Cliffhanger Trail Jeep Wrangler

I find myself on the edge, both mentally and physically, looking down at the daunting obstacle that has given this trail its notorious reputation. It consists of massive ledges bordered by loose rocks and an endless expanse of open air. When climbing, there are techniques to employ, such as left foot braking and gentle throttle inputs to maintain forward momentum, or steering side to side to find traction. But on the descent, the only option is to go full speed ahead, hoping for the best. As I drop the nose of the vehicle over the edge, followed by the rear, I can feel the impact as the overhang clatters against the car, reshaping the tailpipes. I repeat this process multiple times, each time gripping tighter with my buttocks and teeth, until the terrain levels out and I can finally breathe a sigh of relief. However, it then dawns on me that there is only one way to exit this death road - the way we came in.

The name of the trail, Cliffhanger, is a clear indication of what to expect. Despite multiple meetings with guides and experts prior to embarking on this adventure, no one mentioned that we would be skiing down a treacherous black run with sticks of celery attached to our feet. To be fair to our guide, Jim, he did mention that the drops were long enough to read a book on the way down, but the real surprise is maneuvering our box-fresh, stock Wrangler between boulders the size of trucks, scaling rock walls that would normally be considered dead ends, and carefully navigating narrow paths etched into sheer cliff faces. I thought we were here to enjoy the scenery, not become a smudge on it.

If you've ever been to the Nürburgring, you know that the experience begins long before you crash your Golf R into the Armco at turn two. You start noticing the tuning shops on the drive into town, the increasing number of interesting cars, and once you arrive, the track surrounds you, accompanied by iconic eateries and accommodations. Moab is America's version of the Nürburgring, albeit with less speed and more off-road capabilities. There are 4x4 workshops everywhere to provide repairs, places to rent vehicles if you don't have a suitable one yourself, and establishments like Milt's, Moab Diner, and Lin Ottinger's rock shop, which is filled with dinosaur bones and fossils that Lin has been excavating since the Thirties. They even have the actual anvil used to make shoes for Butch Cassidy's horse. I have no reason to doubt this claim.

Ironically, this was not meant to be a thrilling tale of danger and survival, but rather a story about a small town in Utah called Moab. It is a place of vast skies, reminiscent of Thelma and Louise, with its red rocks and canyons - the epitome of America. Moab is a mecca for off-road enthusiasts from around the world, who flock here by the hundreds of thousands each year to test their limits and risk their insurance claims. However, there is more to this town than just adrenaline-inducing adventures. Founded by missionaries and miners, it was once the world's uranium capital. The trails we traverse were initially mapped out in search of precious minerals, using vehicles far less capable than our own. But now, thanks to trails like Hell's Revenge and Metal Masher, it is four-wheeled tourism that dominates. The town has evolved to accommodate the influx of visitors, with bars, restaurants, hotels, and numerous novelty T-shirt shops to cater to thrill-seekers and keep them coming back.

Our chosen vehicle for this journey is a Jeep, more of a cult than a car manufacturer in these parts. We could have opted for a Land Rover, Toyota, or even a Rivian, but there was a good chance we would have been nudged off the edge by a friendly local. So, we went with a Wrangler Rubicon 20th Anniversary 4XE - a plug-in hybrid with a four-cylinder petrol engine and twin electric motors, producing a total of 375bhp and 470lb ft of torque. It is more than sufficient for our needs. Additionally, I have about 25 miles of electric-only range for stealthy ascents. This anniversary model has a half-inch lift compared to the standard Rubicon, which I reassure myself is more than enough, unaware of the severity of the terrain that awaits us just a mile or two down the road.

We remove the doors and rear quarter windows to reduce weight, minimize barriers between us and potential danger, and, let's be honest, to look somewhat cool for the cameras. We peel back the roof, resembling a sardine tin, and deflate the tires for maximum traction. In the UK, driving a Wrangler may be seen as a midlife crisis, but out here, with our spirits high, novelty headwear donned, and the sage green paint gleaming, it is the perfect vehicle. It is also twice as well-built as the Ford Bronco we drove from LA. We follow Jim, a Moab resident and senior trail guide for Jeep Jamboree, the company hired to ensure our survival. He leads us a few miles out of town, where a rusty metal sign marks the beginning of our challenging journey.

Our first obstacle is a set of steps that I would never have the courage to tackle if it weren't for Jim's reassuring guidance. We don't need to engage the differential locks on the downhill slopes, but we shift the gearbox into low ratio as we carefully navigate our way down. The Jeep occasionally hits the bottom, but for the most part, it remains unscathed. With our confidence boosted, we continue around the next corner, speeding through a water splash and coming to a halt in front of a towering rockface. It is as high as my belly button, and its sheer size defies logic. As I am about to discover, geometry plays a crucial role in overcoming such obstacles, particularly the size of the tires, which determines the height of the axles and differentials off the ground.

We have 35-inch tires, which may seem excessive for a camping trip, but out here, they are considered relatively small. Jim is convinced that there is a line for us to follow, so he places a couple of large rocks on the ground to soften the angles and signals for me to proceed. To my amazement, the front left tire finds grip where I least expected it, and the front of the Jeep rises triumphantly as I celebrate with a fist pump for the cameras. However, our celebration is short-lived as we slide sideways and become wedged between two rocks. The rear arch rests on the boulder, causing damage, the rear left wheel spins against the rock and is now mangled, the side sill sliders are scuffed, and I am left wondering how I will explain this to the Jeep's delivery driver. "Here's the car back, thanks! If you need the rest of it, it's halfway up that mountain over there!" We spend the next ten minutes scratching our heads, while a group of motocross riders and lost mountain bikers pass us by. It's truly baffling.

With no other options left, Jim attaches us to his winch and pulls us free. We continue our journey, clanking and scraping along the way, accumulating battle scars at an alarming rate. We traverse smooth sections washed flat by rain, sandy tracks that briefly relent before transforming into brutal rock formations, and more treacherous ledges. Yet, we keep moving forward, fighting our way through at a maximum speed of 5mph, always exercising extreme caution. Despite the growing list of damages, we do not experience any flat tires or mechanical mishaps. In London, a scratched alloy would haunt me for weeks, but after just two hours on this trail, I have grown accustomed to the sound of metal scraping against rock. I have accepted that this is what a Jeep was made for - to conquer off-road challenges in its natural element.

Persistence eventually pays off. With each obstacle conquered, the view becomes more breathtaking. We witness towering red rock formations, geological timelines etched into the Earth's surface, and snow-capped peaks in the distance, despite the sweltering temperatures where we are. Finally, we reach the climax of our journey, perched above a valley carved into the landscape by some mythical force. It is astonishing, but there is no room for error here. Personally, I have no fear of heights, having bungee jumped and skydived without hesitation, but that's because there is always a safety cord or an instructor strapped to my back. Here, one wrong move could result in a rapid descent. The fact that we have no doors serves as a constant reminder of the impending danger.

I won't leave you hanging, dear reader - we survive. We conquer Cliffhanger, but before turning around to face it in the opposite direction, we pause to enjoy a sandwich at the top of the world. The view is breathtaking, unlike the sandwich itself, which is a bit dry. The scale of the landscape, the sense of accomplishment, and the adventure we have experienced to reach this point are truly remarkable. Yes, we may have been slightly underprepared, but Jim and his team have guided us through, and our Jeep - a vehicle that anyone can purchase from a dealership - has endured. Isn't that astonishing? Almost as astonishing as the little town in Utah called Moab.