That’s Life !

^{By Bryan Blake}

                                                              

The boy’s hands were sweaty as he gripped the wheel. He passed a semi on the two-lane road and made it back into the right lane just as he headed up a long hill with a double line. Relaxing and leaning onto his door, he took control with his right hand at the top of the steering wheel and pressed his foot down on the accelerator. Although the speed limit was sixty, he didn’t let up until the speedometer read sixty-six.  

  Six miles over the limit, I won’t get a ticket for that. Besides, I’m a good driver.    

The father rode in the passenger seat with his fingers laced together over his right knee. He bit his tongue to keep from speaking, checked his seat belt, and leaned back against the headrest. Finally, when he couldn’t hold it any longer, “Better take it easy,” he said, “it’s a two lane road. We’ll be starting into the mountains very soon.”

  I’ve been driving for over a year and he still thinks he has to tell me how to drive.

The boy’s mother and little sister rode in the rear seat.

“Now Daddy,” the mother said in a somewhat bitter tone, “you know how you jump onto me when I backseat drive. Give the boy a break, he’s a good driver.”  

“I’m not being critical, just want to help. The boy needs to learn. Better keep both of your hands on the wheel, these mountains can be dangerous.”

 He thinks he’s the only one in the world that knows how to drive. When will he shut up?   

“A blind curve just ahead, better slow up a tad, you never know what’s around the bend.”

“Yes, Pop! I’m staying on my side of the road,” The boy said as he powered into the curve. “Can’t you leave me alone and let me drive? I’m a good driver, one of the best in my class.”

“You’re drifting over the line! Keep your eyes on the road ahead,” the father cautioned. “You watch the road, we’ll watch the scenery.”

All he does is find fault. I’m sick of it.

“Daddy! Leave the boy alone. He a perfectly good driver,” the mother admonished.

The boy continued to take the curves faster than he should have, climbing higher and higher into the mountains. They would soon be up to the snow line.

Being one of the most beautiful spots in the world, Dinky Creek is located in the High Sierra’s and the only route in or out was over the Toll House Grade, which was famous for its horseshoe turns, steep grades and high elevations.

The family had been stuck behind a two and a half ton straight truck loaded with horses for far too long to suit the boy and he couldn’t wait to pass. At the first opportunity, he goosed the Buick Roadmaster, and roared around the truck with ease.

The Buick was like an army tank, big, heavy and with enough power to move as though it were a sports car.

“Look!” the little sister said, “snow, I’m going to make snow balls.”

The weather had gone from sunny to overcast, and as they climbed, snow flurries filled the air. Traffic being light the boy pressed on in a hurry to reach their favorite toboggan area.

The boy’s father bit his tongue and wrung his hands nervously, and then leaned back and closed his eyes—tight.

They topped a summit where the road leveled for a couple miles then went down grade for a few more before the final stretch, which was a six percent grade for about five files. 

The boy had been waiting for this chance. He stepped on the gas and sped around a long string of cars, and then let up as he entered a curve at the bottom of the grade. The road curving to the right was sharper than expected and the Buick crossed the center line. The boy’s father grabbed his knees and tightened his eyelids.

The boy panicked and slammed on the brakes in the middle of the curve. The Iron Monster quickly switched ends and shot off the road leaving all the occupants in a confused panic.

The boy’s mother screamed at the top of her lungs while the little sister mimicked her mother, only at a higher pitch. 

The car was now moving backward down the mountain and the boy assumed he must have knocked the gear lever into reverse. In his moment of panic he pushed the lever up and with a bang, he was sure it was in park, he pushed on the brakes as hard as he could. Inadvertently his foot was on the accelerator and the Buick was now in reverse. The tank raced down the hill backward at top speed until it reached the bottom of the gorge, crossed a stream and continued up the opposing mountain, where it finally came to rest, balanced on top of a huge boulder. The Buick rocked forward and backward but rear wheels never making contact with the surface of the rock. Without traction, the Buick teetered on the rock, wheels spinning and the engine roaring. 

The boy’s father still had his fingers laced together and eyes closed. The boy’s mother screamed at the father, “Why didn’t you help the boy?”

“It ran away,” the boy screamed,  “it wasn’t my fault,” “I had my foot on the brakes but it wouldn’t stop.

Little sister shook with fear and held onto her mother crying. “Mommy, Mommy, hold me Mommy”

“It wasn’t my fault,” the boy asserted again. “It’s this old car, I told you to buy a new one. I was doing fine until it went berserk.”

“I’ve been after you for a year to trade this old thing in on a new one, “the mother said sarcastically.

“Daddy never listens does he Mommy,” Little Sister said, looking up at her mother.