Rovers Magazine Summer - Rackspace Hosting

On this road the Defender revealed itself as a true
workhorse. The temperature dropped as we climbed in
elevation and the snow fell harder and harder. On top of
Chilkat Pass, I eased us onto the shoulder to take picture,
and what had appeared to be solid footing turned out to
be deep, soft snow. The Defender quickly sank up to its
axles and listed to the passenger’s side, such that my dad’s
door hit snow when he tried to open it.
I got out and immediately sank up to my knees in soft
snow. My assessment was that we were in deep trouble.
I got back in and tried to keep a poker face about our
predicament. My dad looked at me with the calm of
someone who had been in similar situations, and then
suggested that I lock the center differential. The center
differential light lit up on the dash, and the truck rocked
back and forth as I played the clutch. On the fourth or
fifth try, I opened the throttle. The engine roared, and the
tires found what they were looking for beneath us. We shot
back onto the road.
It’s nice to have a partner on adventures, whether it is a
friend, a family member, or even a trusty vehicle.
Nothing could stop us now, and we pushed down the
pass towards Haines. My dad was having the time of his
life. Before we arrived in Haines, we switched seats. He
buckled himself in and gave the steering wheel a good
shake, before declaring, “Feels sturdy.” He drove us the rest
of the way down out of the mountains to the coast.
Later that evening we loaded the Rover onto the M/V
Malaspina, a heavy-duty ferry on Alaska’s marine highway
system. For the next several days, we watched as a pristine
coastline moved passed our stateroom porthole. We made
new friends and even celebrated Thanksgiving on board
the ship somewhere south of Sitka.
When we finally disembarked in Bellingham,
Washington, it felt odd not to drive on packed snow or
ice. As planned, I dropped my dad off at the airport in
Tacoma, on my way back to Portland. When I returned
to the driver’s seat, I was surprised at how much I felt his
absence.
I had heard the stories of his adventures a million times
before, but it was on this trip that I realized that he and I
had never shared an adventure. My daughter, Adina, born
in June ’08, has grown like a weed. By her first birthday,
I had already detected subtle signs that she, too, suffered
from my disease. In the hottest months of summer, she
likes nothing better than being buckled into her seat in
the back of the topless Defender, with her basset hound,
Larry, by her side for a drive around town or to the
mountains. Ours must be a hereditary disease, passed
down from one generation to the next.
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