Jeeps at the No-Tell Motel
The Forecast Said Don't
Flood watch. Rain inside the hour. Every reasonable read of the day said stay home. Andrew rolled up Saturday morning in his red first-gen 4Runner with a plan that ignored all of it: point it at McElvy Lake, the roughest trail I've found anywhere in this state, full stop. It sits deep in the Tobacco Roots off South Meadow Creek Road, which peels away from US 287 near McAllister and eventually turns into FS Road 1221 for the last brutal stretch before the lake. I've been up it twice. Once in the FJ Cruiser, where I bananaed the fuel tank on a hillclimb and permanently donated about a gallon of capacity to the mountain. This time in the Lexus, on 35s — which, and I cannot believe I'm typing this sentence, are apparently considered smol now.
Andrew's entire trip briefing was one sentence: "we're meeting some Jeeps, just be in Norris by nine." Extremely helpful. Extremely on brand.
Sixteen Rigs at the Gas Station
Showed up expecting a handful of Jeeps. Found a small invasion. Fifteen other rigs were already staged at the Norris gas station — sixteen of us total, lined up nose to tail for the trail. Continental 4WD Association out of Butte, Rimrocker 4x4, a Montana 4x4 contingent, a couple of actual club presidents standing around drinking gas station coffee like it was a board meeting.
Look — I love the Jeep people, genuinely, but somebody needs to say it out loud: that red Ford and the International in the lineup were absolutely ridiculous, in the best possible way, and the purple Danger Ranger deserves its own paragraph I'm not going to write today. Whoever routed that radiator hose deserves a medal. It looked criminal. It should not have worked. It worked. I'm not a mechanic. I just know when to be impressed.
Sixteen Deep on One Road
Once the lineup rolled, it stretched out fast — tailgate to bumper up a two-track through the Tobacco Roots, dogs trotting the shoulder, everybody's paint picking up the same layer of Montana. Any stretch we could see more than three rigs at once, it looked less like a trail run and more like a small, very muddy parade.
Jeeps at the No-Tell Motel
The name is exactly what you're picturing. Happy Jeeps. Wink wink. We pushed with the group toward the obstacle everybody just calls the No-Tell Motel, and the trail earned the reputation on the way there — the International Scout came out the other side of one mud hole looking less like a truck and more like a science experiment, and the red Ford spent most of the climb with at least one tire pointed somewhere it had no business being.
We didn't run the obstacle itself. Between the rain and the mud, we made the call to peel off before it and go check out Twin Lakes instead — which, in hindsight, was the smart call. The go-fast Lexus was already leaning into trees on the easy stuff, and I knew exactly which obstacles further up I would not be able to keep out of the trees on if it got any wetter, especially with no swaybars. Yes, still. I would have pulled the go-fast setup entirely if I'd had more than 12 hours of notice about this trip.
Whoops.
Twin Lakes, Storm and All
Compared to what the Jeep group had ahead of them, Twin Lakes was almost boring — in the best way. One of the XJs broke down before the cabin. Somebody lost a brake on the hill. We could hear the whole convoy fighting their way up for hours after we'd already turned off toward the lake.
"I'm happy we're not sitting on a hill watching Jeeps struggle up that last obstacle."
— My brother, looking out at Twin Lakes
The weather actually broke for about ten minutes, right as we got the dogs out to run — which felt like a small miracle given the warning we'd been driving through all morning.
Didn't Make McElvy. Still a Great Day.
Twin Lakes in the middle of a storm warning is a solid consolation prize on its own merits. And the bonus: they finally fixed the swamp section on the way out — no more bogging to the frame, no more dodging downed trees through there. Small wins add up.
— Aaron, Aaron Goes Fast • aarongoesfast.com
