By Roger Garbow
aunching off the top of the hill, there’s a brief sensation of weightlessness. A flashback to those youthful days of hitting jumps on a light, two-stroke dirt bike, floating through the air and then landing with a blast of dirt from the rear wheel. In a blink, that memory was replaced with a harsh reality: I’m no longer 17, and this is going to hurt. 5,500 pounds of steel falling through space tends to make a hell of an impact, after all.
Wishing there had been a bit more yanking on the shoulder belts, I clench my orifices and braced for a spine-crushing hit. Which never comes. Instead, 37-inch tires and 18 inches of suspension travel catch me in a cosseting embrace, like a fluffy kitten falling into a down comforter. Quite the juxtaposition for something that looks like a post-apocalyptic dune buggy, I know. But this is quite the machine.