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But it works, and it got the Landcruiser out of every tender position we put it in. In fact, you could turn the dial – it has three speed settings – and let the truck do all the work. All you need to do is stay alive. And steer.
The Landcruiser accelerator, in 4W High, was binary – sitting in the sand at a stop, slowly depressing the accelerator would result in churning rubber and flying sand. Nothing in between. That’s apparently the “Road” setting. But put the truck in 4W Low and the throttle response is much more elastic, giving you more control over the power. All you have to do is then remember to put the ‘Cruiser back in 4W High when you’re up to speed again.
We put the ‘Cruiser into crawl mode, listened to the rapidfire springing action of the brakes, and what do you know, the truck pulled itself out of the mire. Contrary to how it might sound, the ‘Cruiser doesn’t lurch while this is happening – it’s all quite steady, like riding a horse as it picks its way up a rocky slope. Again, all you have to do is not fall off. It’s electronics vs. mechanicals in this case, and assuming the electrics don’t go fritzing, it’s cheaper, lighter, and less expensive than putting a differential back there to achieve the same effect.
This would be the experience for most of the two days: H2 grunt vs. the Landcruiser softshoe. Because the ‘Cruiser is really sold for road duty, the running boards took a beating on the rocks (sorry, Toyota), and the smaller tires meant traversing ruts and obstacles was an affair requiring constant attention and finesse that we mostly managed to pull off without incident – key word being “mostly” (again, sorry, Toyota). The ‘Cruiser’s approach and departure angles are almost a full ten degrees less than the H2’s. But the ‘Cruiser is still the badass dirt runner that it was created to be.
On the cliff-like incline facing that descending turn, yet another demonstration occured of how the two vehicles deal with nature. Throw the H2 into 4W Low and listen to the V8 rumble as it clobbers the hill. Throw the ‘Cruiser into crawl and listen to Puccini while pretending you’re Don Quixote atop Rocinante. Everybody wins.
The Gulch is nothing but rocks, was probably carved out by a god made of rocks, and meant as a natural limestone and granite womb that would give birth to new families of rocks every few hours. And the entire thing is coated with sand. It’s like Disneyland. If Disneyland were made of rocks. And coated with sand.
The H2’s castle-like girth makes it ill equipped for a slot like Nightmare Gulch. But frankly, before you call out the H2, Nightmare Gulch is a place you couldn’t take a lot of vehicles: none of the multi-shocked high-rise 4x4s with NASA light arrays could have made it; any stock crew-cab long bed would have suffered a couple of scrapes at the very least; even the Landcruiser took a beating. Yes, you could take a Wrangler Rubicon with little problem, but only because it’s smaller.
The H2 and the Landcruiser tip-toed through it admirably, both drivers scrupulously following the spotter’s directions. But the rocks would not be mocked, and they certainly weren’t going to allow these leviathans to pass without paying a paint and metal tax.
After a couple of hours of digging and hammering and tow-strap-earthmoving in Mercury-like heat, just a half mile from the trail end, we gave up, backed the truck up off the wall – it wasn’t pretty – and backed both trucks out of the gulch, then turned around and fled for the closest thing to civilization.
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