So I wanted to provide an AAR (After Action Report on FJ Summit) because I know a lot of people would have loved to go, and between this and TaCo Rock Therapy I think the best Toyota events happen within 3 hours of each other in Moab and Ouray.
I’ll preface this by saying I was incredibly on the fence about going. I tried to register originally for the event, but got on the wait list within 30 seconds. Registration is brutal and I didn’t find out about being on the wait list until mid-april. I signed up thinking worst case I could sell my ticket.
It was finally time.
After two years we were going camping again! It had been such a long wait and my hopes were high and great were the expectations...
The term, "Jack of all trades, and a master of none" needs very little interpretation. I think of a middle-aged man in worn out work boots, holey jeans, and a cheap stained t-shirt with a pack of Marlboro Reds protruding slightly from his pocket. A beat up old tool bag with well used, but sharp and precise tools in his grip... Hes a man that can get it done. You remember what a bargain his labor prices are, as you turn the other cheek to his short comments and surly disposition. Finding a solution quickly and getting straight to work, you try to force from your mind that he didn't pull a permit like the expensive Journeyman you spoke to, would have.
We woke on day 7 to yet another cold rainy morning in Grant Village. It had been in the low twenties overnight, so donning the clothes that sat haphazardly in the corner of the roof top tent over night was exciting, but not on quite the same level as say; a winning lotto ticket. I quickly went to work on getting the stove and percolator ready... Not because it was cold, but because above all else, coffee comes first. While Nicole prepared breakfast, I began folding up the RTT. It was sopping wet, and can be a challenge even in dry conditions to get under the cover with a double wide 0 degree bag inside. My fingers were frozen, and when the zipper got stuck while I precariously balanced on top of a wet tire and rock slider, my sense of humor faded into a steady stream of audible profanity.
Its 4:00 am the day before Christmas Eve. This might sound early, but for a snow plow driver it's more like sleeping in for 3 hours. As I quickly donned some snow boots and my Carhartt coat to head out into the cold, I could tell my wife was more bummed than usual about the alarm clock having gone off because this time she actually had to get up. Two months of planning had led up to this moment, and it was time to book our adventure on the White Rim Road.