I should’ve known better. I did know better. But when the weather’s clear, snow’s mostly melted, and you’ve just installed shiny new upper control arms and a rear track bar, well, the brain turns off and the ego fires up. I told myself it would be fine—“It’s spring, it’s early, I’ll just go until it gets sketchy.” Which, if you’re into off-roading, you already know is code for: you’re getting stuck today.
Pearl Pass is no joke even in peak season, and it was still waking up when I went for it. Snowbanks clung to the shadows, meltwater ran like creeks across the ruts, and the rocks had that fresh, sharp feeling like winter just spit them out. I aired down to about 16 PSI, locked front and rear just to play it safe, and started crawling up the first shelf section thinking, yeah, this’ll be a fun day. And it was. For about two hours.
Somewhere just below the pass summit, I hit a boulder field that looked totally doable. There were bypass lines but they were muddy and full of hidden ice patches. I picked my line, eased over the first couple ledges, felt the rear flex perfectly, and thought, “Damn, that new suspension setup is worth every penny.”
Five seconds later, something thunked, then popped. Hard. I lost rear traction instantly and the Jeep slid sideways into a shallow snow pit. Looked under the back and just started laughing—out of disbelief more than humor. The rear track bar bracket had snapped clean at the weld. Brand new part, too. Probably a weak weld from the shop I used or maybe I torqued it wrong when I installed it. Either way, rear axle was floating just enough to throw geometry off and kill articulation. I was dead in the water. No traction, one rear tire in the air, one half-buried in slush, and no way to winch backward without anchoring to myself.
It got real quiet up there real fast.
No cell service, no passing rigs—it was early spring and no one else was dumb enough to be out there yet. I always pack for an overnight just in case, so I wasn’t panicked, but still. It was barely noon and I was already planning my dinner out of a can of chili and some crushed granola bars.
I gave it a solid hour trying to stack rocks and use the jack to shift weight back into line, but nothing was catching. The snowmelt just undermined everything I set. Rear diff was kissing a rock and I was worried I’d bust more if I kept spinning.
So, I hit the SOS on my satellite messenger.
Couple hours later, I finally saw the lights. It was a guy out of Aspen with a modified Tundra and a trailer on the way. Apparently his cousin got the ping and relayed the coordinates down the mountain. Not sure what I looked like at that point but I was covered in mud, gloves soaked through, and trying to make coffee out of melted snow and Jetboil fuel. Dude didn’t even flinch.
He took one look at the bracket, nodded like he’d seen it a hundred times (he probably had), and we went to work. Took us maybe an hour to winch it into a position stable enough to ratchet strap the axle in place. I limped the Jeep down to the lower trailhead in 4-low at about 3 mph, white-knuckling every bump. Sketchiest 7 miles of my life.
Once we got back to town, I had to admit defeat. No way was I wheeling anything else until I replaced that bracket and did a full bolt check. I grabbed a room for the night, limped the Jeep to a buddy’s garage just outside of town to leave it, and called in this Aspen car service to get me back to the hotel. Props to the driver for not making a face when I got in looking like I’d wrestled a wet bear.
Spent the night licking my wounds and texting my local 4×4 shop to order a new bracket and a better welder. Pretty sure I also ate half a pizza in about six minutes and slept in clothes that still smelled like gear oil.
Next morning, I figured I’d just cut my losses and head home to Denver. Jeep wasn’t going anywhere fast, and I needed time to order parts and maybe cry a little. Instead of dragging a friend out to come get me, I booked an Aspen to Denver car service to take me back. Honestly, might’ve been the smartest decision I made all weekend. Quiet ride, good views, and a driver who didn’t ask questions when I said, “Long story. Involves a snowbank and my pride.”
People love to say that the best off-road trips are the ones that go wrong, and yeah, I get it now. I wouldn’t trade the experience. There’s something weirdly satisfying about having to think your way out of a mechanical mess with only the tools you can carry and whatever you remember from YouTube and forums. Also makes you super grateful for the off-road rescue community. Those guys don’t get enough credit.
Will I go back to Pearl Pass? Absolutely. Will I be smarter about trail timing and maybe not test out brand new parts 12,000 feet up with no backup? Hopefully. But knowing me, I’ll probably just triple-check the welds, toss in an extra ratchet strap, and do it all again.
That’s the thing about trail failures—they suck in the moment, but they’re also where the real stories come from. I’ll fix the Jeep, run it again this summer, and you better believe I’m finishing that trail.
Just maybe with an upgraded bracket and a bit less optimism this time.
