Steve and I frequently take long driving trips in the car to explore country roads off the beaten track. It's where we have some of our best conversations. Last Sunday was a nice sunny autumn day and I wanted to see some of the colorful trees. Our destination was the Baldwin area, about 75 miles north of Grand Rapids. We usually take my car on these jaunts and I usually drive which makes the passenger the navigator by default. The passenger also gets to control the radio/tape/cd player but is not allowed to do any "backseat" driving. The driver has ultimate control over where, how fast, and when to stop along the way. Those are the rules of the road and they work very well for us.

After zigzagging around through Amish countryside on the east side of the 131 corridor heading north; we cut over to the west side and found ourselves on 19-mile. Since we drive this road frequently on our visits up to see Steve's mom, he suggested we grab the next decent road going north. The one I selected ended up being gravel, but was a well-maintained county road so we enjoyed driving through farmland for a few miles before the gravel road started to get narrower…. and narrower…. and narrower…. and eventually turned into a 2-track through thick mature trees.

I recognized this as a typical seasonal road that spider-web everywhere in the Pere-Marquet National forest. My brain fleetingly touches on the fact that I'm driving a 4-wheel drive car that is frequently used in national off-road races and it's really beautiful in the woods. The 2-track gently winds around trees generally heading north for a few miles before the shoulders of the "road" disappear with trees only a few feet on either side. By now there is grass growing in the center of the trail and we start to see forks in the road that lead in different directions. I randomly select one way or the other trying to stick to a trail that looks to be in "better shape". My brain suddenly registers that Steve has stopped talking… this is not a good sign.

I glance over and he carefully suggests that we may want to turn around. I argue that the trail is beautiful, in good shape and normally will lead us eventually to another county cross road. He doesn't say another word. The "road" is now a two-track narrow trail carved below the forest bed about 1 to 1.5 feet on each side. We see a sign for "caution logging ahead" – minor warning bells go off in my brain. The trail is getting progressively more sandy and I reason to myself that if we keep moving we will have no trouble with the beach-like sugar-sand patches. The 2-track tire lines are now deep enough that I need to try to drive on the center and outside lines to keep from scraping bottom on the center. I start to hear Steve's teeth grind and casually ask if he would like to drive. By now there is nowhere to turn around and stopping is not an option without risk of getting stuck in the sand. The trails goes from bad to worse to "OMG what was I thinking"! My brain is screaming "REALLY STUPID IDEA!" over and over; my adrenaline is pumping so hard I can hear every heart beat. The ruts in the trail that pass for tracks are now so deep that we would instantly stop if we fell/slid back into them. I've almost got the car up on two wheels trying to keep from falling back into the twin canyons carved by heavy logging equipment that now pass for tracks. I start to feel fear that we may strand soon - wheels not touching the ground. I have no idea where exactly we are. We have no cell phone and have seen no signs of civilization for at least the last hour. As we go down a steep longish hill nearly snowplowing sand, scrapping against the bottom and sides of the car. My brain reflects that if this is a dead end we can never hope to drive back up this hill. Steve's teeth grinding is much louder. I've mentally started the regret phase and am organizing my options.

Then suddenly older-styled hardshell camper trailers start popping up among the trees, parked off in the woods every ¼ mile or so. Deer hunting camps – this is a good thing; it means we are getting closer to a better road. Another 2 miles and we come to a county road – all is well, no worries. I silently congratulate myself on spectacularly good driving skills and as luck would have it, I managed to miss all big logs, stumps, roots and rocks. No damage was done to the car or us. Life is good.

Steve lets out a big breath which I think he may have been holding for quite some time and asks in his voice reserved for intense, potentially dangerous situations; "What did we learn from this?" My brain starts to rewind back to the anxious moments not that long ago and I innocently ask; "What do you mean?" I notice he's not grinding his teeth anymore but is wearing "THE LOOK" that he is singularly good at (the look that freezes smart-ass kids at the bike shop in their tracks and instantly halts all conversation). After an uncomfortable silence, I ask… "ok, what's the new rule?" He replies; "If it's got grass growing down the center, we turn around next time!" While he continues to patiently explain why what we did was such a bad idea, my brain starts a parallel silent conversation that reflects how this would not even be an issue if he had been driving and had done the same thing. After pleading several times "Can we please stop talking about this now!" he finally stops. I make him promise not to torment me in the future about this little trip or use it at any social event unless I'm present to defend myself.

When his sister asks me how the drive up was, Steve shoots me the "oh, you so owe me" smug smile as I casually reply "it was lovely".

...and now you all know the rest of the story.