The drive began nice and easy, but soon turned crazy. We were careening around corners and everything would've remained fun, except I got the idea in my head to get air on one of the hills. I always do it with the quad and didn't see why not to with the truck.
As Ruth yelled, "No, not this hill," from the back, I put it into a lower gear and pressed down on the gas pedal.
There was maybe a small moment when getting air was a rush; I really don't remember that. As my chin connected with the steering wheel and the poor front end dove into the ground, I truly regretted it. The whole thing was predictable, had I thought of it. The little hill was quite steep and a dry puddle with another hill was immediately on the other side, creating a dip. We were airborne for 28 feet, when the truck hit the ground so hard it dented in the front bumper and pushed the box into the cab. I felt sick.
Photo: the mark in the gravel (by my foot) is where the bumper hit the gravel and the little hill is where the last person is standing (farthest from the camera).
