Through the Sludge

I took on the mud. At the yard edge sat a damp drainage trough lined with thick, glistening black silt. Dead center, an angled chunk of broken terra-cotta tile formed a natural ramp pointed right over the deepest quagmire. No hesitation. I backed up eight lengths, built screaming mechanical torque, and dumped the clutch in top gear. My tires bit the wet aggregate, launched off the sharp clay lip, and caught massive air. I sailed clean over the center trench and slammed nose-first into the muddy bank with a heavy, wet slap. Black sludge sprayed across my gold fenders. Traction held. Mud conquered.