Mud CAN Get Into the Tires & Your Eyelashes

Mixed-grass prairie along the Flint Hills Scenic Byway, just south of the Tallgrass Prairie National Preserve.

I never did make it to Monument Rocks in Kansas that day. I was really bummed about it. I popped a U-ie and headed back, like a dog with its tail between its legs. It just didn't seem worth the risk of getting stuck in the mud all over again without a hope of anyone finding me before the mud dried in a day or so. It was only the second time in my road-tripping career that I’ve ever had to bypass a destination due to circumstances beyond my control. I'm a road warrior. I drive through snow, sleet, storms, open wounds, altitude sickness, motion sickness, sheer exhaustion, having to pee really, really, really badly, the works. I'd make such a good truck driver. I just know it.

But anyway, back to Gove County, Kansas. When I finally got off that saturated dirt road, it felt amazing to slam my wheels onto that pristine pavement. It's easy to take for granted something so ingrained in the fabric of our lives, but go without it for a little while, and you'll appreciate it like never before. I made a righthand turn, back onto 83 North heading for I-70 and realized very quickly that something was very wrong with my rental beast. Once my wheels hit that marvelous paved road, it got crazy bumpy. My car was shedding sticks, rocks, and dried mud clusters all over US-83, like a long, lumpy trail of breadcrumbs I wouldn't return to. I could see the debris trailing behind me for a few hundred feet before it was out of sight. I assumed my tires had cleared themselves out, but something still didn't feel right. Particularly when I tried to turn the steering wheel. It was extremely stiff, the car was veering hard left, and it was taking a lot of effort just to stay straight and steady on that pin-straight road. Once I hit the interstate, I decided to stop for some glorious gas station food. Always feeling right at home in a sparkling truck stop setting, I went for a stroll inside. I got the same subway sandwich I get at every spot across the nation, a couple of Tornado Alley postcards and some gum then I wandered back to my car. The moment I spotted it, I stopped dead in my tracks.

I nearly dropped my fountain soda on the ground but smashed it into my hip trying to catch it instead. My beautiful, charcoal gray Nissan Altima looked like a red dirt road puked all over it. And where there should've been empty spaces between my tires and the mud flaps, there were walls of mud cemented to the car, intrusively cradling each wheel; approximately six inches thick. I tried kicking some mud loose with the flip flop on my foot, but I sunk right into the mess, toes and all. I took my flip flop off and tried hacking away at the mud, but it was the equivalent of trying to comb four heads of hair with a single toothpick. I knelt beside the car, partially in awe, but mainly to assess the mess that most likely existed underneath it. I began to understand just how “mud can get INTO the tires," as My Cousin Vinny learned driving 'round rural Alabama. With my hands and knees on the ground, I lowered my head to find what looked like a down comforter of mud suffocating the undercarriage of my car. It was kind of like a 13-layer chocolate cake, but one that stunk like manure and misery. I got a little nauseous remembering how nearly every rental-car agreement I've ever signed specifically states that their vehicles are not allowed on dirt, gravel, or any kind of unpaved roads. I guess it was naive to think that I could get severely stuck in the mud and escape with a spotless car. I was so fixated on busting out of the mud that I never really considered the damage that getting stuck might've actually done.

So back into the truck stop I went – relieved that it was the kind that sold all types of tools and trucker equipment I hadn't a clue what to do with. I was on the hunt for something that looked like a fire poker or something under a sign that said, "Buy this if you've got a truckload of mud stuck under your car." I ended up with something called a fifth wheel pin puller. It was lime green, made of metal, and 30" long. When I brought it up to the register, the cashier asked, "Back again? And what on earth are you gonna do with that?" In retrospect, I wish I'd asked what a tool like that was really for. But when I explained why I needed it, she and the men behind me just laughed and wished me luck. It was another adventure I was sort of excited to tackle.

I scurried out to the car and started hacking away. It was oddly satisfying. I made quite the mess of my parking space and the ones surrounding it, but when I got back on the road, the car was still stiff as hell and very difficult to keep straight. About 200 white-knuckled miles later, I arrived at my hotel in Salina, Kansas. Upon checking into the Hampton Inn, a kind gentleman offered me a few words of advice, "Take that puppy to the car wash...shake some of her dirt loose...that should get 'er rollin' right along." Genius! Why didn't I think of that?! So, off to the car wash I went. I took my crud-covered car through an automated car wash twice and it was still filthy underneath and all around the wheels. Refusing to resign to the notion that this dirt was now a permanent accessory, I took the car next door to a do-it-yourself car wash. Somehow, I'd never even seen one of these before. I pulled into the carport-like structure just as the highly-anticipated thunder and lightning began to burst overhead. "Better make this quick," I thought to myself. I was dying to have room service on my lap, in my room with the lights off, sitting by the window like a lunatic watching the weather wreak havoc on the land. So I popped a couple quarters in a silver box with a colorful dial. I think I went with the "triple foam" option first because it sounded tough enough to bust up the rock-solid mud shell that frosted my car. I pulled the long, slim, metal water gun from its holster, aimed it behind a wheel and pulled the trigger. A bright blue-green substance shot out at a moderate speed, landed on the muddy wall and began to pull hunks and chunks down to the ground. It wasn't the result I was looking for, but it made a nice soapy, muddy mess behind the wheels and underneath the car. It was definitely time to rinse. I popped another 50 cents in, turned the dial to "power wash" and aimed the gun behind another tire. One hand on the gun, feeling like an OG and a pro at this whole self-service car wash thing, I squeezed the trigger with one finger, and my tiny 4'10" body was catapulted backwards; feet off the ground followed by my back and ass hitting the pavement like a ton of bricks.

I removed my finger from the trigger, laying there on my back like a turtle stuck its shell and laughed hysterically on the ground for a few minutes before pulling myself back into the upright Homosapien position. I stopped laughing and made the oh-shit face. Eyes darting all around in shame, scanning my surroundings for a laughing crowd, but there was none. And that was their loss because it would've been funny as hell to witness. So I got back into my ready position, this time with both hands on the water gun and I aimed and shot the hardest water pressure I ever did see all around the wheels. And it worked like magic! Globs of mud were shot down to the ground, twigs and rocks sprayed all around, and waves and waves of dirty water poured out from every orifice of the car. It was extremely satisfying to watch. Each hunk that fell left me feeling incredibly accomplished. Once the wheels were clear (and this was no small task) I got back down on the ground to hose the undercarriage down, and I was instantly sprayed in the face. The intense water pressure meeting the solid body of the car head-on had a similar effect as running a spoon underwater and accidentally giving yourself a bath. This particular car rinse required a very delicate dance. I laid on my back and slid myself halfway under the car. Bathing the underbelly of my temporary vehicle, I created dark brown waterfalls – some of which were falling all over me, but I didn't care. I slid deeper under the car, spraying it every which way, getting that gun in every nook and cranny I could find; cleaning that car like it had never been cleaned before. Eventually, there wasn't much mud left and the fun was running out. I grew disappointed. I crawled out from under the car just as the water ran out. I hurried to throw another 50 cents in the machine…just wanted to give it one last rinse. Thunder clapped loud above me and powerful rain began to fall, but I wiped some mud away from my eyes, tightened my filthy ponytail, and wiggled myself back under that car. I washed it until the water was completely clear then I emerged from underneath it to hit the wheels again.

I even hosed the windows, windshield and headlights. I hosed all the mud into a drain under the car. I was hosing things that didn't need to be hosed. Having myself a grand old time, under the carport-like structure, in the middle of an Eastern Kansas thunderstorm. Eventually, the water and the fun ran out again, and I decided to head home to the hotel. Excited to feel my car driving like new again, I sped out and onto the highway, only to find that the car was still nearly impossible to keep straight and steady. Wtf?! I bathed it like it was a newborn baby! But I guess it still wasn't enough to fix the alignment I no doubt destroyed. When I got back to the hotel, everyone was smiling at me. I didn't realize why until I spotted my reflection in the shiny elevator doors, but I looked like I had just come back from a Tough Mudder competition. When I got back to the room, I was pulling sticks from my ponytail, mud chunks from my ears, eyebrows and eyelashes. I jumped right in the shower, clothes and all. Got myself squeaky clean, then curled up by the window to watch the storm hit. I ate room service, fell asleep watching Twister and woke up the next morning to a bright sunshiny day. I lugged my bags downstairs to check out and start making my way to Oklahoma City when I noticed four clumps of dirt behind each of my tires. The winds from the previous night’s storm were so strong they shook even more mud out from my wheels. I really did a number on that rental beast. And some other time, I'll tell you what I did next. Thanks for reading.

You can just imagine what the underbelly of my rental beast looked like.