Home Cummins, Part 2

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Retrospect: Mid-September 2006
Continued from Part 1 (for logical reasons) . If you haven't already done so, please read Part 1 posted below or you will miss the flow of the story.
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There is a reason why I believe in unseen benefactors. While this could not be considered one of their most spectacular saves in my experiences so far, it stills deserves noting.
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When the front wheels broke through the berm as though it wasn't even there, we both closed our eyes, at least on a psychological level. The nanosecond functions of our analytical brains told us that the mass, inertia and lack of friction would make our plummet into the raging wash below a guaranteed result of physics. We were toast.

The front wheels slid completely over the embankment and then the truck simply stopped dead. It took a moment for either of us to acknowledge this strange stay of the inevitable, finally voiced by simultaneous gasps of relief. When both of us returned to normal damage control thinking, I volunteered to get out and apply reverse force to aid any traction the rear wheels might still have.

I stepped out in my 'go to town' shoes and immediately had my feet slip out from under me so that I was at a 45 degree angle to the road, held there only by the grace of a hand clutching the bed of the truck. It was obvious that I had no more traction than the truck did. Despite my new frustration and despair, Mark decided to give reverse a try after I slid myself and my mud-caked shoes back into the cab. How the truck managed to gain traction with the remaining two wheels and free itself on the first attempt still defies all logic but it did.

We made it to the intersection at the second nearest neighbor's house and were tempted to ask them for lodging for the night but remembered that we saw their parking lot full of visitors' cars when we first passed by. So ... we took the turn towards the bridge and what unknowns lay beyond.

There were blessings to be had in that the two washes which lay beyond the bridge had not collected enough rain to run yet. I suppose this could be called a blessing in that this allowed us to commence 'the goat path' run. To imagine this 'road', remember back to the Roadrunner cartoons and the precipitous paths carved into mesa walls where the coyote always met a semi head-on. No, those depicted super-highways in reality. This is a one lane dirt path with climbs, falls and turns so tight that you expect to see the truck's rear-end as you swing back sharply into the skirt of the mesa. The other option is a 30 foot fall into the creek below.

To make the drive more challenging, the rain run-off not only turned the clay into slime but brought down boulders to obstruct the path. There were occasions when I would have sworn that we would leave paint on those boulders as we squeezed by. In this two mile run, the terror of hoping for traction on the steep climbs and again for the steep descents into sharp turns had drained us of all the adrenaline that either of us possessed. Numb floating sensations in the limbs and shallow breathing had become normal now.

I heartily thanked our unseen friends as we finally dropped down into the canyon flats again. We both knew that only one more wash crossing and a few less harrowing rim rides lay between us and home-sweet-home. After a few more fish-tailing blasts through boggy spots in the road, we finally made it to the last wash. We stopped at the top of the approach and rolled down the windows to listen. What we heard sounded like wild applause at Carnegie Hall; the creek was running full and hard. We stepped out long enough to confirm that we were now stranded in place. Despite the seasoned advice that a couple of hours waiting would see the washes slow enough to cross, the creek did not die down that night and so we settled in to our predicament. The black hood of night descended and the temperatures dropped rapidly ... and the rains persisted, everywhere, it seemed.

Eventually we realized that neither of us had eaten that day in the rush to pick up this new truck. I hauled the meager bag of sale groceries into the front seat. "Tonight's menu consists of, uhm, this package of ham, this loaf of pumpernickel and ... these itty bitty pecan tarts!" The prospect of sand dry sandwiches prompted Mark to ask "Anything to drink, I hope?" "Yes! I also bought a case of beer! Mind you, they're 'shelfer' warm. That okay?" As though we had other options. And so we had our cab front supper and talked as though we were comfortably home in the Rat. The warm beer helped lighten the mood but also caused several exits for relief. Each time we did the dreaded potty run, we returned with another pound or two of clay on our already cemented shoes but grateful that we had not lost balance in the ooze and fallen down. The dealer's paper floor mats were soon stuck to our shoes permanently, impeding the comfort factor considerably.

It was around midnight when we abandoned all hope to still make the crossing before morning. The creek had shown no signs of calming at all and the rains kept coming down. We gathered our light jackets over us and pushed the seat backs as far down as possible. And I thought of Brou, the poor young pup who we had left outside since we would be back soon enough. I ached at the thought of him surviving his first night out alone in the company of rains and crashing thunder and, forbid the thought, the coyotes.

With such concerns on my mind and the plummeting temperatures, I would awake shivering and chattering from a cramped and fitful nap every few hours and nudge Mark to start up the truck for more heat. This was going to be a very long and torturous journey to morning, resting in this very place which the native peoples will not venture through after dark.

To be continued
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Humor of the day: It may seem odd to include humor in this post but you fellas will appreciate it given that Mark had to navigate the goat path with 'the help' of a passenger. (sent in by buddy Jim in upstate NY)
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A wife was making a breakfast of fried eggs when her husband burst into the kitchen.

"Careful"' he said, "CAREFUL! Put in some more butter! Oh my GOD! You're cooking too many at once. TOO MANY! Turn them! TURN THEM NOW! We need more butter. Oh my GOD! WHERE are we going to get MORE BUTTER? They're going to STICK! Careful . CAREFUL! I said be CAREFUL! You NEVER listen to me when you're cooking! Never! Turn them! Hurry up! Are you CRAZY? Have you LOST your mind? Don't forget to salt them. You know you always forget to salt them. Use the salt. USE THE SALT ! THE SALT!"

The wife stared at him incredulously. "What in the world is wrong with you? You think I don't know how to fry a couple of eggs?"

The husband calmly replied, "I just wanted to show you what it feels like when I'm driving."
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