’ versions that we took to the woods every weekend and I wanted one desperately.

It was January when I was generously gifted a 4 door red Nissan Pathfinder, 5 speed sunroof cd player and it was a 4 x 4! Be still  my beating heart. It was the best of all worlds in the mind of a college boy.

My senior year was pretty easy. And  by easy I mean my last quarter, I took one class on statistics, in which I figured if I made an A on the first two tests, I could bail on the rest of the quarter. So I considered it a fine education in statistics itself, and then bailed. (I did get a B, so all’s good, right?) I also had an internship, and by “had” I mean “on paper”, because I’d already gone through 4 others and this one was just to make the university feel good. Most days, I sat in the apartment playing Mario Kart with one of my roommates, who had an equally tough quarter, until it was time for us to go lay out by the pool. Yeah, it was a rough life but that’s why I stayed the 5th year. That, and in all things retrospect, it ended up working out nicely when I met that freshman I would later call Mrs. Mills. Who is now saying we should remove this post lest our future college aged children read of my slackerdom.

To say I had a lot of free time on my hands, would be an understatement. This lead to late nights of  muddin’ since the mornings weren’t early. (For anyone not familiar with what “muddin” is, {sans the ‘g’ in bonus points for authenticity} this is simply the practice of taking your 4 x 4 vehicle off road through mud fields or trails.) Perhaps now you better understand why Ashley called me a “barbaric redneck“. She still stands by her original prognosis, saying she wasn’t completely unjustified.

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One Thursday night, after a spring storm and a few rounds of Mario Kart, someone had the idea we should go muddin’. I was all in. So with the pathfinder loaded full of college students, we headed out to a new development in Auburn. It was to be the home of a future golf course and neighborhood, but this night we were claiming it as our playground.

We made our way off the paved road, headed down a trail and into an open field. With tires spinning and mud flinging, the fun had begun. Tons of open space, with a massive hill for climbing on one end, and a creek bed running down the middle.

There were three vehicles on this night: the Pathfinder, my friend Adam with his Jeep, and another friend with his Trooper. Everyone was slinging mud, spinning out and heading in their own direction. Adam and the group in his Jeep had decided to tackle the hill. He was determined to make it to the top and I watched for a minute as he made his first unsuccessful attempt. The group in the Trooper were busy doing doughnuts in the open field. I’ve always been a curious child so I headed to explore the creek bed.

As I pulled into the creek bed it was more solid than I anticipated, and provided great traction as we crept down it’s banks. There was a small stream of water running down the center, probably from the rain a few hours earlier. But whatever made this creek apparently had been dammed up.

Several hundred yards down the bed we came to a rather large puddle. It extended probably 25 yards or more: a dream find for any off roading adventure. I stopped and put the Pathfinder in park.

Not only was I a curious lad, but I tend to think I balanced it out nicely by also being a cautious one. Overthinking things and playing out scenarios in my head, I was always prepared. If you were to open up the back of the Pathfinder, here are some things you would find: cans of food, a 2 liter drink, sleeping bag, tent, flash light, 8 inch knife, small shovel, matches, toilet paper, good pair of boots, rain gear, water filter, cooler and a stick.

No, there was no duct tape. I wasn’t a creepster unabomber with a slew of kidnapping supplies in the back. All of that may seem weird to the unexperienced novice, but I was prepared for a spur of the moment camping trip and/or the zombie apocalypse. One must always be prepared. You never know when you might be driving and need to go, but are forced to hike through the mud in the rain with your shovel to dig the hole. (I didn’t have my supplies in the family mini van during this story, see: failure.)

But I digress.

The stick was probably the most important item in my arsenal. It was just an old broom handle, but it was a life saver and I would never leave home without it.

In a sense it was my conscious… my safety net or my approval stick. It was a depth finder. A way to be seemingly responsible regarding my retrospect borderline irresponsible actions. Whenever I approached an unknown puddle, I would dismount the pathfinder, retrieve the stick and test the depth of the water. I knew that if the water came to a certain height on the stick, then the puddle was a no-go. If it was below the height then it safe to attempt a pass through. See? Reformed irresponsible readers like me everywhere can {somewhat} approve.

As I put it in park that night and grabbed the door handle to exit the driver’s seat and retrieve my depth finder, the fateful question that still haunts me till this day was asked by my front seat passenger: “What are you doing?”

I answered promptly and explained the value of the stick. To which said passenger replied, “Oh I was out here last night and went through this puddle, you’re fine.”

Cheers from the back seat chimed in on this news and the passenger exclaimed again, “It’s fine, go for it”!

Peer pressure.

With a back seat full of college girls I had a choice: Be wild, adventurous and cool, proceeding through the puddle unscathed, or get the stick. No one ever accused the male species of thinking very clearly when trying to impress the opposite sex. I wish I could say that I rose above this stereotype that night. But instead, I perpetuated it.

I buckled back in, pushed the clutch, revved the engine and popped it in 1st. The pathfinder lurched forward into the water. It was shallow, and the cheers were loud. The pathfinder was 4 wheels deep and spraying water in all directions. I was victorious. We were basically a car commercial for what it takes to be amazing, with the small type at the bottom that tells you to not attempt at home.

In my side mirrors I could see the lights from Adam’s jeep sitting proudly a top the hill and the Trooper’s light shining overhead from above the creek bed providing a halo effect for our ride through our new-found playground. It was a glorious night!

But my triumph was quickly replaced by a terror I had never known.

In an instant, the water went from a shallow joy ride to a cavern of death. In a split second the front end of the pathfinder plunged into the depths of the water and it was rising quickly over the hood. It was as if a backhoe had provided a booby trap of death for unsuspecting off roaders.

I instantly slammed it in reverse and floored it. The tires spun, but the suction of the water was too much for them, and it slowly crept further into the water. I promptly shut the engine off, not wanting to flood it. This was me, trying not to panic. Water was now over the hood, up to the windshield, and over half way up the drivers door.

It was eerily quiet. All I could hear was the splashing of water against metal. I’m not sure if anyone was talking… my mind was in battle mode, and it became one of those slow motion scenes from a movie where the main character has just been hit with something and their ears are ringing while they try to escape in slow mo. I’m sure it was about a second, but it may as well have been an eternity.

It even felt a little like this, with the whole chanting effect. {Refresh if it’s not loading:}

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Instincts kicked in and I ordered everyone to stay put. I rolled my window down, and slid out the side, Dukes of Hazard style. {Extra cool points for the ladies.} I plunged waist deep into the water and mud, and trekked to the top of the creek bank.

I could still see Adam at the top of the hill, and I knew I needed to get his attention. If there was any hope, I needed to use his jeep to pull me out. With the lights of the Trooper behind me I began a frantic wave (remember, this is pre-cell phone in your pocket days).

Adam would later say I looked like this angelic being. He and his car load sat there, thinking I was trying to be cool and artsy, unbeknownst to them I was in full on panic mode. It wasn’t until he heard my screams for help he realized what was going on.

I guided the jeep into the creek bed. As we hooked up the chains and got the other passengers out of the Pathfinder, I explained what happened and lamented listening to my front seat passenger, though I knew I was to blame for ignoring my instincts.

A fun night was about to turn into a very long one, as the attempts by the jeep were not only unsuccessful, but rendered the jeep now stuck in the mud of the creek bank. Cue the awkward moment where some people tried to console, and others gave advice. I didn’t want to hear either. We were in need of real help, but no tow truck would come back where we were.

Then it dawned on me: we went to one of the best AG schools in the nation and with that, came some good ole boys with great big farm trucks. And we just so happened to be friends with one of those guys. The call was made, and to our delight about 30minutes later down the hill, galloped our own calvary. Leading the pack was a Diesel purring dually farm truck. {This was also in slow motion.} Following the dually were 30 of our closest friends, which at first only embarrassed me further, but I’d be thankful for them soon enough.

As we surveyed the damage, we knew the dually didn’t need to get in the creek bed too and the first task was to get the jeep out of the way. Hooking up a chain from high above on the bank and pulling the jeep out was an easy task for the dually.

With it out of the way now, came the task of rescuing the pathfinder. We hooked several chains together and began the pull. Mud was slinging from the dually and the pathfinder was inching out of the water, but the suction was more than the dually could break, and the attempt was deemed a failure as the pathfinder sank back into the water.

I felt a little like this.

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We were out of chain, so we couldn’t hook it to another vehicle and the only option was for some human effort. (In my older age, I do not endorse this.) With the dually pulling and about 15 college guys waste deep in water pushing, the pathfinder began making its slow incline back to solid ground. It was just the extra push it needed.

It was now 2:30 am and cheers echoed off the field.

The great debate about the engine starting or should we even attempt it, began. I listened to both sides and in the end went with the people I thought knew the most about engines.  With the help of the dually, we pulled the pathfinder out of the creek, through the woods, the town, and to a repair shop to await a diagnosis the next morning. It was now 3:30am, I was exhausted, but too anxious to sleep.

College problems.

I was back at the repair shop at 7 a.m. waiting on the mechanic and explaining my woes. He assured me they would check it out and get back to me soon. Later that morning I received the official call. The mechanic began explaining that the electrical system was fried, and as he continued talking I zoned out. He was calling it. Time of death: 10:00 a.m.

I made the call to my dad. It was time to come clean. When I told him what happened, his only reaction was, “You did what!? You sink boats, not cars!”

As devastating as the night was, it had a happy ending. Insurance paid the claim and I actually made about $4,500 on the whole deal. I stayed level headed this time around, and went with a Honda Accord. It was much more practical for a grad student who would soon be staying on the roads between Nashville and Auburn to visit a pretty little undergrad. And even though that cute undgrad was laughing about my experience, in the end, at least she was thinking about me.

Winning.

I may have worn a dress and totaled a new car to get noticed, but in the end, I’d say that’s a pretty good trade.