First Crummy Ride - Recalled.
The recent conversation about old loggers in another thread, reminded me of my last encounter with the only fulltime logger I knew, Roy. And my first crummy ride at age 27.
Back in ’83, Roy was getting up in years and was looking to retire. He took my soon-to-be wife, my dad and I to look at a piece of his property he hoped we might buy. It was located behind a locked US Forestry gate in the Nantahala National Forest. We all rode in his 4wd F250. We soon veered off the main forestry road and headed straight up the mountain on a typical Western North Carolina dozer blade wide road with a small shallow ditch on the mountain side and a sheer drop off on the other side. The road was real steep and it was clear that there was no way we could make it to the top, but Roy was determined that my sweetheart wasn’t going to have to walk any further than necessary. Pop was a little concerned about how we were going to get back down without wrecking, but Roy assured him all would be well. We rode until gravity won the battle. Roy lodged his side of the truck in the ditch and we got out. Pop asked Roy, “Now how are we going to get back down?” Roy told him not to worry about it. As a fairly experienced off-roader, I was curious myself. Anyway, we walk the remaining distance to survey the property and returned to the truck. Roy directs us all to get in. We oblige, Pop reluctantly. Pop tells Roy that there isn’t any way he can turn the truck around. Roy replies that he doesn’t intent to. Now Pop is getting a little excided and frustrated. He tells Roy that there is no way he can back the truck down this mountain without it getting away from him. Roy just grins and says “I do it all the time.” With that he rolls his window up, throws the truck in reverse, and takes off backwards leaving his side in the ditch. Whenever the truck would pick up too much speed for him, Roy would simply turn into the bank and scrub the side of the truck against the bank until he was at a comfortable pace. I'm not talking a few feet but several truck lengths at a time. Pop couldn’t believe what he was experiencing (Roy’s pickup was newer than ours). Roy just grinned. And so did I. Ron
The recent conversation about old loggers in another thread, reminded me of my last encounter with the only fulltime logger I knew, Roy. And my first crummy ride at age 27.
Back in ’83, Roy was getting up in years and was looking to retire. He took my soon-to-be wife, my dad and I to look at a piece of his property he hoped we might buy. It was located behind a locked US Forestry gate in the Nantahala National Forest. We all rode in his 4wd F250. We soon veered off the main forestry road and headed straight up the mountain on a typical Western North Carolina dozer blade wide road with a small shallow ditch on the mountain side and a sheer drop off on the other side. The road was real steep and it was clear that there was no way we could make it to the top, but Roy was determined that my sweetheart wasn’t going to have to walk any further than necessary. Pop was a little concerned about how we were going to get back down without wrecking, but Roy assured him all would be well. We rode until gravity won the battle. Roy lodged his side of the truck in the ditch and we got out. Pop asked Roy, “Now how are we going to get back down?” Roy told him not to worry about it. As a fairly experienced off-roader, I was curious myself. Anyway, we walk the remaining distance to survey the property and returned to the truck. Roy directs us all to get in. We oblige, Pop reluctantly. Pop tells Roy that there isn’t any way he can turn the truck around. Roy replies that he doesn’t intent to. Now Pop is getting a little excided and frustrated. He tells Roy that there is no way he can back the truck down this mountain without it getting away from him. Roy just grins and says “I do it all the time.” With that he rolls his window up, throws the truck in reverse, and takes off backwards leaving his side in the ditch. Whenever the truck would pick up too much speed for him, Roy would simply turn into the bank and scrub the side of the truck against the bank until he was at a comfortable pace. I'm not talking a few feet but several truck lengths at a time. Pop couldn’t believe what he was experiencing (Roy’s pickup was newer than ours). Roy just grinned. And so did I. Ron