You know, people talk a lot of shit about Subarus, but whatever happened to the old “walk a mile in their shoes” adage? I mean, sure you might have to walk a mile to your Certified Pre-Owned Subaru dealership when your Subaru needs service…but that’s really beside the point, now isn’t it? Besides, how else will you get your steps in? I’m already at 7,869…
I’m a big believer in underdog stories and I’m tired of Subaru jokes about the brand’s reliability and capability just about as much as I’m tired of being stereotyped for driving an Outback. I’m proud of my rig, and the 28.5 stickers on my rear windshield prove as much. Of course, you’ll also see that I’m a big fan of national parks, running, dachshunds, the Ron Jon Surf Shop, and coexisting in perfect harmony. Did I mention that I’m also vegan and that I’m big into CrossFit?
So, to prove my point that my Outback is just as capable, I invited my good friend to join me on the trail in his Wrangler. He’s been talking smack for years about how his Jeep can out-wrangle my Outback on the trail and that his Wrangler even has the sticker to prove it. But, you know what? There’s no sticker; trust me, I’ve looked more than once. Anyway, you won’t believe what happened. Just when you think you know someone, the truth finally comes out.
We’re deep in the heart of a technical trail and I see the Wrangler in my rearview mirror. That poor Rubicon could barely make it through the same water crossing I’d just expertly maneuvered like an alligator stalking its prey. I waited patiently for the Wrangler to float away, but no such luck. Onward and upward, the adventure couldn’t wait—and neither would I.
With the Wrangler struggling at every turn, we’d just come to a rock crossing when my Outback finally had its moment to shine. Effortlessly traversing the boulders like a sleek gazelle, the angels sang as the clouds parted to celebrate the agility and prowess of my trusty steed on the trail. I, in all my glory behind the wheel, stopped just ahead, waiting yet again on the loathsome and lumbering Wrangler. You’d think by now the Jeep would get its shit together or go home.
The wait proved entertaining—for me at least—as the Wrangler sputtered and squeaked in a comical attempt to climb the same boulder. Despite yelling commands, showing off my spotting expertise, and throwing up hand signals (which I’d learned from an Off-Road Spotting course I took online), my friend simply couldn’t get the Wrangler at the right angle. Stuck like Chuck is the best way to describe it…although I still don’t know who Chuck is.
Always the hero, I knew it was, yet again, my Outback’s time to shine. With dirt and rocks in my Birkenstocks, I ran as quickly as possible to the back of the rig for a rope. It’s a good thing I do CrossFit. Did I mention that? If not, I’ll show you my latest WOD later; that’s “workout of the day,” for newbs.
As sweat dripped off my face, I could smell all the glory of my au-naturale odor and knew nothing was better than this. I expertly tied the rope to the exterior mirror on the driver’s side of my Outback and, using a granny-knot, tied the other end to the Wrangler. With the rope in place, it was Go Time.
Or was it?
To be continued…
Update:
Does anyone know where I can find an exterior mirror for a Subaru Outback and some stronger rope? I really think stronger rope is the key. Also, I need a new pair of Birkenstocks and, if you’re really willing, a friend. But you can’t drive a Wrangler. I’m an adventurer and I need someone who can keep up. Oh, and you have to love dachshunds and CrossFit, did I mention I’m into CrossFit? Reputation is everything, and I can’t hang around anyone who doesn’t share my interests or appreciate the natural way of life.
On another note, if you know of anyone who makes their own granola, send ‘em my way. I really think that homemade granola is the ticket to making time on the trail more enjoyable. There’s nothing quite like the crunchiness of the oats followed by the fast-acting raisins that guarantee you’ll be communing with a poop hole in nature in less than an hour.
Ah, this is the life, isn’t it?
