I'd been working at Zippo for a mere two weeks when I was sent to manage our booth at the Harley-Davidson 115th Anniversary event at Veterans Park in Milwaukee. It was a huge event for us since the festivities were set to draw thousands of Harley fans, whose rebellious nature neatly dovetails with the Zippo brand. Accordingly, we set up a massive canopied booth for a long weekend of outdoor activities. One of the main lures to Zippo's space was our iconic Zippo Car, which is always a popular photo op. The vehicle is made from 1947 Chrysler New Yorker parts, and the cab is designed to look like a pair of lit Zippo lighters. It's fantastic!

We trailered the car to the event, and once it arrived I drove it out of the trailer and across the lawn of the park, positioning it on the grass in front of our booth. We were set for the steel horses to roll in.

Unfortunately, the weather was awful. It poured all weekend, and mud was everywhere. Our staff stayed upbeat, but by Sunday afternoon we were chilled to the bone and ready to go home. I gave the truck driver the OK to bring the trailer into the parking lot so I could drive the Zippo Car across the lawn and load it up.

I slid behind the wheel and coaxed the car to life, which always takes some encouragement. After all, she's an old girl. Once she was purring, I put it into gear and touched the gas. To my horror, the only direction the car went was down into the muck. Less than a month on the job, and I had gotten our priceless vehicle hopelessly stuck!

My initial reaction was to press harder on the pedal. Mud started spraying everywhere. Our team waved their arms at me, yelling at me to stop. I got out to take a look, and my heart sank to a new low, right alongside the car.

Four days of rain had turned the park into a swamp, and our 5,000-pound icon was in danger of bottoming out. Even if I managed to rock and roll it out of its craters, there was no way it would make the boggy journey to the parking lot.

Everyone scattered looking for something to wedge under the tires and keep us atop the soupy ground. A staff hero located two large sheets of plywood, and we laid them in front of each set of wheels. With me in the driver's seat and giving the car a bit of gas, the team managed to heave the vehicle onto the platforms. Then I gently drove the car four feet until it was back on the grass with the plywood behind the wheels. The team repositioned the sheets in front of the wheels, and we repeated the cumbersome process. It took us nearly an hour to creep 40 feet across the marshy terrain four feet at a time.

Just as I made it to the parking lot and prepared to maneuver behind the trailer's ramp, the heavens opened up again – this time so hard I couldn't even see the trailer. But we pushed through. The team stood in the downpour and guided me to the ramp and onto the trailer. We were soaked, but we made it out. That said, Harley-Davidson's 120th anniversary is next year, so I'll probably pack a few extra sheets of plywood.