Here we go again! The insipid
little whining soldiers of the Army of the Politically Correct have
been offended by a clever and very funny litte story
(Across The Dunes In A Rent-A-Car) that
was published last month here at Off-Road.com. Excuse me while I
toss them a crying towell...
Yes, the evil geniuses here at ORC have
once again conspired to single handedly precipitate the downfall of
western civilization by renting a sparkling new Chevy 4x4, taking
it to Glamis and beating the living hell out of it. Then in an
effort to reverse the entire course of human evolution we had the
unmitigated gall to publish a story about it!
In the days following the publication of
the story we received hundreds of e-mails, and the bulletin boards
have been on fire. Perhaps more dialogue has been exchanged on
this story than on any other topic ever covered by ORC.
That, my dear readers, is entirely
inexcusable, why not the same level of reaction to the "Roadless
Wilderness Initiative?" Time for a look in the mirror if you ask
me.
Most letters were the incoherent
rants of mentally deficient trolls that have no greater
understanding of off-road politics than they do of nuclear cold
fusion. They would have been better served by spending the time
they devoted to writing us, immersed in their usual pursuit of
surfing "Danni's Hard Drive" and practicing autoerotic self
abuse.
Many letters were articulate and well
thought out, if not completely misguided.
First, I'd like to thank them. Traffic
has been up over 30%!
Secondly, I'd like to smack them all
right upside the head...
Why you say?
Well I'm gonna tell you...
Most of the letters received were from
well meaning folk that honestly believe that we can somehow
"change" the narrow little, tofu soaked minds of the eco-nazis.
Those of you that think this way had best head directly to the
nearest local Urgent Care for an emergency recto-crainial
extraction.
Ain't gonna happen, no way. The self
indulgent elitists of "The New World Order" believe that all things
mechanized are the spawn of Satan himself, they are fanatics and as
such, completely beyond reason.
Case in point:
"Tread Lightly" while a noble concept, and one I have subscribed
to, since long before the spin doctors invented a clever little
P.C. name for it. Is a complete and total failure. With a big bold
capital "F"! An absolute waste of good money. This
touchy-feely program was supposed to bond us to the eco-nazis so
that we could all hold hands around the campfire and sing verse
after verse of Khumba Ya, while sipping Evian and gnawing on tofu
jerky. It has done nothing, the eco-nazis still hate us, and the
small punk element within our sport still drives away from their
campsites on Sunday afternoons, leaving a mound of beer cans for
you and I to clean up.
Case in point:
After years of working with, compromising with and capitulating to
the enviro's, what do they do? They screw us right in the ass. No
lube, no foreplay, not even a kiss goodnight. They secretly author
the biggest land grab in history with the help of Clinton the Dress
Cheezer, Algore and the USFS. Roadless wilderness my ass, most of
these pukes have never been out of the Bay Area, have no clue as to
what a huge and unspoiled country this really is, and most probably
have never worked an honest day in their miserable lives.
Case in point:
I am disgusted by the reactionary e-mails we have received, not by
their content. But by the fact that I know in my heart that 99% of
their authors NEVER have taken that very same fervor and
energy and used it productively. Put pen in hand and written their
legislators. It's so much easier to criticize than to be effective.
These are the same fat-assed morons that swill beer all day Sunday
and shout obcenities at the TV while they armchair quarterback
their favorite NFL team.
Mindless social impotents desperately trying to retain
what little control they feel they have over their miniscule corner
of the universe. The same type of mentality that grows up to become
the president of a condo/homeowners association and runs
willy-nilly about the neighborhood putting notes on peoples doors
for parking in the wrong place or leaving their garbage cans out
all night. Small thinkers.
The Legalities:
Now many small thinkers
e-mails have stated they believe ORC has glorified and/or
participated in criminal conduct as well as environmental
abuse...
False.
Rental car abuse is not a crime, it is a contractual
default by the lessee against the lessor of the vehicle and
therefore a civil matter. It is NOT punishable by punitive damages.
The lessor may only recover actual damages. Limited to real repair
costs and lost rental revenues while the vehicle is being
repaired.
The lessee has NO legal obligation to disclose
damages he believes may have occured to the said leased vehicle.
Assesment of damages is the sole responsibility of the lessor. If
the lessor fails to perform a cursory examination of the vehicle
before putting it back into rental service, any and all
liability falls back upon the leasing agency.
This 4x4 vehicle was rented in San Diego County
(where I used to run a Ford Dealership with a HUGE rental
department), wherein 75% or more of all 4x4 rentals are taken to
Mexico, Anza Borrego, Ocotillo, Superstition or Glamis and
soundly thrashed. It snows one day a year in the mountains to the
East, there is no skiing, and there is no possible reason anyone
would ask for a 4x4, unless they intended to go wheelin' with
it. This contingency is included in the pricing structure for
these vehicles, and well known by the rental companies. In fact,
although the rental contract expressly forbids travel in Mexico,
rental agents routinely hand out flyers on where to purchase
Mexican insurance.
Nowhere in the article did Mr. LaMarche make any
statements to the effect he disobeyed any laws, consumed
intoxicants or ignored the policies of treading lightly.
Returning the rental car damaged, is his liability,
if the rental agency fails to assess damages it becomes theirs.
Period. Again the lessee has no obligation to disclose damages,
real or suspected. I'm sure the last time you returned a rental car
you went out of your way to show the attendant that dent you put in
it... Please do not insult our intelligence.
And now...
Drum roll please....
More Fun With Rental
Cars:
Back in 1986 while on a scuba dive trip
with the "Boyz" to Kuai we rented a pair of 4x4 Suzuki Samurais, a
lovely little red unit was procurred by me, the other was blue.
Glistening in the warm spring Hawaiian sun and beckoning to be
abused, the six of us hopped into them and headed to the nearest
watering hole, in order to wash that fine film of grime from a long
airline flight off our tired bodies.
Quickly I discovered that much like my Suzuki RM250 back
home, I could snick this little bugger neatly through the gears
without the use of the clutch. She would grind ever so slightly on
the downshifts, but not to worry! I had cleverly opted for the nine
buck a day surcharge for the CDW (Collision Damage Waiver)
insurance...
We all knew this would
be a very wise expenditure, Kuai has some marvelous trails for
wheelin'!
After consuming no less than our own
respective body weights in Aussie lobster tails and native tropical
refreshments we headed off to check in at the Sheraton Princeville
on the north side of the Island, overlooking Hanalei Bay. Stopping
at every roadhouse along the 45 mile trip from the airport to
Princeville to enjoy the local flora and fauna was, of course,
compulsory.
Next to one of these little roadhouses was
a juicy looking little two track that headed off precipitously into
the jungle. We stocked up on provisions, aired the skinny
stock tires down to about 2 psi, locked the hubs and headed out,
oblivoius to the fact that the sun was beginning to dip low in the
tropical sky.
We were in heaven! The cool onshore
breeze, the rich smell of the jungle flora, chashing cane rats the
size of Rottweilers down the trail... Yahoo!
Nobody told us it rains every day at
4:30. Rains hard. So hard that if one drop hits you on the head it
can knock you unconcious for hours. Quickly the trail became an
unnavigable quagmire of the nastiest, snottiest gumbo mud I have
seen outside of Georgia's sticky red clay. We were in some deep
excrement my friends and I...
The trail was an extremely narrow two
track and with the snot that filled the trenches we couldn't climb
out of, nor turn around in, we had no choice but to press on.
We wound our way deeper into the jungle,
gaining elevation steadily as we headed into the mountains.
Fortunately the rain had stopped, but the ground was sill soaked
and the muddy trail was full of huge water holes. The only thing I
could do was open the little Suzy wide in 2nd gear and bash through
them. Downside was the damn thing had no top,. The whole interior
was filled with mud, and we were soaked to bone, covered in the
stickiest jungle spoogey you could imagine, and having the time of
our lives!
As we got further up the trail, the
jungle started closing in on us, branches were raking down both
sides, tearing the paint to shreds... So much for glistening in the
warm spring Hawaiian sun!
We were still looking for a spot to turn
around as the sun started to set below the horizon. Rounding a
corner we came to a truly nasty side hill traverse. If the ground
was dry it would have been tough, muddy this was going to be a
bitch! Instructing every body to get out, in the event that I
rolled... I spooled the little red Samurai up to about 10 grand,
dropped the hammer in second and went for it!
I got about 30 feet, slid downhill, and
rolled over a one and a half, landing upside down into the
brush... Damn! Mud was oozing in every where. The goo that had
previously been washing around the floor was now dripping down the
inside of my clothes, my nostrils and God knows where else. I felt
something moving inside my shirt, I reached in and pulled out a
leech the size of my thumb... This was bad.
I extricated myself from the wreckage to
asses the damage... Almost every piece of sheet metal was tweaked,
brush scratches had obliterated the paint, the roll bar was bent,
the windshield was cracked and mystery fluids were running out of
four or five locations. Some may even have been my own...
Thank God we bought the Collision Damage
Waiver!
After knocking out the last of the Primo
and realizing it was now dark. We determined our only course of
action was for the six of us to pick up Samuarai #2 and physically
spin it on the trail. This accomplished we attacked the worst of
our two prediciments, Samurai #1. We flipped it back on it's wheels
and got it turned and facing back towards salvation. But we still
had the problem of almost 30 feet of steep, muddy sidehill to
ascend.
No amount or combination of throttle,
pushing, branches, or screaming of obscenities would do the
trick, we were 30 feet below the trail, and the ground was more
slippery than a stripper covered in baby oil. We tried cutting
vines to use as tow rope...
Sorry, no traction.
We were at a stand still... Loafer
started to whine (he was always the first to fall apart in a
crisis). "We're gonna be here all night..." Mike slapped him so
hard he slid all the way down the hill and disappeared off into the
jungle. We could hear him crunching around the dense underbrush
shouting furtive expletives in the dark...
Then the answer dawned on me! Like
turning on the BIG SWITCH in Las Vegas, lightbulbs started going
off in my brain...
Roll in, roll out! There were after all,
six strong, 200lb plus men on hand. So we all grabbed a handfull
and started flipping the battered little red Suzuki first on it's
side, then it's top, over and over rolling it back up the hill.
Within 10 minutes we were back on the trail and headed back to
civilization for a well deserved round of cold Primo and
Kamikazes!
In no time at all we picked our way back
down the mountain and arrived back at the bar at the trailhead. We
dragged our soaked, muddy and absolutely exhausted carcasses out of
the Suzukis, and and after a brief inventory of the massive damage
to my poor little 'Zuke, we gave ourselves a collective "atta boy"
for a job well done and agreed...
At long last... It was...
Primo time!
We walked into the bar, thirstier than a
platoon of Mexican soldiers rifling through your beer cooler at a
drug checkpoint on the San Felipe Highway. Covered head to
foot in stinky jungle gumbo mud and dripping goo from places too
personal too speak of.
Walking in the enormous Samoan
bartender, "Tiny," greeted us with a hardy,
"Holy shit bra's! You haolies been out playing wit'
da pigs, or what man?"
In Closing:
We are first and
foremost an entertainment venue, and a business. We are not the
self appointed saviors of the free world, nor are we seeking
martyrdom on the cross of OHV rightousness. Our goal is to
entertain, amuse, titilate, inform and annoy, in that order. If you
do not like what you read on our pages, we will cheerfully refund
the cost of your subscription, and you can, in the future look
elsewhere for your off-road entertainment.
Oh, but we're free aren't we?
Stay tuned for next month when some friends
and I rent a couple 755 Beemers and play bumper tag from Munich to
Berlin. Or maybe I'll write about the time I rented a Jeep in
Cozumel, now they thought they could trick me by removing the front
driveshaft. A quick trip to the local junkyard fixed that for 20
bucks and a six pack of Pacifico.
Then there was the time in
Acapulco...
Keep those cards and letters coming!
Talk about us good. Talk about us bad, just keep talking about
us!
Damn the torpedos! Full speed ahead!
Mr.Dune
A note from the Editor…
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