During most of the 90's I was living in Japan with an occasional guest appearance in America to see this person or that for a few short days, but spent most of my time eating and drinking all the things I missed from the good ol' US of A. Once every two years I would be sent back to the states for a month or two at a time and one November it happened to be Texas for military training.
I decided to drive up to northwest Arkansas to visit my mountain family. On the way up I grabbed Lori so we could catch up on everything. After a few hours driving through rural country sides we hit the family farm to hang out with the matriarch, aunts, uncles, cousins and a random bearded drifter.
As the hours passed and homemade biscuits and gravy were served we found ourselves in the late afternoon. Dusk was coming over the mountaintop as my uncle mentioned that a snow storm was possibly on its way and we should either settle in for the night or get a move on over the mountain passes before it hit.
With only small windows of time for me to be visiting, no less stuck in the mountains we decided to head out. I couldn't take the chance of being stuck for two days waiting for the plows to come through. After all, the military doesn't give a shit about your circumstance, they just want you at work/school.
As we loaded Lori's wimpy little Nissan up with our bags and snacks my uncle said we should put some weight in the back to help with traction in case we hit some drifts or whatnot. We hunted around the yard and couldn't find anything of substantial weight, just old wood planks, stones, and garbage filling a dilapidated shed. Then from behind the shed near the road we found a concrete block surrounding a manhole. With a crowbar and serious "manpower" we preyed it off the ground and left the manhole cover sitting there looking rather naked. Backing the truck up to the almost 400 pound block we lifted it into the truck like carnies coax an elephant in to a cage.
After we waved our goodbyes I started the truck off down the hill and straight into the mountains with the purples and reds painting the horizon.
It wasn't fifteen miles into the drive and before we even got to the first mountain pass that we hit the storm.
It became apparent the snow had already been falling up there for some time as the roads were covered and the trees looked like negatives imposed on the hulking, black backdrop of cliffs and spires. Minutes driving into the snow and the back end began sliding here and there making the curving roads even more dangerous ...and delightful.
About two miles later we saw a Jeep 4X4 off the road with the occupants still encased. The temptation to stop was high but with the slipping tires and the incline we were forced to hold a quick vote. It was unanimous to keep going for our own safety. I knew that if we stopped it would be an all-niter.
I felt bad for only a minute and then the snow really began to fall and I realized that this was going to be all or nothing.
Every time I decelerated to make a sharp turn the truck tires would spin wildly and fishtailing would last for minutes at a time. With my side of the truck leaning towards the mountain and Lori's towards the white and black abyss it became an old fashion horror movie. We finally came to the first mountain pass. It was marked by steep curves and dramatic drop-offs. Each vision added palpable fear to our internal counters. Lori would continually say "Shane, slow down!" or "Watch out, we are getting too close to the edge." to which I would comfort her with a masked voice of calm and say this is the only way we are gonna make it. I knew we could do it, after all I drove bombs tied to 40 foot trailers over maddeningly bumpy desert floors with movie style deadlines for delivery.
As we rounded another bend on the mountain pass we saw headlights pointing down the mountainside. It wasn't very clear with all the trees in the valley between us and the vehicle but I knew in two turns we would come to an accident. What I didn't know at that moment was that the accident was still happening.
As we came around the edge of the cliff's edge the scene of pure terror unfolded; an 18-wheeler was trying to keep from sliding down the embankment with heavy load and all. The back wheels spinning wildly with that sound only hot tires make when in contact with asphalt while the front end of the truck was already over the edge. The trailer had jack-knifed and was taking up both lanes as it slowly was pulled down the mountainside by its own gravity. Like watching a star being sucked in to a black hole.
Lori was weeping and shaking by this point, and inside, so was I. There was nothing we could do about this. I couldn't help this driver any more than I could help the two of us if we slid off the edge. As we approached the back end of the rig I realized that the road was virtually blocked off by the trailer. The only thing open was the breakdown lane for on-coming traffic. There was a little bit of the ditch next to the mountain side as well. If I drove in to the ditch this would be our resting point until daybreak. A razor's edge...illuminated by red tail lights and the soundtrack of screaming tires.
With much protest from Lori I kept the pace towards the trailer and right before we would have collided with the back of the truck I edged towards the ditch and let the tires grab and hit the gas.The truck bolted passed the trailer and didn't get a scratch...but I couldn't muscle the truck out of the groove in the ditch...and around a blind curve we went.
I don't know if the ditch was filled in or the road was worn down but we popped out of the ditch and back on the road swerving back and forth like a fish in hot pursuit of a fly hovering over the surface of a pond.
I gained control of the truck and my mind stopped screaming at me. Lori hadn't yet...actually it was more like a long and loud whimper.
So on we went.
Down the mountain pass and across a valley, but we knew we had one more mountain pass to go. As we drove along the quiet two lane road covered in thick white masking the sound of tires we almost felt calm again. A long cattle fence off to my right and the edge of large pastures played like a scene from the Flintstones where the same images keep passing over and over. We came upon two more trucks laying in the ditch on either side of the road but it was what came next that froze me with fear. I almost panicked but I knew Lori was barely holding on to herself and would sink into a nervous breakdown if I showed even one crack on my cool surface.
There, in the ditch on the side of the on-coming lane, a cop car.
As we passed it I looked at the undercarriage. Still steaming and black with glints of silver. It had slid off a really steep embankment and somewhere inside a cop was sitting in the passenger seat waiting for help.
Not ten minutes later came the apex of all my terror. It was at this point I realized that we were traveling on the wrong night, in the wrong place. Only my amazing luck, some driving skills, and a bit of concrete had kept us from laying in the ditch somewhere along this mountain, or worse, at the bottom of a mountain valley.
The wreck was still fresh. The lights still on and the back driver's side wheel still spinning slowly.
A snow plow, in all its orange glory, lay at an odd angle at the side of the road. The very snow plow sent to save us all from these dreadful road conditions.
I couldn't help but laugh manically. The same laugh I'm sure Custer gave out in his final moments. Lori thought I was having a ball. She didn't realize that I had the same look in my eyes as the guy standing on the edge of the building trying to talk himself into jumping.
A few more miles and several cars and trucks in the ditch we came to the final mountain pass.
No cars in the ditch!
Finally, some good signs. We had come to the longest and most gradual downhill curve you could ever hope for when you are on a bicycle but fear when the roads are wet or icy. The slope of all slopes that could be a skateboards dream or a runaway trucker's nightmare.
I put the truck in second gear and let her cruise down the mountain.
Hundreds of feet in front of us we watched cars and trucks gently slamming in to each other. A ballroom dance for drunkards. Bumper cars for the insured. Some of the vehicles would slip off into the ditch after making contact. Others would go on spinning in circles as they drifted down the six slippery lanes.
Lights all over like the snow, still visible road, and snow covered mountainside like a winter disco.
As I drove up to the small gaggle of cars and trucks currently kissing metal to metal I made slow and small turns into the on-coming traffic lanes and fluttered past them. I knew no one could make it up the mountain to arrest me for driving on whatever side of the road I deemed necessary so to hell with the laws and hurray for survival.
And then, we were down!
Twenty minutes later I saw the lights of a small town through the snow and then a gas station. I pulled in and without a word got out of the truck.
My legs were shaking so bad it felt like a disease. My hands felt like they were experiencing the onset of arthritis from gripping the steering wheel so tight.
I walked slowly into the gas station and bought a peanut butter Twix and said simply to the guy behind the counter "The roads are bad heading to Harrison. Very bad."
The guy nodded in agreement and said goodnight.
Lori walked in as I was walking out and said something that I can't remember but was probably like "I can't believe we made it." or "You are a crazy asshole and I am never letting you drive again."...or maybe both.
I just remember that I slept deeply and dreamt of lights pointing down in to the blackness of hell and the screams of tires.
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