may/june 2010

Plan B

by Jay Capers

It’s always good to have a Plan B. After several years off-roading in my 1974 FJ40, my family was tired of the 10 hours of round trip driving in it to get anywhere I wanted to go.

It was time to go to Plan B: upgrading my daily driver, a 2002 Tacoma double cab. After one trip to the Coal Miner Cruiser Classic in it with only sliders and a skid plate, I knew I enjoyed the “plush” ride and reliability of the Tacoma over the sore back and prayer required to take the Land Cruiser.

As I researched the Tacoma’s upgrades, the sites that most interested me were those focused on expedition-type travels, taking an off the track road that leads somewhere other than back to the start. So I now had a goal. After dragging my friend, Clay Clark, along for 800 miles, we started building and planning a three-week trip along the Continental Divide. He searched for and bought a 2002 extended cab Tacoma—after his wife said they couldn’t scratch up her FJ Cruiser.

Remember Plan B?
Yeah, no way my friend could get three weeks off in a row so we switched to Plan B: an East Coast “expedition.” The trucks were mainly the vehicles to get us there, cook in, sleep in and take us home… in comfort.

My wife, Deb, and I had done several week-long trips, off the beaten path, living out of the truck, but this was Clay and his wife, Kay’s, first trip, so discussions of porta-privys, hot water showers and the like took up a lot of time. Then a deal popped up on a Safari Trailer Conqueror Compact off-road trailer and my CFO (wife) said, “Sure!” So a long weekend trip to Atlanta, Georgia, was made to pick it up. After sleeping in the back of the 5-foot Tacoma bed when you are 6-feet tall for two years, this was now my Taj Mahal! Not to mention the joy of it always being packed to go.

The start of Plan B: we met in Rochester, New York, before leaving for Watkins Glen and two days of hiking, biking and swimming in and around the Finger Lakes. Then it was time to head to West Virginia.

There was a lot of chatter on the CB as we hit dirt for the first time along the Forest Service roads in Monongahela National Forest. We explored a couple of areas but I knew the spot where I wanted to camp: a secluded campsite that offered a great overlook. Pulling into camp a little late, we dropped the sides of the trailer and cooked up a great dinner of Skyline Chili. Remember, this was an expedition and by definition, an expedition is a learning experience. I was teaching the differences in 3, 4, or 5-way Cincinnati chili to good friends. With hot food on our plates, we headed down a short trail to eat dinner on the overlook.

As we headed back to our camp, I spotted a small bear in our kitchen area. “Bear!” was all I could say. I had always heard that when you see a small bear, the momma bear sees you, so I wasn’t worried about the small one in front—it was the one I couldn’t see that worried me. As we made noise and gathered together, the bear slowly wandered off, not too concerned with us at all. That could not be a good thing! The funny part was I had warned the group before dinner that there were bears in the area and we needed to clean up each night and not burn food in the fire, etc. As I was working on hanging my bear bag and picking up the small amount of trash the bear dug through, I got to the empty can of chili. The bear had licked it clean. Bears like Cincinnati chili too! We headed to bed after gathering hand-held radios, just in case.

I slept really well, five-feet in the air in my trailer’s roof top tent—with a hatchet under my pillow—until just before 6 AM, when I heard the crackle of the radio. “Jay, there’s a bear in the kitchen.” After listening for a few minutes, I grabbed my camera and climbed down to see the bear. As I crept around Clay’s truck, I saw a larger bear, just walking around. We had cleaned up everything and hung the bear bag, so it could only sniff and look. No harm, no foul.

We then spent the next two days visiting some of my favorite spots around The Mog, Bowden Cave (closed because of white nose syndrome, a fungus killing bats), Seneca Rocks and Dolly Sods.

 

Eagle Cliff Falls in Montour, New York, posted as no swimming so we waded out and behind the falls.
Photo by Jay Capers

 

Author Jay Capers, with wife Deb and daughter Samantha, enjoying the water portion of the trip on the Rappahannock River. Photo by Clay Clark

 

At sunset, cars cross over the Oregon Inlet in North Carolina on the Herbert C. Bonner Bridge.
Photo by Jay Capers