I haven't written in a while. I've been slightly consumed with personal problems that refuse to go away. I've tried everything short of a pest repellant. Unfortunately, they do not make such a thing that would repel what I need it to. So, to those of you who check out my blog from time to time, I apologize for my absence.
I am pleased to announce that again I have a couple of irons in the fire. Most importantly, I have started my newest novel entitled Ouija which I have completed the first five chapters of and am awaiting some "field-test" reviews on. Like Season of the Sand Devil, it has real strong characters in it that are fighting adversity within their own lives as well as physical and metaphysical obstacles that I hope will make the manuscript plot driven. I am assuming it will take me longer to complete than did Season of the Sand Devil since my time to write is more limited than it was when I completed that project ... not to mention the time both Vicky and I are investing into seeking representation for that manuscript as well as An Ant Named Fly. Something's gotta give sooner or later.
This brings me to the subject of this blog entry which I have yet to get divulge to the reader. I'm glad to be here today. I'm very glad my wife and my daughter are with me. We took a seemingly benign drive to and from the Fryeburg Fair on Friday and on the way home, had a life altering experience that prompted this entry. It brought me back a few years ago to another night with completely different weather conditions where my family and I were all present and things could have gone ... much differently for us.
It was Christmas Eve and I'm guessing 2004 ... maybe 2005. My daughter was very small. We were living up here in the Great North Woods and had devoted this day into traveling south to Rochester, New Hampshire to visit with my mother and my grandparents. I had made a meal up here, and packed it into the Chevy Blazer along with my toddler child and my lovely wife and we set out on the road early in the morning. My mother's apartment was in East Rochester and my grandparents were both staying at the Rochester Manor nursing home. Upon arrival at my mother's, I dropped off my wife, daughter, and prepared food, then set out to retrieve my grandparents ... both bound to wheelchairs ... at the Manor. After collecting them, I returned to the apartment and we spent a few hours together to celebrate the holiday. Everything went well. My parents were appreciative of our efforts and after I had dropped my grandparents back off at the Manor and collected my family back at my mother's apartment, we set off to return to the Great North Woods.
The day had been relatively peaceful as far as the weather had been concerned. However, as we approached Pinkham Notch, things went south for us rather rapidly ... despite our northern direction. As with many of our notches in New Hampshire, Pinkham is unpredictable and since it scars itself between the Presidential Heights on the left and Carter-Moriah-Wildcat range on the right, it has a reputation of offering some of the most adverse weather in the world. We had four-wheel-drive so we simply cut our speed in half and took our time. This of course, is just another obstacle in a very long day to begin with for us. We were all exhausted and still an hour from home ... longer now since the weather was now going to be a hindrance.
We made it through the notch unscathed ... a little fish-tailing here ... a little tail-spinning there ... no worse for the weather ... pun intended ... and arrived in Gorham in somewhat better traveling conditions. It was a light wet snow mix not really coating the roads north of the notch and we were able to resume back to actual speed limits.
However, the clouds smothered the skies, the night fell dark and heavy, and visibility was pretty limited. You know the kind of dark nights I'm talking about. The dark seems to swallow your headlights and the glare of oncoming traffic in the reflection of the wet roads temporarily blinds you until the vehicle finally passes by. There's that slight amount of time that you're watching the white line on your right and praying that there is nothing in the road. Luckily for us ... the moose seem to stick closer to the woods in the winter than do the deer. Of course, there is no law saying the moose will not emerge from the depths and enjoy a lick of salted asphalt from time to time. It's just that deer seem more plentiful than do the moose in winter. Someone needed to tell that moose. On Route 110 North, probably not five miles from our home ... after driving almost 200 miles that day ... finally on the last leg home ... where statistically speaking, more accidents happen to people ... there it was. Travelling the speed limit in the dark, I was taking my chances on getting home to relieve our dog who had been cooped up all day alone, and get some much needed rest for ourselves. The bull moose didn't apear in my headlights until a seriously unreasonable amount of time. He was standing tall and formidable directly in my lane. No other traffic was coming but we were on a dangerous curve in the road which meant if I veered and was wrong about traffic, the results would undoubtably be deadly. Anyone that has had a close encounter with a moose ... or closer encounter for that matter ... could probably tell you that the moose either move or do not. Usually it's the exact opposite of what you want them to do. If you can steer away from them and make it by them without incident, they move into the line of fire at the most inopertune moment. If they decide to move right away ... it's almost as if they decide to charge you instead of running to the side of the road and back into the woods where they'd be safe. If they panic, their hooves betray them and they can splay on the road which is never a graceful or elegant display ... not to mention timely when it comes to torque and vehicles traveling at high velocity.
My wife was in the passenger seat. My daugther was directly behind her in her car seat. The moose was in the middle of my lane. If I had been alone, it would have been a no-brainer. I would have steered hard left, pointing the vehicle towards the oncoming lane and side-swiped the moose with the passenger side of the vehicle and hoped for the best. But I could not use this option and risk my wife and daughter. I had to take a less desirable approach and steer hard right ... pointing the vehicle to side of road ... off into the ditch and the nearby trees ... which we would strike if I could steer through the ditch and not roll over ... if the moose didn't get in our way first and crumple across the hood of our SUV and onto the roof crushing all of us inside ... I cannot say what happened. I really can't. I aimed the Blazer towards the side of the road. I didn't want to. The moose did not appear to be in the mood to move. He was enormous and there was absolutely no way I was going to stay on the edge of the road and not strike some part of him simultaneously. I aimed ... stomped the brakes ... and closed my eyes awaiting impact. This took a mere nanosecond to develop. Understand that by the time I even saw the moose to the time I was contemplating my existence and my family was maybe three seconds tops. This was it. This was not going to end happily even at the slightest of scenarios.
I opened my eyes. The vehicle had come to a complete stop on the side of the road pointing north. I looked in the rear view mirror for the moose and the darkness of the night told me he could still be standing there ... probably was ... but I couldn't see him. I looked at my wife and could see her heart pounding at the wall of her chest. Had her eyes been opened? I wouldn't know. We were past the moose ... still on the edge of the road ... and stopped completely. But I am telling you right now and would testify to any court that there was no way to fit that vehicle in the space I did and not hit something or go off the road into the ditch. No way. We were obviously dead and angels and in denial. We were going to wind up characters in M. Night Shyamalan's next blockbuster. The Seventh Sense. Nope. We were alive and the inconcievable ... incomprehensible ... unbelievable ... had just occurred. A true Christmas Miracle. I bet the moose thought so, too. Dumbass. And the moose wasn't all that smart, either.
So bringing us back to the present time ... or at least just a few days ago, we had promised to take our daughter, now five, to the Fryeburg Fair. What a day. The temperature reached 80 degrees. It was sunny, cloudless, and very, very busy as a result. The kids were off from school ... at least in New Hampshire in the Great North Woods ... to start the long holiday weekend. So ... as a result, instead of taking the busy North Conway route to get to 302 and Fryeburg, Maine ... I had decided we would take Route 113 through Evan's Notch. My wife and I had gone to the fair on Monday ... we were on vacation this week and had hired her mother to pick our daughter up from kindergarten and have a much needed day to ourselves and we had a good time and had actually for the first time ever ... drove the exact same route. So we knew how to get there that way and it was an awesome foliage drive through another notch that offered its own challenges. Anyone that's ever been on this stretch of road that snakes along the river in and out of Maine and New Hamshire knows that it's a very narrow road. Almost free of traffic and it offers panoramic scenic views of the foothills in the area. A classic "dugway" road. What's a dugway, you ask? I don't really know, but I suspect they're very heavy. Ha ha ha! Sorry. I couldn't resist. For those who really do not know ... a dugway is an area of travel ... be it path, road, trail, whatever, that has a high precipitous ledge on one side and a steep declination on the other ... generally running down to a body of water ... but not always. In other words ... its usually a road (et al) carved on the side of a mountain.
We chose this road on purpose. We chose it to stay away from the mainstream routes that all others would undoubtedly be taking on that day. And our plan worked out marvelously. We made a "Dora the Explorer" map for our daughter on how to get there. <add your own impression of the Map in Dora's backpack here> "Tell Dora ... to get to the Fryeburg Fair ... you have to go through the Spooky Forest ... then you have to go by the Scary Houses ... and that's how you get to the Fryeburg Fair. Spooky Forest, Scary Houses, Fryeburg Faaaaiiir! Spooky Forest, Scary Houses, Fryeburg Faaaaiiir!" Oy vay. Hey ... it made my daughter laugh.
We arrived at the Fair and enjoyed a splendid day as mentioned. Cotton candy, rides, animals, apple cider, kid shows, balloon animals, pizza, lemonade, countless bathroom stops ... the works. Got sunburned. Fun times. The sun took a lot out of us. The crowd took more. We spent about 4 1/2 hours there. It was very busy so walking was very labored ... getting anywhere you were attempting to very challenging. The Grande Finale was a planned visit at a tent display we had seen on Monday where a child could build their own bear. It wasn't "Build-A-Bear" but it was close and we had browsed it and decided this was how we were going to end her day and she was going to be able to take home a friend of her own creation. She would choose the animal shell of her choice, stuff it herself, (with the merchant's assistance) and choose an outfit to dress it in. It came with the birth certificate and the works. It was giant success and we hit the nail on the head with the hammer for choosing that for the finale. She was as tired as we were after the few hours we were there. We headed back to our Blazer ... the very same vehicle that survived against all odds that Christmas Eve night a years years back ... with nothing in our minds except the reflections of the day and getting home on this beautiful, sunny day to relax and enjoy the rest of it together.
Enjoying the peaked foliage filled ride on the fourth time we've ever been on Route 113 and only the second time in the northern direction ... everything seemed as it should be. Quiet, peaceful, the temperature had cooled off slightly and all our windows were open enjoying the fresh air ... the smell of balsam firs and evergreen trees in the contrast of the colorful deciduous trees. Picturesque ... perfect ... all our troubles seemed so far away ... can you hear The Beatles? No moose. No deer. No raccoon. No wandering fugitive livestock ... maybe a scurrying squirrel from time to time. That was the extent of it.
The road is narrow. It has a speed limit of 40 MPH in most places and anyone that's ever been on this road knows what I'm talking about when I say that an oncoming car in the opposite direction will make both of you slow down as you pass by each other. A large portion of the road is closed in the winter unmaintained. You can tell why driving on it in July, let me tell you. My wife and I were discussing fast food as an option to not having to cook when we got home. Something we didn't realize we were taking for granted. Getting home, that is.
Around a particular corner ... not all that sharp ... maybe I was pushing the accelerator to 45 MPH ... speed demon that I am ... it came out of nowhere. What was it, you ask? I'm going to ask this question first. What in the fluff was this vehicle doing on a road like this to begin with? And if that wasn't the worst of it ... there were two of them seperated by a regular car in between and they were traveling much faster then 40 MPH and much faster than I was going my self. An eighteen wheeler. Again, mere seconds of reaction time allowed to me from the time I saw it, the time I realized he was taking up half my bleeping lane, and the to realize that I didn't have enough bleeping room for our vehicle. Not just one speeding eighteen wheeler taking up a lane and a half, but two of them with a car in the middle all riding each other's asses and everyone of them bleeping A-holes were taking up half of our lane. My wife and child again in the car with me. No room. No time to react. Let's talk about the sonofabitch that invented "anti-lock brakes" for a moment, shall we? Maybe in some larger scheme of things somewhere else in the world at paticular points in time, this invention seemed like a viable option. So popular an invention this was, that every automobile manufacturer in the world adapted it to their product. I've been driving since I was 16-years-old, people. That's 28 years of experience for me to assume that I know for a fact that when I stomp on my bleeping brake, it's largely due to the fact that I indeed desire the outcome of my brakes to lock up. You see ... my vehicle making that decision for me at crucial times as ... say ... an eighteen wheeler in your lane coming at you and you want to stop really quick ... and being denied that ability because of this "anti-lock" brake feature on your vehicle is somewhat frustrating. I didn't close my eyes this time. I will say that it was another curve we were on with a narrow bridge we were both vying for a piece of ... hmmm ... I wonder who won that battle. The edge of the road was a washout before the bridge from some distant storm that had been ignored by repair crews. That didn't matter anyway. Even if I could steer into that and strike the bridge, we were certainly going to have a head one collision with the side of a mountain and still be sideswiped by the speeding convoy ... who in my opinion should not even be on this road to begin with ... what happened to weight limitations, people? How about WIDTH limitations!
Saturday morning's paper would undoubtedly feature the untimely demise of my family and I as we hit the mountain head-on and were sandwiched further into it by a stampede of mammoths. As I said ... I didn't close my eyes. I cursed "anti-lock brakes" this was the second situation that I've been in with this vehicle that locking my brakes up would have been beneficial for a more desired outcome. Again, the vehicles passed by and again against all odds, we found ourselves on the edge of the road after the incident, unscathed. Not even touched. No way. There was no way we just survived that without incident. The Eighth Sense by M. Night Shyamalan. Holy mother of Pete. Now I know what some activists for "anti-lock brakes" are going to say. "See. If your brakes had locked up, maybe it would have been worse and you would have got in an accident." Let me tell you this. I have had one vehicle accident in my life. It was back in 1984, I was coming off a 14 hour shift, I was dead-tired and I fell asleep behind the wheel of my car. I didn't have anti-lock brakes then, and when I woke up after colliding with the car in front of me and I found myself going sideways on a high dry bridge, I locked up my brakes and manipulated my steering wheel to a desirable position and outcome to the circumstances and I did just fine in spite of those circumstances. In 28 years of driving, I have not had the need to "lock-up" my brakes too often. I drive defensively. Ask my wife. Yeah ... I speed and stuff ... but I keep room between my vehicle and the ones in front of me. I do not ride my brakes. When I do slam on my brakes ... it is without doubt the effect that I am striving to achieve. Hearing a groaning grind, feeling that brake pedal fall to the floor, and deny me the ability to perform my driving skills to the best of my ability ... is not what I consider some safety feature. It's a hazard. Anyone else that has been in this type of situation knows all too well what I'm talking about. And yet, we have no say in what our vehicles come with as far as safety features. We are just charge thousands of dollars for these heavy machines slapped together by the lowest bidders with numerous safety recalls and that's supposed to be how it all works.
Anti-lock brakes suck. Maybe they're a safer, more viable option for the idiots that ride the asses of the cars in front of them. I don't know. All I know is what I know. When I step on my brake, I expect to stop and without an argument from my vehicle.
The other thing I know is that someone is definitely watching out for my family and me. Probably not so much me, but definitely my family. Be it divine or otherwise, I am at a loss or words. My wife said she didn't even know we were in that much danger until she felt me trembling as I was taking inventory on my body parts after the near-miss occurred. She said I handled it heroically. I don't call soiling my Fruit of the Looms all that heroic. Yeah ... my tires weren't the only thing making skid-marks that day. But here we are ... still in the world ... waiting for the next time I'm going to bitch about anti-lock brakes and their questionable safety design.
Jody L. Campbell
Posted at: 07:38 AM | Add Comment
