Bentonite is a unique clay that is used for cosmetics, water treatment, and other industrial purposes. It is also the predominate dirt-road material in a great deal of Utah, especially the canyon country. Bentonite is a marvelous material, but perhaps its most remarkable characteristic is the ability to change into greasy slime with the mere addition of water. On bentonite dirt roads, a little rain will almost instantaneously turn four-wheel-drive into four-wheel-spin. But wait, there’s more – – –

We set out today with exploration in mind, and the way-back country as our target. We were not to be disappointed. Instead of dinosaur relics, we sought the remote canyons of the Green and Yampa rivers. In particular, the Yampa was most attractive, as it is the sole remaining un-modified river in the entire Colorado water system; the Green, Colorado, and other lesser rivers have all been dammed (damned?), reservoir-ed, and manipulated to extreme extents. The Yampa is still “wild”.

First stop was Josie’s Cabin, the residence of a staunch 80-year-old gal who didn’t cotton to civilization and lived here alone, no electricity, for 50 years. Yes, the winters too. Horses, cattle, chickens, flowers in the spring time. Pioneer gal, and the kicker is that she lived here until just before her death in 1964 at age 90.

After the cabin, we attacked the back roads. We were a little bit skeptical, because there were thunderstorms in the area, but a local Ranger assured us that it wasn’t enough rain to worry about. Yup. Off we went.

The Harper’s Corner road was paved, no worries. Then we launched onto the Yampa Bench road, named for the large geological “bench” above the Yampa River. Here’s a shot of what a bench looks like (road not shown). You can also see the skies starting to close up.

Looking down on the Green from the rim of the plateau, the intricate course and canyon cuts stretch out of sight.

At one point down on the River, rafters put in for the day; they don’t want to be on the water when the thunderstorms arrive.

Up on top of the bench, the canyons are breathtaking. Sheer stone walls, deep greens and silt-brown waters. Almost no touch of the hand of man can be seen, save the occasional historical ranch fence or shack.

But the storms were doing their work, and the road, which was once a light dusty pink/gray, looked instead like the blotter that it is. As we worked our way eastward, each turn got a little more dicey.

The glutinous mud filled up every single groove in all four of Ralph’s tires. Although the mud was not deep, it was so slick that there was simply no traction to be had. Spinning the tires to get down through the surface layer of mud (a common technique) simply let the mud-filled tread spin on the slimy base under the mud.

The situation was getting fairly serious. Serious, in that if we could not go forward (or backward for that matter), we would have to spend the night out in Ralph. Now, this threat was not a dire one, because Ralph is equipped with basic survival gear. But it certainly was not as pleasant a prospect as going home to our dear, comfortable Howie and settling into our queen bed for the night. So we were highly motivated to try to get down the road and back to camp.

But the road was LONG – – it had another 30 miles of slimy goo waiting for us. As we entered the more serious sections, several problems presented, much more egregious than simply spending a night “in the bush”.

First, the traction was so bad that even steering was nil in some places. Ralph would just drift off to the side of the road, hit a berm, and slither back in whatever direction the wind blew (so to speak). But if the road had no berm, Ralph could easily slide completely off the road – – into really thick mud, or (much worse) off the side of the cliff the road was on. This part was pretty scary, and we were meticulously careful to not break traction in such places.

Second, I actually had little or no control over retaining what little traction we had. The slightest over-acceleration or deceleration or steering input would change Ralph into a hockey puck on wet ice. At times, I simply put the transmission in neutral and held the wheel straight, just to keep Ralph somewhere near the center of the road.

Off-camber turns were the worst. In turns, Ralph HAD to be steered, and usually unsuccessfully, resulting in sliding toward the outside or even the inside of the turn. On we trudged, sometimes seeming to get through a section by sheer effort of will. Magical, hopeful, sometimes even random, jabs at throttle, brake, and steering, managed to get us through each slimy turn and up or down the next hill.

Despite the danger, we were generally laughing, having a great time, and joking about how to share the minimal blankets and food we had on hand, should we have to spend the night out. We got to one particularly bad section, barely able to keep Ralph on the road and pointed straight ahead, and up cropped a small herd of cows, right in the damn road. We could slow or stop (it was level), but we couldn’t steer around them. And there were calves there too, which are very skittish and prone to jump out in front of vehicles. We just crossed our fingers and goo’ed on past them, laughing hysterically at the jokes that were being thrown at us.

Finally, two full hours of white knuckles and furrowed brows later, plus a lot of good-natured gallows humor, we crept up the last incline to US40. To say that I was glad to see pavement would have to definitely be the understatement of the day. I gave that hard, solid roadway a loving kiss – – and we headed on back to camp.