Mud boggin with the good ol’ boys

“3/9/15

Mud Boggin: A Case Study

The Iron Horse Mud Ranch is on private property, and after everyone signs the waiver at the entrance gate, it’s anything goes.

Most people have home built trucks that range in price from just about to be scrap metal to ~$300,000 (just a guess). They build up the suspension, slap a set of used tractor tires on, and off they go. There’s a freestyle event and The Bounty Hole on Saturday, but most of the people I talked to couldn’t be bothered to go to either.

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The main event centers around the light truck bog and the big truck bog.

For the best view, people reverse their trucks to the edge and then start snapping beers.

The techniques for driving through the bog vary as widely as the trucks themselves. Most of the extended bed / extended cab trucks opt for the slow lumbering approach, the object of which is to never appear to be exerting yourself or your rig. They like to coast to a stop in the deepest part and have a nice long look around before creeping up to speed and out of the limelight.

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It is what it is

 

..And then there’s the opposite approach, the screaming-like-a-banshee-from-hell approach. These were usually the light trucks, and whoever was able to keep their throttle pinned for the longest, wins, and in my opinion Orange Crush from Michigan was the undisputed champ. In general, everybody has a sticky throttle attitude.

The rev-limiter is your friend.

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That’s mostly steam from the engine being quenched in mud.

 

It wasn’t too hard to get a ride into the soup.

Hey! the Californian wants to go boggin!

Getting back out was the challenge.

Seven or eight of us packed into a blue Bronco, and after we figured out how to get the passenger door to stay closed, we were rolling. It took us about 15 minutes of twitchy, throttle blipping traffic to get to the light truck bog. And in we went.

Right out of the gates the bronco bucked backwards, and our driver’s beer flew off the dash and landed at my feet in the pile of empties. The windshield wipers didn’t work, and that became a problem immediately. The short term solution was to pull hard left handed doughnuts to splash a little silt water on the drivers side. The longterm solution was to pour beer on it each time we stopped in the shallows. Everyone braces a hand on the ceiling because the big ruts from the big trucks hide underwater. Then we get stuck. Reverse and then forwards. Reverse again. Forwards again. Then we wait. Our truck is effectively a boat at this point because no one wants to hop into the knee deep water.

This is where the big lumbering trucks on stilts come in.. but NOT immediately. They let you sit for a while so you have time to think about what you’ve done. Eventually (~20 min), one comes, and only after one of our riders is out in the bog with mud inside of his knee tall boots and mud up to his forearms, do we realize that the rope (3″ in diameter) is too big to stay in the Broncos tow hook. Another 20 minutes and things start to get interesting. A few riders had to use the restroom. The first guy to give in sat on the bench seat behind me. Not even kidding – guy hands a topless, brimming, quart sized Mason jar back to the guys in the rear facing seats for them to pour out the back window. This bucket brigade routine happened at least one more time, and by then I stopped following that story. Never been happier to be riding shotgun.

We made it out and cheers’d over it. I felt initiated and muddy (Finally).

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The iron horse we rode

 

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Truck Wash – so that you could be clean for your next go around. Showmanship.

 

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Tug-o-War.

 

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This is the Bounty Hole. If you can make it through, you get the purse. It was no big deal when I asked if I could sit up in the truck bed with them.

 

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I should have went with the Butt Fries.

 

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Friends

 

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shoot dang

 


Highlights:

  • There are concerts at night
  • Pallets are burned
  • Moonshine and Apple Pie
  • Bog games include tug of war and follow the leader
  • Confederate and American flags fly off the same tailgate.
  • There are cops, but its private property
  • People camp in the same spot year after year and you “get to know your neighborhood”
  • It’s easier to remember my name as ‘Thor’ than ‘Jay’
  • Most everyone was very polite & generous and excited to share their tradition with me
  • I’ve begun saying “Ma’am”

RUN WHATCHA BRUNG!

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