The Mountaineer

The pilot vehicle led the column of cars along the outside lane of the road, where oncoming traffic would have come from, had the inside lane not been closed. After gradually rounding the bulk of a mountainside for near a mile, they came to the area of the rockfall. John expected to see a couple small baseball and basketball-sized rocks. However, he was surprised to see two blocks of rock that were more than waist high, had he been able to stand next to them. A third boulder was as tall as John, and twice that wide. The massive boulders waded amidst a pile of rubble that scattered out from the mountainside and across the road. Wow. I wouldn’t want to be in their path when they came down! He skirted around orange cones that marked the area off.
Just fifty yards past the first rockfall, John and the other vehicles had to navigate around another barricaded area. John assumed both of the rockfalls originated from the same spot up the mountain, but ended in the two different places.
This time, they had to go around the fallen boulders by passing on the inside lane. The boulders had demolished the outside lane on impact. John thought it looked as though a mythical monster had taken a few jagged bites out of the edge of the pavement. As they squeezed between the mountain’s wall and the pulverized section, he felt the churning of dirt beneath his tires. A coating of sand and pebbles were the remains of larger rubble that heavy machinery had cleared from the inside lane earlier to make it passable.
Seeing how dangerous the force of those boulders could be, John leaned forward to look up to his right. What if there were more coming down!? He pictured how useless the metal shell of the car would be compared to the blow from a boulder like that. He was surprised the park service allowed anyone to go through the pass at all. I suppose there is never a perfectly safe time to drive through the mountains. They probably can’t predict when it’ll happen. He reassured himself by thinking how rare such a rockfall must have been. It’s probably like getting struck by lightning. It’ll never happen to me… one in a million. John was content with that conclusion.
With the badly damaged road and substantial snow in the forecast, John wondered if the park service would close the pass for winter, and wait until spring to begin the considerable repairs. Wow! I could be one of the last people to go through this pass before spring!
Still following behind the matching Mercury Grand Marquis, and the other vehicles, John rounded several sharp curves and hairpin turns. The blue van was trailing behind at a slower pace. As they continued their ascent into the heart of the Rocky Mountains, John wondered if they were getting close to the continental divide, where the continent’s natural boundary determined whether the waters would flow out to the Pacific Ocean, or southeast to the Gulf of Mexico. John imagined two raindrops landing just feet apart, one on one side of a ridge, and one on the other, yet both were destined for completely separate journeys to completely separate oceans. The fact it could be pinpointed where entire rivers were born fascinated John.
John’s mind wandered from thought to thought as flurries began to fly again. The snowflakes sped toward him like little stars, as if he were traveling through space at an impossible speed.
The fallen rocks had made John grip the steering wheel tight. He thought of what his dad called that sort of driving. White-knuckle driving, huh dad? He hadn’t realized it, but he was driving nervous. However, the flurries were a relief compared to driving below a ledge that had just coughed up gigantic rocks.
The mesmerizing current of snowflakes put John into a focused trance. His mind rested thoughtlessly as the mountain beauty was whitewashed from view.
Suddenly, he was jolted to reality as he felt his wheels slip on the pavement. They caught their grip right away, but John was surprised by it. He then remembered what Pops told him about the bald tires. He figured the flurries must have made the road just wet enough to become slippery. Nervousness resurfaced and John returned to an even whiter-knuckled grip. He made the decision to slow down slightly, even more than before, around the sharp turns. The other Grand Marquis was getting further ahead, but was still within sight. The blue van continued to keep pace at a safe distance behind him.
John let off the gas as they came to another sharp turn. His mind slipped back to a former thought. So, should I play hockey or football? As the cars ahead of him went around the bend, they were lost from view behind a wall of trees and rock. He didn’t want to fall too far behind, or slow the van behind him, so he did his best to keep up. If I play football in the fall, I will have the rest of the winter to try another sport too. I would even have time to play pickup hockey. Plus, so many of my friends will be playing football... He kept weighing the positives and negatives for each sport. John always had fun playing pickup games with his friends, but he knew how much one could improve with a good coach, and the disciplined practice of an organized sport. Maybe I could squeeze football and hockey in if Mom and Dad would let me.
At once, John’s wheels lost all traction. No matter how much he turned the steering wheel or applied the brakes, he continued on a straight trajectory off the road’s curve. He could feel the tires vibrate as they tried to grip the pavement, but they were too old and worn. The front wheels jumped from the shoulder onto a steep slope of muddy dirt and rock, followed quickly by the rear end. The front wheels landed hard, and sprung back violently into the air. The thumping sound of John desperately pumping the brakes