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Mud-Dogging (Mis) Adventures

Updated: Apr 8

The Mud Wrestling Pit aka Our Muddy Prison (photo by author)

During week 43, I was back in SC, hanging with Mama Tis. One day we woke up excited to attend a holiday party but ended up on an unplanned and ill-equipped mud dogging (mis) adventure.

Google Mapping Our Way to Disaster

One day when first back home in SC for the holidays, Mama Tis and I got up, excited as we had a fun holiday party to attend. The party was a lunch event, at a cabin by the river and promised to be full of fun people and good food that I rarely get in Lisbon. 

We rushed out of the house, eager to see friends and wanting to be on time. In our haste, instead of reading the directions provided, I threw the address in google maps and headed toward the river. For generations, my family has been scattered all over the area where the cabin is located. Why would I need directions other than a google maps assist to find the exact spot on the river?

After we passed the home of one of my cousin’s, we were directed by Google to turn right. There was a sign at the road that we assumed was pointing the way to the event. There were also two trucks that followed us down the road so we knew we were headed in the right direction. 

Soon, we reached a mud puddle. Mama Tis does not like to get her car dirty but it was not a bad puddle. We could clear it with minimal damage. Upon emerging from the first puddle, we were faced with a bit larger of a hurdle in the obstacle course. This mud puddle seemed a bit more of a challenge for our Chevy sedan. However the two trucks behind us were still on our tail, which should not have been a comfort to me. 

The puddle was a bit deeper than the previous one. We plunged into it and at the midpoint, I was certain we were not going to make it through to the other side. Surprisingly we emerged, with only one truck still behind us. The other one had turned around and headed back to the paved road. 

The Exact Point Where it All Went Terribly Wrong

At that point, we were faced with the next obstacle. This one was certain to consume the Chevy as it looked less like a puddle and more like the perfect setting for a mud wrestling event. However, I kept thinking that certainly the party host would not send us down an impassable road. Also, we had the man in a big blue truck still behind us so we were not alone. 

Not wanting to try to turn around on these muddy roads and knowing I’d have to clear the other puddle again, I thought I could go on the edge of the mud wrestling arena and pass through to the other side of the road which was clear. 

I am a southern girl by birth. My sweet grandparents had a farm that I loved to visit and go around with my Papa and feed the animals. I grew up on these backroads, riding in pickup trucks and throwing the tailgate down on which we sat and drank cases of cheap beer. I know my way around enough to know that a regular Chevy sedan should not tackle large mud pits on dirt roads. 

For some reason, I blacked out on past knowledge and we headed in, with the blue truck just behind us. About a third of the way through as I sought the dry edge of the puddle, we slowed. And stopped. Mama Tis urged me to try to go backward which I did once or twice. However, my backroads knowledge kicked in and knew the more I dug in, the harder it would be for someone to extract us. 

We were stuck.

Damsels in Muddy Distress

Luckily, we had the man in the blue truck behind us. We watched him, waiting for him to get out and help or indicate that he was headed to get backup. We watched as he turned his truck around, making no acknowledgement of our situation as he headed back to the paved road. 

I grabbed Mama Tis’s cell phone, and called my cousin Brad. Brad is the best. He lives right down the road and is always a calming presence in our family. He answered immediately and I described our desperate situation. He said certainly someone would help us before he reached us as he was not at home and about a half hour away. Regardless he was heading to us.  

Forty minutes passed. No man in the blue truck. No Brad. Finally, the phone rang. Brad was looking for us where we should have been. As we had discerned by now, we had taken a wrong turn. After describing a yellow house at the end of the road which I later learned was actually a white house, I used the map app to send him our exact location. Finally we saw him driving up the road and declared we wanted nothing else for Christmas but that image of Brad coming to rescue us. 

Everyone Needs a Brad

As we were surrounded by water, we just sat and watched as Brad assessed the situation. It did not take long for him to declare “Yeah you are stuck.”  He headed back to his truck, a two wheel drive that would not be of help given how completely boneheaded I had been, and got on the phone. If I were him, I would be having a little fun at our expense as I described the completely avoidable situation to the person who might come and extract us from our muddy prison.

Within minutes, a red truck came speeding down the muddy path. I panicked, wanting to warn the driver, as I watched him sail effortlessly through the “obstacles”. As he stopped just behind us and emerged from his four wheel drive truck, I waved and shouted “I WANT ONE OF THOSE FOR CHRISTMAS!!!”

Our extraction team was now complete. As this mystery man and Brad went to work, planning the details of our removal from the mud wrestling arena, we breathed a sigh of relief, wishing we had a voodoo doll with which we could torture the mysterious man in the blue truck who had left us there.  

Obviously, the mystery man was not schooled in the ways of Southern Hospitality. We are just grateful we have a Brad who was.  

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