Chevy S10 Field Test

Even on its best day, when the sun, moon, and stars are lined up for perfect gravitational pull, my truck should not be allowed anywhere near a boat ramp at Porcupine Reservoir. Even with a new set of tires and a fresh coat of Rhino-lining on the ramp you would still be better off launching a trailered boat by hand. I have not looked under the hood of my truck lately but I am pretty sure the engine says Briggs and Stratton, and can be hot-swapped with the engine on most riding lawn mowers. The allure of fishing once again triggered an override on my common sense gene.

My park brake occasionally sticks, which has led me to forget about its existence. Putting the vehicle in gear has satisfied my occasional urge to park on precariously steep terrain. For good measure I normally throw a rock or two behind the tires. You know, in case the wind decides to pick up.

After a successful morning of Kokanee fishing at Porcupine dam I parked the boat on the shore and backed the trailer into the water. I had a large rock standing-by to serve as a wheel-block. After putting the truck into gear and stepping out to place the rock/wheel-block behind the rear tire, the truck popped out of gear and dove into the water faster than a naked man running from a swarm of hornets. Not wanting to miss out on the summer swimming fun, I also dove into the water, fumbled for the door handle, jumped into the truck and slammed on the break. For what seemed like several minutes I pushed the brake into the floor of the truck with enough force that afterwards I double checked to make sure it wasn’t bent. My left hand, almost instinctively, rolled down my window to provide an escape route if full submersion took place. The sound of gurgling water gave me an audible signal that I was about to experience something very bad. Then everything went static. The world around me held still for a brief moment and the truck stopped. I was breathing air! And I could see the hood of the truck, high and dry.

In the moments that followed two trucks tried to pull me out and were shamefully rejected. Maybe in my intense fear I forgot to let off the brake when they started pulling? Eventually the tow strap snapped. After strategically placing rocks behind all the tires, including a brief swim to place rocks behind the back tires, some nice Michigan transplants drove me into Avon and I borrowed a chain from a local farmhouse. When I arrived back at the truck, it was already on the shore, ready for boat loading. When I asked the campers in the area who pulled me out, they replied “What do you mean. You weren’t here?” The crowd was large enough that some of the watchers figured the owner of the submerged truck was hiding in the bandstands somewhere. Apparently some diesel wielding teenagers in a Dodge Ram saw the challenge and pulled me out with the greatest of ease. I am regretful that they received no thanks. Hopefully people at least offered a clap or two.

The most embarrassing part of the whole story is yet to come. After trailering the boat I could not get the truck to drive up the steep grade of the ramp. The truck was still trying to purge all the water out of the exhaust, and could not even muster up the energy to spin the tires in the loose dirt. With the greatest of humility I latched the borrowed chain onto both my truck and a red minivan. I was then pulled to safety.