Jeep is a 4x4 Letter Word

The color palette is limited up on the mountain that day, and the fifteen yard visibility restricts the canvas. My father says that ‘it looks like a white stallion out of the mist’ when it comes sliding up to save him and his mother. She might be too old for this kind of thing soon. Soon, but not yet. And it is a true stallion; a white 1990 Jeep Cherokee. A true beauty too, her gold badges shining brightly in our boyish imaginations. Jeep is a four letter word, there are four seasons, and that makes 4x4. Some things are just meant to be, and some things just aren’t. A GMC Yukon with XL badging and several feet of fresh, lightly packed snow is a fine example. We’re adventure ready though, in mindset if not in outerwear.

I turn down the stereo as if to appear professional to the snow, and we take to the shovels. Forward doesn’t work, neither does backward with my weight against the grille guard. Spinning tires make bowls of ice smooth enough to eat from. There’s more snow to be removed from under the left rear. Maybe we can both push and grandma can get behind the wheel. Sometimes what looks like a solution only causes more spinning. But there’s half a century of Vermonter in my father, and what youth that’s taken out of him, my white stallion and I can make up for.

And we do. Almost. There’s no tow hook on this stallion. The leather seats and luxury interior are a footnote of the 4x4. Only a footnote, but still important enough to not necessitate tow hooks anywhere. There is a front axle, however. If that front axle has to leave its post as an essential drivetrain component, then there’s always that older Volvo for sale in town. There’s no worry in my father’s eyes though, because he’s “done dumber things than this.” It’s a four-handed effort to arrange the chain so that only the axle will be disattached if anything goes awry. Then we’re up and off of the snow, brushing it from each other's backs. Grandma is starting to worry about what the surrounding clouds inevitably hold in store. It’s good that she’s keeping that in mind, because all we can think about is how to operate the come-a-long without a hook at one end. The winch is easily attached to the handy towing package that comes with XL badging, but there’s some real jerryrigging required on the other end. After a pair of carefully placed pliers and some carelessly placed bashing, our daisychain of steel is finished. The report from below the cloud layer is that a bigger, beefier truck is being considered as a third party. My father mutters something about the ‘Wyoming way’ and I am reminded how much fun it is doing something the Vermont way, especially in a Wyoming snowstorm.

There’s a scientifically accurate amount of pressure to be applied to the throttle in reverse in order to ensure minimal wheelspin with maximum pull, but that number is useless when ‘go, but not too hard’ will do. We both ‘go’ from our separate throttles, but not too hard. The weight of all the extra ‘go’ under the XL pedal is too much, and only inches are gained going backwards. All axles are still intact, but any extended period of messing with chains and physics needs to be broken up by good hard labor, if the full experience is to be had. We shovel more, this time in front, and there’s a lucky break up there. Those inches gained going backwards are enough of a run-up to get out onto the road frontwards. There’s subdued relief shared.

Nothing is ever difficult in only one direction, no matter which state you’re snowed into. The end of this scenic turnoff is no problem. It’s plenty wide enough for the two of us to turn around, and it’s kindly been cleared off by the relentless wind. The same drift stands before us, and the signs of our struggle are now almost impossible to see. There’s so much white that I struggle to pinpoint where my hood ends and the road begins. After some consideration, it’s agreed that unbridled speed is the best chance of getting through and back to snow plowed safety. Whatever speed is built up by the inertia and power of the Yukon is not enough however, because it barely makes it beyond the first drift. This time, all the ‘go’ is given backwards, assisted by the axle-chain-winch-tow bar strategy. We’re back on thin snow, and this time it’s decided that the lighter Jeep will lead. Then there’s at least a guarantee that all three people will make it out. It takes a couple tries rushing at and backing away from the deepest drifts. The beautiful white stallion makes it through on the third attempt, and the four-wheeled extra-large barge follows behind. There’s no shortage of fishtailing on the way out. I’m sure that my father is hiding his boyish grin from his mother. She might be too old for this kind of driving.