I got back to my hotel room and plugged the flash drive into my laptop. For a second, I could only stare at the plans that came up on the screen. I knew it was risky, but this is plain old suicidal! These people will be the death of me. If there was one thing I truly hated in this world, it was narrow streets. I need to make some modifications, ASAP. I booked the next flight back home to the good old U.S. of A. and checked out of the hotel.
Twelve hours later, I touched down in Grand Junction, Colorado. I got a cab to take me to the start of a dirt road leading up to the mountains. The driver seemed a little confused, but accepted his pay and drove off. I began walking up the road until I came to a bend, with a deep ravine on one side and a 100 foot cliff on the other. Going around the bend, a cave in the side of the cliff was revealed, where my vehicle of choice was parked. Affectionately named Mud, it was a restored '67 Ford Bronco mounted on small tank treads. Orange racing stripes were just barely visible under all the dirt and grime that was it's namesake. After a quick once-over to make sure no one had messed with her, I hopped in and drove the rest of the way up the road to my home, a treacherous drive, but made easy by the off road prowess of Mud. I pulled into my garage and walked over to one of the five identical tarp covered lumps, about 7 feet long, 3 feet high and 5 feet wide. Too wide. Time to get to work.