2012 Dodge Ram: Highway To Hell

A journey into the unknown
By Imthishan Giado


[Disclaimer: My sincere apologies if you came here looking a review of the 2012 Dodge Ram and found this entirely unbelievable tale, bordering on a giant cock-and-bull story instead of useful consumer advice. If there is any actual useful information to be found in this article, it has found its way here by accident.]

[Disclaimer #2: everything you are about to read is 100% true, retold as it actually happened. I leave it to you to decide the veracity of our story].

Looking back, it was probably the old lady that freaked me out the most.

Silent, unmoving crouching by the side of road all dressed in black. Her face lost in the inky blackness of her scarf, no eyes reflecting back in our probing headlights. Who was she? Why was she sitting by the road all by herself? Who was she waiting for out here in the wilderness? And most worrying of all, why did she not react at all, even when five thousand pounds of American truck was bearing down on her out of the night?

Shahzad began to slow down. ‘We should really ask for directions,’ he said aloud, to no one in particular.

From her? Something in my gut said no. ‘Let’s keep moving’ I replied, testily. ‘This road is still plenty going somewhere.’

Going somewhere for sure, but where? As we left the woman in black behind and kept going, the track grew ever narrower. Occasionally, the track would burst out into a wide open plain but this was little cause for celebration. If anything, it underlined the fact that we had no idea where this road was going. Strange houses dotted the hills with little farms at their foot; at one point, we passed a great factory of some sort, smoke stacks belching fumes while forbidding gates enclosed it from trespassers; but with no workers to be seen. The light grew dimmer and dimmer until finally, the Ram submitted and automatically switched its beams in response.

And then like that, the track turned left…and ended altogether. It went up and up into the hill but  where it stopped, we knew not – and there was no way the Ram could climb that rock-strewn incline. Shahzad flipped the high beams and cast a searching light over the hill, but it did nothing to pierce the darkness. How had I made a mistake in my directions? I consulted my iPhone, but the GPS signal was lost, its map useless. By my scribbled estimate working off the Ram’s odometer, we had come more than five kilometres in the wrong direction. The fork must have been some sort of crossroads.

With no option, we turned around and headed back. Though it had taken us a mere twenty minutes from the crossroads, the return journey seemed strangely longer, as if time itself was straining against the windshield and trying to pin us down in this now completely dark valley. The hills closed in; once again, the palm trees carelessly grazed against our paint; we must nearly be at the crossroads, I silently willed.

Without warning, ….something ran across the road. One – no two, no three shapes burst out low and crossed quickly. Were they wolves? Foxes? They moved faster than anything I’d seen before in the desert and melted into the shadows from whence they came.

‘Bats,’ said Shahzad.

I looked up from my pad. ‘That’s no bat!’ I said in a strange voice, pointing involuntarily over the hood, as the headlights found something new.

We skidded nearly to a stop, rocks clattering in the wheel wells. It was the lady in black. She was still there, crouched in the gloom, only this time she was facing us. And even though the full light of the car was upon her, there was no face visible underneath the hood.

—————————————————————————————————————————————————————-

It all started, as most unexpected adventures do, with an innocent idea. We would take the new Ram 1500 to the waterfall at Wadi Wurayyah on the outskirts of Fujeirah, logging the exact route via GPS co ordinates so that you, our loyal readers would be able to find your way there.

The Ram had already spent quite a few interesting days with me. On Day 1, I used it to transport a Mar Thomite Syrian Bishop to Fujeirah for a prayer meeting, a round trip of nearly 300 kilometres. It gave me a chance to test the Ram through the long sweeping roads on the way to Kalba, as well as evaluate its highway stability on the new superhighway that cut through the Fujeirah mountains. On both counts, it came out with top marks. This is an outstanding truck with none of the uncouth manners that typically mark commercial vehicles. Unlike its competitors that sport leaf springs, the Ram now has a fully-independent rear end which ups the ride comfort over rough surfaces while also drastically improving handling. Make no mistake – this truck in the right hand can hang with sports cars.

Day 2 was nearly as eventful, when I took the Ram into the desert for a brief sojourn to test its offroad ability. The test became more of a trial when I realized that I would be following the formidable Ford F-150 Raptor into the Pyramids area near Hatta, a car that is pound-for-pound the best stock offroader in existence. Fortunately, the Ram didn’t embarrass itself. Though I yearned for better ground clearance from the front chin spoiler, the truck proved surprisingly capable. Everywhere the mighty Raptor went, the Ram was able to follow provided one exercised the appropriate caution, leaving me with a healthy dose for respect for the truck’s pliant but capable suspension.

There was never any shortage of power from that big 5.7-litre V8 and the transmission held onto gears well. For a big, big truck that dwarfs a Land Cruiser, this thing climbed the hills with ease. With a few more inches of ground clearance courtesy of taller springs and shocks, I reckon it could be quite a serious offroader. (But if you are thinking of seriously considering that route, I’d advise you to pick the single cab version to reduce your chance of cresting on smaller dunes).

Day 3 was when the fun – or rather the terror – started. The trip to the Eastern coast was largely uneventful, marked only by the constant need to stop and note down GPS coordinates for the route we would be taking to the Wadi. Having only done this trip once before when I was much younger and having at best a hazy recollection of the route, I imagined that that there would be a huge amount of doubling back in the narrow streets of Khor Fakkan, trying to find the one dusty road that led into the mountains. And once we did, we’d need to carefully pick our way through the rock-strewn road, being wary of potential punctures.

Wrong on both counts. I kept dutifully taking notes, and Shahzad kept dutifully pointing that once you enter Khor Fakkan, there are a plethora of brown tourist signs showing you the way to Wadi Wurayah. Once you pass the Corniche, it’s practically impossible to miss the sign for the turnoff, making me feel more than a little sheepish. Anyone with a functioning brain or a decent smartphone will need just few minutes to locate it.

Once we eventually reached the Wadi, it was also clear that we had brought a gatling gun to a fist fight. Yes, the road is probably a little too difficult for a saloon car – although our own Fraser has probably done it in his wee Honda Jazz! – but virtually any SUV or crossover with a smidgen of ground clearance and part time four wheel drive can make the jaunt to the waterfall at the end. My visions of intrepid rock climbing with Shahzad gingerly maneuvering the beast while I acted as trusty spotter were dashed.

Speaking of disappointments – the waterfall really isn’t much to look at either. You can probably see some of it in the background of the pictures accompanying this article (we didn’t get too close as there was a family in the waters) but there’s an awful lot of graffiti and not an awful lot of water. In winter when the mountain waters flow more abundantly I imagine it’s a lot more interesting to visit, but in the summer, save your petrol money.

Photos in the bag, we elected to begin our return trip before it got too dark. Once we reached the main road I consulted the map to find out which way we should take for the equally dull return journey. One could always take the Kalba road via either twisties or the Fujeirah bypass, but this was a road we had done far too many times of late. Another option was to take the Dhaid road past the market stalls – slower but picturesque.

Or maybe there was a third option. Browsing Google Maps showed me an alternative route just outside of Khor Fakkan, an small road that twisted and turned through the mountains until it joined the E88 expressway near Masafi. I had never been on this road before, but if Google Maps knew it well, it must have been here for some time. In a truck like the Ram, it could be a real hoot – and worst case scenario, it still gets us to the E88 without having to retrace our steps.

Shahzad was far from convinced that this was a good idea (a fact that in light of what happens next, he will continue to lord over me until my dying day) but nevertheless agreed to turn off the Corniche and follow my ‘iPhone road’.

Our first inkling that something was not quite right came almost immediately. As the road began its climb into the mountains, we passed a huge line of cars queuing up at a petrol station – except that the petrol station had Omani signage, as did the cars. Would we be crossing the border? Not uncommon on the East Coast, where one often crosses borders with little warning. But there was no Omani insurance cover for the truck, which would pose a problem if we ran into any police on the way.

Still, as we left the cool waters of the Fujeirah coastline behind, there was much to distract us. At first, the road carved a gentle path though some small villages which clearly played host to some very rich residents with huge palatial hill top estates. Soon though, the road grew ever tighter and steeper. On both sides, the drop offs grew, as did the greenery. Strangest of all were the street lights, a ornarte curled lantern-style design that I’ve never seen anywhere else in the region. In the darkening twilight, they looked eerily like Victorian street lamps, almost like we’d travelled through some tear in the fabric of a reality to an alternate Middle East. It was not reassuring.

‘Are you sure this is the way?’ Shahzad asked at regular intervals. He asked this not out of concern, but because alternative turns presented themselves quite regularly. But no; the iPhone was quite firm about the right path, even though the bars of my signal strength were dropping alarmingly rapidly as the mountains crowded out our vision on both sides. I was not worried; the entire road end to end was loaded up on the iPhone so even if we lost signal, the GPS system would still be able to place us. Besides, this was a truly great road to drive, with an uneven mixture of fast sweepers, sneaky switchbacks and few guardrails to hide the huge drops. The Ram was handling it with aplomb, Shahzad spurring the big pickup on to ever greater heights. Frankly, I wanted to have a go.

We had left the bizarre streetlights long behind us, but what I didn’t expect was for the road to quit as well. Quite abruptly, our well-surfaced dual carriageway gave way to a rough sandy track that continued further into the mountain range. It seemed well travelled, like many cars used this road daily. I saw no harm in continuing, a tiny blip on the iPhone showing that our truck was still on the right path.

‘I’m not so sure about this,’ Shahzad said for the umpteenth time, a slight hint of unease in his voice. ‘What if the track gets rougher? We don’t want to get a flat out here in the dark. Maybe we should just turn back while there’s still light.’

‘We’re nearly halfway’, I steamrollered him in response. ‘It’ll take us ages to turn around and go back now. Besides, the road will probably start again soon. Don’t worry…this is an adventure!’

I was wrong. Dead wrong. The road didn’t start again. Neither was the track getting rougher, but we were rapidly losing three things; daylight, room and cellphone signal. The first was slightly worrying, the second possibly a problem. The track was now between high mountain walls on each side, the wide Ram barely able to pass, so we had to slow down quite a bit.

But it was the third which began to eat away at my confidence. I watched the signal bars ebb away one by one until finally there was just one left. Miraculously, the road burst free of the mountains and clawed skyward, allowing us to get a better look at our surroundings as we crested a hill.

Not good. There were mountains in every direction, there was barely any light left and what’s worse, it was starting to seem that few cars had ever travelled this far on the road, which showed a very tight switchback up ahead, though where I could not see.

The answer was soon obvious. The road dived down hill at a sharp angle to arrive at a fork. The track continued straight ahead into what looked like a series of farms or left into a curve that doubled back. Anxiously, I consulted my iPhone but my worst fears were realized; there was no signal left.

‘Which way?’ Shahzad asked stoically. If he was anxious at all, he wasn’t showing it.

‘Dead ahead’, I volunteered, hesitantly.

The farm road was strewn with palm tree leaves and the road grew even more restrictive. We were barely out of first gear now, slowly picking our way through the path. The last few beams of light came from overhead, the Ram already long having decided to automatically switch on its powerful beams, useless as they were against the encroaching dark.

It was then that we encountered the woman in black waiting alone by the roadside.

As you may recollect from the opening, we sped past her only to realize in our horror that the road ran out just a few kilometers hence. Turning back to find the fork – still no signal – she still waited for us in the dark, unmoving.

‘We are not asking her for directions’ I muttered, obstinately. Shahzad seemed inclined to agree and drove past her once again. I looked in my rear view mirror; there was nothing to be seen in that awful all-consuming darkness. If there was a woman there, I didn’t see one anymore.

Arriving at the fork, I realized the full extent of my navigational error. It wasn’t a fork – it was a crossroads with four different directions to take. One was the way we had came; the other was the road from Khor Fakkan which had brought us here – and two others lead away into the darkness.

Having been turned around so much, my sense of direction was shot. The iPhone showed several roads branching off in the area; if we took the wrong road again, we could end up hopelessly lost very quickly and I was no longer sure how to even go back to where we started. Finally, it was Shahzad that broke the impasse.

‘Let’s go left,’ he said without much conviction, turning the big prow west. It didn’t seem particularly prurient, but taking any decision is better than none at all. We had no idea where we were going but all we were sure about is that we wanted to get as far as away from that crossroads and that woman as possible.

The road was still indescribably tight, and now our conversation seemed less jokey and more heightened. The mood had turned very serious. We had hardly any water, no food and sufficient petrol but if we developed any kind of mechanical issue, we had no torches to work with. And let’s not forget, it was 45 degrees outside. We needed to get out and soon, but the further we drove, the less likely it seemed.

Suddenly, it seemed that we had. Rounding a corner, we happened upon a road that led sharply upward with a huge sign marked ‘private property, no entrance’. To the right was another sign – ‘tourist trail’ which seemed to follow a huge black wall. Guessing that trespassers were probably shot on sight, we went right. Above us, the road clearly led to some sort of housing area; we could see light. But our ‘tourist trail’ seemed to be going nowhere at all.

Then it stopped altogether. A huge wooden door loomed before us, one large enough to swallow the Ram, a door that led into a wall that absolutely dwarfed us. Where did it go? Who built it? Questions that did not demand an answer. Suitably spooked by this possible gateway to the afterlife, we elected to turn tail and head for the private property, trading a date with the devil for possible arrest.

After the terrors of the past hour, what happened next is almost comical. The track climbed, then quickly became a road that led into a complex of modern villas, with a group of Emirati residents peacefully sitting outside. What they made of us, two frightened expats in a gigantic American pickup truck emerging out of the darkness I’ll never know because I didn’t stop to ask. What was more important is that I finally had signal!

Miraculously, we had somehow ended up on the right route. The safety of the E88 was not too far away now; all we had to was traverse this little hamlet and we’d be back in civilization in half an hour at the onset. The Ram roared through the town, looking for the iPhone-directed exit road.

You know it wouldn’t be that simple, don’t you? The road ended in a locked security gate that led – where else – up another deserted hill. A sleepy security guard emerged from a hut, wondering how the hell we had got here and more importantly where we were going.

‘This road is closed,’ he said repeatedly in broken Hindi.

‘We’re trying to get to Sharjah,’ I pleaded with him. ‘Is it far?’

‘Not far. But the road is not good. You should not go this way. The road is not good,’ he said repeatedly.

‘We just want to get to the main road,’ I implored once again.

He looked at us once again, then shrugged his shoulders. ‘OK, but don’t miss the tunnel.’ He opened the gate, then waved us through.

‘What tunnel?’ Shahzad asked wearily. ‘We’ve been climbing for what seems like hours.’ Having just found civilization he was not entirely happy about abandoning it so quickly for the clammy darkness once more.

‘There’s no tunnel marked on the map.’ I looked down at the phone, but of course we had lost signal again.

‘Look out!’ exclaimed Shahzad, skidding to a stop.

I looked up. There was nothing in the road ahead. Actually, a better way of putting it is that there was nothing to be seen anywhere at all. I cracked open the window and looked out; we were facing the edge of the cliff. The road had turned, and we hadn’t seen it at all.

Gingerly, we reversed back, then found the trail again. Too late did I understand the man’s warning; the road was on some sort of narrow cliff with no guard rail. Progress was now excruciatingly slow as we felt our way along like frightened infants; outside the darkness was a living thing, grasping at the Ram and our headlights made no headway against it at all. In the distance I could vaguely make out the shapes of the mountains. Sometimes just moving shapes. Were they trees, or were they people just of sight, following us silently?

Suddenly, the road forked in two. Flipping a coin, we decided to head right, although the other road stayed parallel and close enough for us to see. It turned out to be a good decision because the left road ended in a cliff that we would easily have driven off and tumbled into the black pit below. But there wasn’t much time to celebrate our good fortune because our road had suddenly turned into a huge tunnel cut into the heart of the mountain. For all I knew, it was the entrance to Hell itself but there was no turning back now. In we went.

2012 Dodge Ram

What a strange, bizarre hole this was. The tunnel was big enough for a train, and smoothly circular with unpainted concrete walls. Cinder blocks were carelessly cast against the sides, along with occasional safety cones. It must have cost millions to carve this path through the mountain, but what on earth was it for? And how long was it? We had been driving for five minutes, with no end in sight.

‘Let’s get a photo of this place,’ Shahzad said finally, coming to a stop in the centre. I reached in the back and pulled out his camera. With so little light, there was no reason to expect much but I clicked off some shots anyway. The smart thing to do would be to exit the vehicle and set up a tripod but there was no way in Hell that I would be doing anything of the sort in this unearthly place.

‘Oh look, there’s another car coming.’ Shahzad turned and pointed backwards. ‘We can ask him directions.’

I felt a strange tightness in my chest. ‘Let’s just keep going.’

‘Why? He probably knows exactly where the exit is.’ The headlights were growing ever larger, filling our little cabin with harsh illumination. He would pass us in a matter of moments.

‘Let’s just keep moving, OK? He must be going the same way as us. Look, don’t argue, let’s just keep moving.’

Grudgingly, Shahzad pulled back on the gearstick and sent the Ram moving forward. The twin headlights of our pursuer seemed like a miniature sun at our backs. I had no idea why, but I didn’t want to see our friend in the tunnel; I just wanted to get away from him as fast as possible. Somehow, the Ram was staying just ahead of him.

Unexpectedly, the exit of the tunnel loomed ahead and we burst out into the night air once more. But our friend in the tunnel didn’t follow. In fact, he never left the tunnel at all. I looked back and there was no light at our backs. Where had he gone? Considering the length of the tunnel, there was nowhere else for him to go and no way he could have turned off without us noticing. He was practically breathing down our necks but now he had completely vanished into thin air.

Shahzad gave me a strange look. By this point, we were both at our wits end. We had been driving around for hours in the dark on strange roads with ghost women and now a ghost truck…well frankly, that was one ghost too many. My hand was clenching my iPhone so tight the knuckles had turned white, almost willing the accursed thing to find some semblance of signal and find us a way of this never ending blackness. The quips and the comedy in the cabin had long since died away, much like our hope. It seemed that we were doomed to drive along these roads for all eternity, looking for a way out – or at least until someone, or something found us.

How long we waited there silently, I’ll never know. But what I do remember at some point is that Shahzad pressed his palms on the Ram logo on the steering wheel for a moment, then firmly gripped the rim. Very slowly, the big Mopar resumed its movement into the night, though it was not courage that motivated us.

The track was now dipping, very steeply – too much so. In the distance, I could hear some strange mechanical clanking noises mixed with a great crashing roar. We were clearly in a quarry of some sort, and soon dust clouded what little vision we had. It must have been near ten o’clock yet work seemed to be carrying on in the great gorges, machines working ceaselessly, chomping away at the terrain, yet no drivers could be seen in their empty cabins.

A lone path led out the other side, and the tail lights of another truck could be seen fleeing the scene. This time, we decided to follow our pursuer out; he would show us the way out come what may. Except that no matter how fast we drove, we couldn’t seem to catch him. The Ram is not a slow truck but the other driver seemed to be demonic in his ability to stay ahead of us, always one turn out of sight.

And like that, he was gone altogether. We rounded another corner only to find another gate. The other driver, like his forebear had vanished with no possible route of escape. A noise stirred ahead, and a wild-eyed man emerged, with no torch in his hand. He moved silently to our side, and then waited for Shahzad to roll down his window. He only asked one question but I’ll never forget it as long as I live.

‘Do you want to leave?’

I’ll swear on any book you care to provide that that is exactly what he said. Shahzad nodded helplessly. The man turned and opened the gate and waited. Without so much as a ‘thank you’ we charged forward, the Hemi roaring as the man, the quarry and everything else melted away into the darkness.

The next part is somewhat vague in my memory. All I can recall is that we drove very, very fast, clambering over the track with little heed for our truck. The mountains seemed to disappear almost immediately, replaced by – at last! – the lights of the highway. Shahzad put the hammer down like a man possessed and with a final triumphant crash, the big rig was back on the highway. The E88, to be exact.

What exactly had happened to us back there? For the life of me, I couldn’t tell you. Why was that woman waiting in the darkness? What became of that truck in the tunnel? Who were the people living in that strange mountain chalet? Why can’t I find this road again on Google Maps? All I can say for sure, I sure as Hell won’t be going back to find out.

Unless I have a Ram, that is.

PS: Oh, and one last spooky detail – remember those pictures I took in the tunnel? We had a look at them later and as expected, you can’t make out much. All three pictures are completely identical. Completely identical save for the last one, which shows a light clearly shining in the distance.

There was no light.

 

8 responses to “2012 Dodge Ram: Highway To Hell”

  1. Arafaat says:

    Brilliant, brilliant!

    One of the most entertaining car reviews I’ve ever read!

  2. Ali says:

    too long. zzzzz.

  3. Navin says:

    Have you guys reviewed the ford raptor

  4. Sajid says:

    Phew! That was close. Had the coin toss not gone the way it did, it would have been ‘End Of Story’ for that Dodge Ram and the its magnificent HEMI engine. Oh, and the Motoring Middle East team would have met with the same fate. Sorry I forgot about that, I was too worried about the car.

  5. Kashif Farid says:

    So guys basically you Dodge(d) the Spooks and Ram(ed) outta hell!

  6. Hadi says:

    I just went up Jabal Hafeet in an audi q7 2013, good fun :p

  7. Adil Ahmad says:

    The Women In black” Yes I Believe you In places like these you can Of Course find some Jinns & Scary Ppl.
    My uncle used to work at places like these.
    & he told us a lot of Scary stories that happened with him!,

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