Happy ‘Mudder’s Day’ Glenny

I wrote once about how I like almost everything automotive. (I say “almost” because I’ll never be able to grasp the younger generation’s fascination with taking a little import car and bolting on silly spoilers, non-functioning air scoops and exhaust mufflers that sound like a never-ending whoopee cushion.)

In Alaska, off-roading is hugely popular, and so I’ve been slowly building my Jeep for a while now. And by “my Jeep,” I mean my wife’s Jeep. I originally bought it for her, and despite shuffling cars around and using it as my primary driver now, she insists it’s still “her” Jeep.

And that’s OK. So long as I still get to do whatever I want with it, sure, we’ll say it’s “hers.”

So when a bunch of fellow Jeep enthusiasts (they call themselves “Jeepers” or “Jeeple”) hit me up for a run up to Ruby Lake on May 11, I was, of course, intrigued. After all, we had beautiful weather, and the conditions were supposed to be perfect. Only problem was it was on Mother’s Day.

“Swing by my house on your way through, and I’ll say ‘howdy,’ guys. But that’s Mother’s Day, so, don’t know if I’ll be up for tagging along,” I told them.

That Sunday rolled around and all the kids were excited to give Mom what they had bought and/or made. Our oldest son drove in from Anchorage to spend the day. And when the caravan of Jeeps came rolling up the street, I told Glenny they were just there to say “hi” before heading up to Ruby Lake.

“Why can’t we go, too?” she asked.

“Really? Um…well…I figured it being Mother’s Day and all we’d just be spending the day here,” I replied.

She shot me her “you’re nuts” look, and an hour later the Jeep caravan continued north, this time with another Jeep added to the line. Up the highway we rolled, Glenny and I in our Jeep with our youngest son Benjamin in the back. All our other children were dispersed among the other Jeeps, excited to once again be headed up some trail.

Even our oldest son joined along. (He had never gone with us before having moved off to college before we bought the Jeep.) As we drove, Glenny kept reminding me just whose Jeep it was (with a smile and a twinkle in her eye, of course).

When we pulled into the trail head to make final adjustments before heading in, I looked to Glenny and mockingly said, “Well, since you insist it’s your Jeep and it is, after all, Mother’s Day, would you like to take the wheel?”

Well, dang! As a matter of fact, she did.

As we switched seats she was all smiles. I kept looking over at her with a raised eyebrow. Then the convoy headed in. Bounce, bounce, crawl, bounce, stop and assess … crawl some more.

I initially kept playing driving instructor: “You’ll want 4-low for this. Remember, when you’re in 4-low it becomes more a select-a-gear than actually shifting like you do on the road.”

“Watch the clutch!”

“Watch your temp gauge and hit the manual fan now and then!”

Finally she said, “What do you think I do whenever I’m sitting in that seat while you drive? I got it! Just relax and let me wheel!”

Hm. OK. So I did. And ... whattya know? She knew exactly what she was doing and drove it like she’s been 4-wheeling for years. Kinda cool!

Felt weird to sit in the passenger seat and be able to just look around as she did all the work. And work it was. That part caught her off guard anyway.

“Holy moly! This takes a lot of concentration!”

Yep. That it does, babe. Now, if you’ll excuse me, think I’ll reach into the back for a soda. Huh … a guy could get used to this.

Through the dust, up and down hills and we came to the first serious mud obstacle. She did what you should and stopped, then watched the Jeep ahead of us go through first. It slowly picked its way through the mud and almost got stuck a few times, but finally made it to the other side.

“OK, see how he almost got stuck? He should have gone just a wee bit faster to use his momentum and ... Hey!” I had to quickly grab onto the handle on the pillar as Glenny dumped the clutch, nailed the throttle and we tossed up mud in all directions as she hit it like they’d just dropped the flag at NASCAR.

My friends who had stepped out to take pictures of her driving through were jumping out of the way, finding a safe place to take shelter as the woman with the huge grin on her face came roaring through the muck. When we reached the other side and climbed out of the hole, Glenny was laughing and cheering as she stepped out of the Jeep.

Everybody came trotting over laughing as well about how she’d charged through it.

“You did good, babe. But next time we don’t have to go quite so fast, OK?” I chuckled.

We eventually finished our run up to the lake, took in the scenery and got some great pictures. I got a kick out of watching my older children run around, climb trees and act like little children again.

Our opportunities to get together as an entire family are becoming more infrequent, and it was nice to have that time. I could tell by the perpetual smile on Glenny’s face that she was thinking the same thing I was.

We headed back down out of the hills (Glenny drove us out, too.) and came back to Palmer. Our friends joined us in setting up the lawn chairs while I worked the grill. I truly think it was the best “Mudder’s Day” Glenny has ever had.

Ben Compton is a Palmer resident and publishes his column as “Compton’s Corner,” the same title used by his grandmother, Phyllis Compton, a longtime Frontiersman columnist. Contact him at bcompton1971@yahoo.com.