The plan was to loop down to the sand pit and let everyone give Foundation Hill a try. This is a very steep hill, very loose and gravelly, so it’s tough to get traction. An embankment and woods lie to the right, and for half the way up the hill on the left are the foundations of old buildings left from the days when this area was mined extensively, mostly for lead. Right at the top of the foundations, dead in the middle of the trail, is “The Big Rock.” It used to be that if you managed to crawl over the foundations or the Big Rock you had to winch the rest of the way up because is too steep to get traction once you lose momentum; if you stop, or lose your momentum you are absolutely not driving any further up this hill. On a run earlier in the year Ted the Fed, in backing off the Big Rock, snagged it with his bumper and moved it down the trail a little, making it more passable. I lead the way up the hill, and as I started to climb around the right side of the Big Rock I slid down so my left rocker was resting lightly on the Big Rock. Listening to the words of dear old Dad, I decided that “discretion is the better part of valor” and backed on down the hill, going back around on the trail to the top of Foundation Hill to watch all the other idio . . . I mean guys, try to make it up. Turns out I may have given up a little too easy, almost everyone managed to drive up the hill. I am convinced it’s because of my tires: I’m running 33X9.50 BFG MT’s and almost everyone who made it up was running Goodyear MTR’s or other wider tires. Yeah, it’s the tires, ahem.

The Barkmobile on the 1st step of Foundation Hill

Chen tries not to look

We should thank Young Rob Blair, driving an ’84 XJ, for a few moments of real entertainment during his attempt to ascend Foundation Hill. He also snatched a couple of years off Big Bob “Scoutmaster” Blair’s already lengthy life, too (half a century, pal). After trying to get past Big Rock on the hill he managed to get himself crosswise on the trail and in such a position that he had seven or eight voices calling out at once with the same terrorized tones, “Don’t move, Rob, don’t move!!” People scurried up and down the hill trying to get a winch cable on him; he was so far down from the top of the hill that it took two 30-foot tow-straps on the end of Rich K’s winch cable to reach him. We got him hooked up and carefully turned so he could back on down the hill without scuffing his roof.

Rich on upper Foundation Hill	Chen passes the boulder

From the top of Foundation Hill, the trail winds up the side of the mountain, first climbing a little rock garden about 150 yards long, then an easy glide up the trial to the bottom of the slope below the Bear Den (actually an old lead mine, but its more fun to think of it as a bear den). As I reached the trail that leads to either the Rock Pile or the trail up I announced on the radio that “if you want to wreck your truck, go to the left to the rock pile, and if you just want to drive up to the bear den, come to the right with me.”

Just in front of the bear den is a small plateau, which drops down to a steep slope covered in scree ranging from boulders the size of an easy chair to the size of pea-gravel, all jagged remains from the mine; fun to crawl up but with high potential for mangled sidewalls and broken axles. The trail up, barring any unforeseen weather related changes (hint hint) is an easy ride up to the plateau from the south along the face of the mountain. As I approached this section of trail I saw what appeared to be icy snow on the trail, the only accumulation of snow on the whole trail. I remembered that last year, on this section of trail there was deep snow and it took good momentum to make it up to the top, so engaged my Ox-lock, goosed the gas a little and started up. Slamming up the hill, all four tires going good, I see bits of rock sticking up through the ice, still going up but slowing down, slowing more, now not going forward even though wheels are spinning at 25 mph, wheels still spinning and now I’m moving . . . backwards. Still in drive, wheels still spinning, sliding backwards down the trail. Goose the gas a little, just enough to jerk the Jeep sideways and now I’m sliding sideways down the trail until my right rear rested gently against the edge of the mountain on the right side of the trail, three to five car lengths back down the hill. It now dawned on me that this was not snow, nor was it thin enough for my 3200 pounds of Cherokee to break through. This was a solid sheet of blue ice from edge to edge all the way up to the plateau. I opened my door, put my feet down and now I started sliding down the hill, only there’s nothing to stop me, so I just sat down and waited to see where my carcass would stop. I finally managed to grab a rock sticking up through the ice after sliding another 30 feet so.

Rob crawls across the scree

I crawled over to the side of the trail, where dirt was exposed, and walked back up the trail to the Barkmobile where I managed to pull myself along the Jeep to the rear to try to get out my tree strap and winch control, only my back end was against a tree and I couldn’t open the tailgate. Mark S., who had climbed the rock pile with ease to the plateau was about to throw his winch cable down to me when frantic cries for help from the steep slope of the rock pile diverted his attention: Bob 2 Jeeps had got himself sideways on the hill and was teetering on the brink of what would have been one awesomely spectacular roll-over. After checking to see that I was done sliding, Mark threw his cable to Bob first, who was, at this point, in much more dire straits than I. After securing a safe rescue for Bob, Mark then threw his cable down to me, and anchored to Bob’s YJ, Mark winched me to the point where I could get my wheels on dry dirt and I climb on up to the plateau. Lou, in his Tahoe, was right on my heels, and at this point he just backed down and went waited down the trail a little.

Trying to climb the Rock Pile, Mike B. (new member) broke his slip yoke, so after limping off the hill, he bugged out for home. One thing I can tell you for sure, is that standing up on that exposed plateau was downright bone-chilling. We huddled in the lee of our trucks and ate as the rest of the club climbed up the Rock Pile. Bob 2 Jeep’s coil went bad on him, so after an hour or so of fiddling they wired a replacement in (provided by Young Blair) and we went up to climb the rock face, Mini-Ma Bell, above the plateau, and to visit Willie’s Hole, a small jagged hole in the ground first discovered by and named for our late friend Willie Vasquez (who will be the stuff of legends for future generations). The trick with Willie’s hole is to drive through it, a distance of about 50 feet, but requiring extreme articulation. I do not believe anyone drove through Willie’s Hole on this trip, our first back since Willie’s demise last Spring. (Ed. Note: Mark S. made it look easy, but out of view of the author.) On Mini-Ma Bell Young Blair learned one of the hard but valuable lessons about right foot use while ‘wheeling; technique, not brute force, Rob. Sometimes, when you hammer it unnecessarily, certain parts of the drive train will surrender to physics, as did Rob’s differential. He had a noisy ride home, with gear-teeth playing a tattoo on his diff cover, and is looking at a bit of a fix, but now with the perfect opportunity to re-gear.

Yaron, the Howler & Big Mark descend from Willie's Hole

The ride down the mountain was smooth and uneventful. Down is always easier, with gravity on your side. When we hit the railroad grad that runs along the face of the mountain the Blairs decided to just head on home without a stop at the meeting area, the rest of us went on back to air up, reconnect and load trailers. It was a fine day, down off the mountain before dark, everyone driving home. And, as a perfect setting for the close of the day, almost like having bookends, the full moon, reflected in the river like a Japanese painting, was rising over the hills to the east of the Hudson as I crossed over the Tappan Zee Bridge on the way home.

Another great day on the trails. Truck ran well, no people were damaged, everyone was smiling by day’s end. So Prez Doug says so long until the next time, and remember, keep it rubber down, paint up.