Our 1969 Cornbinder truck was loaded with eight geldings and one mare. Horse trailers weren’t as available back then as they are today so most everyone used a two-ton truck. We were a caravan of large trucks loaded with horses. The pickups were loaded with saddles, pack-saddles, camping equipment and food enough for 20 teenage boys. I was 18 years old and two of my cousins, Ross and Lane, were riding with me. We were on our way to ride into the Bridger-Teton National Forest for a week away from the farm.
But first, we had an obstacle that would require some experienced driving and mostly guts. The Teton Pass could put the final fear into anyone driving a truck loaded with horses who continually shift their weight causing the vehicle to sway as well.
We geared down, to make it to the top of the pass, engines rumbling almost to a roar. At the top, the caravan pulled over to allow the trucks to cool down.
After half an hour or so we started our descent. The trucks were in lower gears to let the engine do most of the braking, preventing the brakes from overheating. I attempted to shift into 3rd low but slipped into 4th gear and I couldn’t get back into 3rd gear. Not a good situation at all. It seemed we were picking up speed exponentially. I hit the brakes hard, to no avail. Lane, sitting by the door, wanted to bail but after seeing how fast the pavement was flying by, decided to stay with the truck.
By now I had both feet on the brake pedal, butt up off the seat and using the steering wheel as leverage to push down. Smoke was rolling out of both front wheels and it wasn’t looking good for anyone or anything riding in the truck.
About that time a wool-headed, nosey, expert adviser tourist managed to pull up alongside us and holler, “You’re using too much brake!”
Ya think! Both cousins managed to yell back with not-so-nice words of encouragement to get the heck out of the way.
Someone up there in a higher place must like me because the truck started to slow down. I was able to gear down to third, then second and come to a blessed stop.
Our caravan was parked alongside The Teton Pass highway and we were in the way of every passing vehicle. We still managed to keep our place alongside the road and cool the brakes down for about 45 minutes. Once again, with the trucks in lower gears, we were able to drive safely to the bottom of the Teton Pass. For some reason, I was wanting the brainless tourist to be waiting at the bottom to give us his two cents worth. I was hoping to deliver him some change.
I climbed out of the truck and walked back to the pickup that was hauling my personal gear. My bag just happened to be close to the top and so I started going through my clothes. My cousin asked me what the heck was I doing. My answer was simple, “Just looking for clean underwear.”
