Leslie’s Gulch
Washboard roads suck, traveling along one is no doubt a true test of patience, an endurance race. There’s no way of beating them unless you got monster truck wheels. If you drive slow, you get jerked around like a ragdoll and if you drive fast, it feels like you vehicle is going to fall apart, the vibrations gnawing at every bolt and connection. A constant strain, especially if you have anything loose, like, say this…
After a long but beautiful six-hour haul from Hells Canyon, we turned off Highway 94 and onto what had looked to be a smooth dirt road, the kind you can just rip, leaving a plume of dust in your wake. Turned out to be the longest and most brutal 24.6 mile stretch of washboard road I’ve ever encountered, rattling me nearly into madness.
But for the trucks owned by the handful of ranchers who live way out here, t’was no sweat, barreling past us from both directions, barely tapping the brakes, undoubtedly annoyed by the turd-ass slow tourists inching down their road, most likely muttering something like “nuther god damn tourist” while shaking their head side to side. And I don’t blame them either. I’d cut my dick off and use it as an incredibly long straw before driving that damn road everyday. It took us two full hours to drive that 24.6 miles. I was fried when we finally pulled into camp.
