The Official Publication of the Toyota Land Cruiser Association. Since 1976 and Still Going Strong.

MAY/JUNE 2007

Fem-Bot's Big Adventure–
River Shiver 2007

by Fem-Bot

The following feature is an excerpt from Toyota Trails, the official publication of TLCA. To read the entire article, join TLCA now!

I would bet my rear bumper that if you made the trek north to the Rocky Mountains in Alberta to partake in Canada’s only TLCA sanctioned event, your mouth would be watering for good eating the rest of the year. Mind you, I never even tasted a morsel of the fine cooking but I know I will be back next year... that is, assuming I am not parted out by then.

Some of my friends have attended River Shiver previously. I, on the other hand, was reserved mostly for pavement use until my adoption by Bruce Loewen was finalized last year. Since then I have traveled to numerous places. Never before has the relationship between man and machine been choreographed so ungracefully. We impressed. We triumphed. We went where no other stocker with chainless 31" tires dared to go. I look back at this experience fondly and as I sit alone in the back alley next to a dilapidated brown fence, look closely and you’ll see that the water dripping off my headlights is not the melting snow that it appears to be. It embodies the tears I shed out of sheer boredom and longing for next year’s event.

When I first arrived at camp, Charla Downey and Bruce unloaded my precious cargo (mostly bedding and beer) and carted it into the bunkhouse. A short time later, some humans were inspecting my engine and other important parts to make sure I was in tip-top shape for the event. Very invasive but I put up with it so I could gain entrance to the “designated” parking lot, where all the other Toyota 4x4s were gathered. I wanted to check out the latest modifications that a stocker like me has only dreamed about since I first laid headlights on a modified rig. In the parking lot I saw all sorts of vehicles—the 40, 60 and 70 series were well represented, as well as a Hilux Surf, a Lexus and a couple Toyota pickups. Thank goodness the parking area was far enough away from the human’s sleeping bunk that I did not experience the terrible disharmony of rattling nasal passages. We Cruisers, unlike the human units, did not receive a welcome package that included several sets of earplugs. I sat in the parking lot during the vehicle meet and greet while wafts of deep fried turkey and garlic mashed potatoes made my radiator fluid drip. After dinner, some of the human units jumped into their adopted Cruisers and away they went for a night run. I, on the other hand, nestled into my deep blanket of snow and fell asleep.

I was jolted awake early the next morning by the sound of a chainsaw penetrating the thin walls of the bunkhouse. It was a silly Cruiserhead’s idea of an alarm clock. The sound rattled throughout Camp Mockingbird and I would much rather be awoken by the backfiring of an ill-timed 2F or the hissing of an overheating 350. Eventually the Cruiserheads emerged from the cook shack, after a brief driver’s meeting with stomachs digesting helpings of French toast and bacon.

This day saw the Toyota herd being split into two groups. One group consisted of the Fast Run, with one of the two Prados accompanied by its human unit, Wayne Smith, leading the way. This run involved careening up the frozen river (in reality it’s just a shallow creek with the occasional deep section you had to hope you didn’t break through). The always-impressive Eldorado—a rig imported from Southern California—led the other run. With Bryan Kathan behind the steering wheel of Eldorado, the second group was in store for a “Let’s go as slow as we want, take lots of pictures and get to know each other” type of run. I opted to follow Eldorado with great relief as I was not sure if my oh-so-aggressive, all terrain Wal-Mart street tires could keep up with that slightly demented Prado.

I headed out for the trailhead with all my new friends (looking like a herd of metallic sheep) to the start of the Lost Knife Trail. This trail is one of the few remaining in the area and our magnificent guide showed us along the trail, directed by little orange, Jeep emblazoned markers. A total of eighteen of us came to be together this weekend from all over western Canada and Seattle. We posed for several group shots taken against the beautiful Rocky Mountain backdrop that afternoon. The remainder of the day was spent doing spins on the ice, blasting through the fresh powder and generally exploring our surroundings, as there were numerous not familiar with this part of the world.

At one point where the trail crossed the river, we realized that we weren’t far from meeting up with the other group—we spotted two abandoned rigs, a silver BJ60 from the west coast and a sparkly blue FJ40 from Saskatchewan, both broken down atop the mighty shallow river. The 40 blew a Birfield and the 60 went a little overboard and broke a light, two tires and rims and sheered the sector shaft off its steering box… all because they wanted to bask in the afternoon sun atop the frozen river and soak up their beautiful surroundings a little longer. We honked hello as we passed by these vehicles and soon faced the biggest challenge of the day—the Hill that most RMLCA rigs have problems with on their way to the falls.

The notorious Hill saw many a Cruiser try a variety of lines in order to reach the top. Up they’d fly, tires spinning, then back down the hill they careened. Up they went. Down they went. Not all, mind you. A few made it up with no problems while a couple needed to be chained up. I was the last Cruiser to attempt the ascent up the steep, icy incline. My motor revved. My tires spun. Off I headed, trying to make it up, past the momentum killing rock and past the gathered spectators who photographed and videotaped… my success! “Go Wal-Mart tires!” I heard someone yell as I spat out plumes of black diesel smoke when I reached the top. I was on fire! Well, not literally on fire but you know what I mean. I rocked that rock!

But I soon learned that this was the end of the road for me. Bruce ripped a spare Birfield out of my rear (compartment, you sicko!) and gave it to Ettiene Crouse, the human unit driving the blue 40. We then turned around and my wheeling was done for the day. All of a sudden I became part of an exciting, impromptu rescue mission! The rest of the Cruisers continued on with their humans to the falls for the traditional wiener roast, without yours truly, Charla and Bruce. Back down the icy Hill I went, all that effort for nothing, rattling and bouncing all the way back to camp. Record time for a stock Cruiser without bump stops, I tell you! Charla and Bruce headed back to Calgary in Peter Straub’s SuperDodge to retrieve a spare steering box. They were back at Camp Mockingbird with spare part in hand just after supper, a mere four hours later…