The following is an account of the 1989 Spook Rally. It is intended not only to entertain and tell some taled on club members, but encourage club members to sign up for this year's Spook Rally. Dave Harker has applications.


THE ‘89 SPOOK RALLY
OR
THE TOUR de FARCE GARBUTT, SPEED OF LIGHT HARKER AND WRONG WAY WHITE MEET THE DEVIATE DESERT SPOOK RALLY DEMONS

The 10th annual Spook Rally hosted by the Arizona Rough Riders Four Wheel Drive Club, was held at the P4W Ranch near Phoenix on the night of 28 October. The Sierra Vista Range Riders were represented by three vehicles and their intrepid crews. Dave, Speed of Light (SOL), Harker, wife, Sue and lizard-lips, Tiffany had the vulnerable valiant CJ-5. Gordon, Wrong Way (W3 White and son, David, drove the rock polishing S-15 pick-up. Yours truly, Tour de Farce (TDF), Garbutt and wife, Sandi completed the field with another CJ-5.

Saturday morning was clear and beautiful as Spook Rallyists participated in 4X4 games, psyched themselves for the evening’s ordeal and tinkered with procrastinated vehicle problems. After all, a functional speedometer and odometer are nice to have on a rally based on speed and distance.

Tension heightened as the sun set and the start time approached. There would be no moon this night. Rallyists already on the course were heard to say on the CB radio strange things. “Cock-a-doodle-do. We are here. We are here.” Expletives deleted. Had the rigors of the trail and the terrors of the checkpoints snapped their minds? Was this a coded plea from lost souls to the Rally Master? A S.O.S from desperate drivers who had unexpectedly crossed to another dimension? Our start times rapidly drew nearer as we pondered the evils awaiting us. Was the Rally Master as twisted a deviate as the liability waiver in the entry application indicated? 

One minute to go. TDF and navigator Sandi were handed the first of a series of instructions. What was it the strange fellow with the picket sign had tried to tell us at the driver’s meeting? Something about reading the clue sheet. No time. “Go”, the starter said. Up the road and around the corner and WHAT!???? A blue “wrong way” ribbon! “Didn’t you read the instructions like I told you to?!” “There was no time!” “We’re lost already!” “I want a divorce!” U—turn and back through the campground as directed by the cryptic instructions and demented chickens decorating the darkly dangerous dirt trail leading to our destiny.

The first real stop was the fowl rally call heard on the CB all evening. It was to be accompanied by a feather flapping romp around the vehicle before heading on down the trail. The first checkpoint was in an eerie depression in the desert. A railroad work camp dimly lit by flickering luminaries. Fearless navigator she was, Sandi jumped from the Jeep and rushed toward the camp and adjacent railroad tunnel in search of our next series of clues. I don’t know what made me remain with the Jeep. Was it the terror of her scream? The ghostly flash of lighting. The rumbling of a fast approaching supernatural train hurtling toward a collision with anyone so foolish as to be in the tunnel. I just knew I had to stay and protect the CJ from the unknown.

When Sandi returned safely, to my chagrin, with our new clue sheet we found red had turned to left, yellow to straight and green to right. Except after a full moon on the fourth Saturday of a month whose sum of prime numbers equal the cube root of the absolute value of the Julian calendar for the year 2513 B.C. Besides that, some of the clues had been printed backwards by a perverted word processor and required a mirror to read. Well, onward through this desert hell. Terror and the human brain’s ability to forget have clouded many of the events at the checkpoints. At one it was not enough to be hanged as an innocent passerby, but the hooligans operating this nocturnal execution emporium wished to insure our demise through the addition of electrocution, a firing squad and bad breath. No offense to Daryl and his brother Daryl.

Another horror was the operating theater of Dr. Frankenstein. After being met at the entrance by an Igor with a crosscut saw, we were ushered, no relation to the House of, into the Doctor’s chamber. Under the pulsation of a strobe light a fresh corps was being prepared for brain removal. Where was the new clue sheet? In the brain, of course. I unselfishly insisted Sandi have all the fun of removing it which she did successfully after shorting several still active synapses and releasing some trapped gasses of cerebral decomposition. The ghouls were kind enough to provide a paper towel to wipe the blood from hands and clues. On return to the Jeep in the dark of the night we found it occupied by another ghastly ogre. I let Sandi handle the light work of disposing of this creature while I attended to more personal necessities.

Little needs to be remembered about the chain saw horror in the washroom of the McRestaurant under the brightly lit, yellow arches. To say it was a thrill would be an understatement.

In our wanderings through a “garden” checkpoint and in our disorientation and apprehension as we returned to the Jeep, my navigator missed a turn and we thus began the “TOUR de FARCE”. I realize the Rally Master, sick and demented as he was, did not intend to make the rally course too difficult to traverse on a moonless night. I mean, there is a limit to the number of corpses one can use at any given time. That should have been my first clue, for Sandi and I began to travel some terrain as treacherous as my back yard. Since Sandi needed some exercise anyhow, I suggested she get out and lock in the hubs of the Jeep. Just a little distance down the trail, 10 feet or so, I shifted into 4-wheel high. As I drifted backwards at an odd angle down the next hill I decided to shift to low range, but only to save wear and tear on the drive line components you understand. Have you ever felt you were sitting on top of the world? Well, there we were, looking down on the lights of Phoenix on the horizon and our fellow rallyists buzzing around below. Perhaps it was the fellow on the CB asking if anyone could tell him where he was. Perhaps it was the fact I hadn’t seen a tire track in the last couple of miles. Perhaps we were off course. Maybe I should trade in the navigator for a pair of twenties. Anyway, back-tracking our blunders we came to a trail that looked familiar. Back on course. No! Back on the TOUR do FARCE! Blundering between bushes and traffic, yes there were other contestants lost, for several more miles convinces us of the necessity of returning to ground zero and the beginning of the clue sheet. What was it the strange fellow with the picket sign had tried to tell us at the driver’s meeting? Oh yes, read the clue sheet. With this thought clearly etched in our minds we proceeded through the remainder of the checkpoint horrors and sped triumphantly to the finish line. Well, maybe we were a bit late.

As we headed into camp we learned SOL Harker and crew had arrived before us. Not surprising due to the TOUR de FARCE, however there was a bit of confusion on the first several instructions of the rally. Not only had SOL overcome this lost time, he had finished in less than the allotted time for the entire course. Perhaps it was the encouragement from the back seat when Kathy discovered the large, active worm in the hot dog roll she had been asked to hold at one of the checkpoints. Perhaps Sue had urged a timely transit of the trails in order to slip into something more comfortable after the chain saw attack. Whatever the reason, SOL had the fastest time of the night. To quote Kathy, “It was a short trip.”

But where were the intrepid W3 and his novice navigator David? It seems that David, in his haste to digest all the instructions, did begin at the top of the page and instruct W3 in a fine manner. However, when he reached the last clue at the bottom of the page and there was no checkpoint he discovered he had been reading side two of the instructions. Retracing their steps to the start line and beginning with the clues on page one, they had much better success. The remainder of the rally was reasonably uneventful for them, except the length of time on the trail had made W2 somewhat hungry. The hot dog roll handed him at a checkpoint looked so fresh and tasty. If only the trail hadn’t required so much attention.

With W3’s safe return to camp, a large campfire and comfortable chairs led to a reciting of the many adventures encountered that evening and a few confessions. Kathy White had the honor of being the back seat driver for SOL Harker and being scared to “within an inch of her life”. In Kathy’s case, that was pretty close. In her words, the rally was nothing short of spectacular.

On behalf of the Sierra Vista Range Riders, I would like to thank the Rally Master and his Arizona Rough Rider crew for the fowl riddles and poultry prose of the clue sheets, the time and effort in laying out a safe, but challenging course, the horrifying checkpoints and all the before and after activities. It was a fantastic evening. Perhaps this article will stand as a challenge for the rest of the Range Riders to attend next year’s rally. We can’t wait until Spook Rally 11.