Maggie & Jack: An Off-Road Romance

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The first time Maggie Bennett met Jack Carter, he was standing in the middle of a Dollar General parking lot in the North Georgia mountains. 

That wasn't exactly how she'd imagined meeting a man. Not that she'd been trying to meet anyone.

At 54, Maggie had mostly stopped thinking about romance of any kind. 

She had a job, a mortgage, a grown daughter who called often enough to keep tabs on her, and a blue Jeep TJ she'd owned long enough to know every rattle and leak. 

The Jeep was older than some of the people she worked with. She trusted it more than most of them.

What Maggie didn't have was much of a life outside work.

That realization had been bothering her lately.

So when a North Georgia Jeep group posted an easy-to-moderate Saturday ride through the national forest, Maggie did something she normally wouldn't have done.

She signed up. She knew nobody in the group.

That almost stopped her. Almost.

Saturday morning found her standing in a Dollar General parking lot in Ellijay with coffee in one hand while about a dozen Jeeps idled around her.

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There were lifted Wranglers on 37s, a couple of Gladiators, an old Cherokee that looked like it had survived several wars on the trails and Maggie's mostly stock TJ on 31-inch tires.

She suddenly felt underprepared.

"You'll be fine," a man said.

She turned.

The man standing beside her was probably somewhere in his mid-50s, maybe a little older. Gray showed through his beard and his hair. His T-shirt had seen better days, and his boots suggested he was a man who worked outside and didn't care much if he got dirty.

He nodded toward the TJ.

"Good tires. Short wheelbase. That's more capable than half the expensive stuff sitting here," the man said. 

Maggie looked at the line of heavily modified Jeeps.

"That's either reassurance or you're making fun of them."

"Little of both," he replied.

He held out his hand.

"Jack."

"Maggie," she replied, giving him a firm handshake.

He pointed toward a dark green Wrangler Rubicon several vehicles away.

"That's mine," Jack said.

She looked at the winch, recovery gear and scratches running down both sides.

"So you're one of those people," Maggie stated.

"What people?"

"The ones who say, 'It's just a little scratch,' after dragging a forty-thousand-dollar vehicle through a tree."

Jack smiled.

"First scratch is traumatic. After that, they're souvenirs," Jack said.

Someone called for drivers to get into their vehicles.

Jack started walking away, then turned.

"You're behind me. If something looks questionable, stop and I'll spot you through it."

"I can drive," Maggie replied a bit huffily. 

"I didn't say you couldn't," Jack countered.

"You implied it."

"I was trying to be helpful," Jack said with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

"Work on your delivery," Maggie retorted.

He laughed.

Maggie climbed into the TJ smiling despite herself and got in line behind the handsome man in the green Wrangler.

EPISODE 2: The Trail Had Other Plans

The first few hours were uneventful.

Forest roads wound through the mountains, occasionally narrowing into rocky stretches that required more attention but nothing Maggie couldn't handle.

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The group stopped at an overlook for lunch.

Jack wandered over while Maggie was digging through a cooler.

"Still think I was questioning your driving?," Jack asked. 

"Yes," Maggie replied. 

"You're holding a grudge."

"I've known you three hours. It's too early for a grudge," Maggie replied quickly. 

"Good. I was worried."

She handed him a bottle of water.

"Don't get comfortable."

They chatted while everyone ate.

Jack lived outside Gainesville. Divorced. Two grown sons. Worked for an electrical contractor and had reached the stage of his career where he spent more time solving other people's problems than doing the physical work himself.

Maggie told him she worked in news.

He grimaced.

"That sounds stressful," he observed.

"It is."

"Why do you do it?"

Maggie opened her mouth.

Then stopped.

She'd been asked that question before.

Usually she had an answer.

That afternoon, she didn't.

"I've been doing it a long time."

Jack nodded.

He didn't push.

She appreciated that.

The trail problem happened shortly after 4 p.m.

The club organizers had pre-run the route the previous weekend. Everything had been clear.

But North Georgia forests don't care about plans.

A thunderstorm two nights earlier had apparently weakened a large pine above the trail. Sometime after the pre-run, it had fallen.

The first few Jeeps managed to maneuver around the end of it.

Then the Cherokee didn't.

Its rear tire slipped off the edge of the road into a washed-out section and the Jeep settled hard against the embankment.

Nobody was hurt. But the trail was blocked.

What should have been a quick recovery turned into nearly two hours of winching, digging and repositioning vehicles.

By the time the Cherokee was back on solid ground, daylight was disappearing.

Then it wouldn't start.

Jack and two others crawled underneath it.

Maggie stood nearby holding a flashlight.

"Fuel pump," somebody finally said.

The group leader checked his map. The original plan had everyone back on pavement before dark.

That wasn't happening.

There was another complication.

A few miles ahead, the route crossed a shallow creek. After the recent rain, nobody knew whether "shallow" still applied.

The responsible choice was obvious. They weren't continuing the planned route in darkness.

The group turned around.

Most of the Jeeps headed back toward the main forest road while Jack stayed with the disabled Cherokee and its driver until another member could tow it out.

Maggie stayed too.

Jack noticed.

"You don't have to wait," Jack told Maggie.

"I know."

"It's going to take a while."

"I know."

He studied her for a second.

"You're stubborn."

"So I've been told."

"Frequently?"

"By people who are usually wrong."