A drive in the mountains
‘Turn here,” I said. We had been driving on the Blue Ridge Parkway west of Asheville, North Carolina. It was a crisp fall day and the mountain foliage was full color.
“Here?” she asked. “This doesn’t look like much of a road.”
“According to the GPS, it’s the fastest way back to Black Mountain,” I responded.
“OK, but it doesn’t look like the road we came on,” she said in a voice tinged with doubt.
She steered the Toyota on to the narrow road on the left. As least it was asphalt. I thought.
“This doesn’t looked like anyone else has been on the road,” she said.
I chose to not comment on her observation because I was remembering an “unimproved” road in northern New Mexico many years ago. I had insisted that we take said road while on vacation. This was in the very early years of our marriage. It was in the spring after the snow thaw and the road was muddy with deep ruts. The first indication of a problem should have the been the four wheel drive truck we saw abandoned in a ditch. But we continued on until passing by a barricade to a highway announcing that the road we had just traversed was closed to through traffic. I did not need to experience a repeat in the mountains of western North Carolina.
The asphalt on the road only lasted a few hundred yards and was replaced by pea gravel and hard packed clay. The foliage was beautiful as we descended on the winding road.I was expecting to see some turkeys or maybe a grouse. Hair-pin switchbacks were common. There was a build-up of mud in the turns which hid some very deep pot holes. We were moving at a snails pace. Claudette was driving and I cautioned her about the danger f the potholes. On our previous car with low profile tires we had punctured two by hitting potholes. I am sometimes admonished for my suggestions to my significant other’s driving style but this was not one of those times.
“If I burst a tire, I guess we’ll have to call Triple A,” she said.
“I doubt if a cellphone signal can make it out of the mountains,” I said.
“I’ll be careful,” she assured me.
“What was that?” she exclaimed.
“Where?”
“Off to the left!” she said excitedly. “I think it was a bear!”
“I don’t think so. It’s winter and bears hibernate.”
“I before we left home I read in Wikipedia that in the south bears don’t hibernate!”
“Well, if you read it on the internet it must be true…” I said in resignation.
“oh, yeah! Julie said she had found some errors in Wikipedia!”
I dared notcontradict Julie and let the subject drop.
We continued downward. In some places it was a rub board road and I was sure some of my dental fillings were being loosened as it reminded me of a road in Utah. The road worsened as a creek was visible far below. As we slowly made it around a switchback without having to back up she brought the Toyota to an abrupt halt. There was a fallen tree across the road.
“We don’t really need this,” I said. “Can we go around?”
“I don’t think so. I know I can’t and I don’t want you to try!’
I knew I could drive the car around the obstacle but did not feel that it was the proper time to test the strength of our marriage.
As I opened the car door, I said, “I think I can move it!”
“Let me help, you know you have a bad heart.”
“Alright…” I said in resignation. I found a branch from a hickory tree that we used as a lever to move the tree trunk from the road. I took a long swallow from our final bottle of water as we continued down the mountain road.
It seemed as though we had gone only a few hundred yards when I heard the driver make a sound of despair.
“Oh no!”
“What now?” I said.
“The low fuel light came on.” There was desperation in her voice.
“We’ll make it to the nearest gas station I’m sure,” I hoped I sounded optimistic. But I knew this girl could read me like a book. “Let me check the the GPS again.” My good old Samsung S5 displayed the flashing message, “Searching for signal”.
We rode along in silence. I am remembering when I gave out of gas at 2 AM in a Volkswagen bug. But I remind myself that a couple of guys in and old VW had picked me up carried me to a gas station. I glance toward the dashboard instruments. The low fuel indicator light looked like a one hundred watt bulb and was getting brighter.
I remind the driver not to accelerate down hill and maintain forward momentum at a snails pace. A slower speed would use less fuel. We were beginning to see cars and trucks pulled off the sides of the road. We saw no people. I thought maybe we could borrow a gallon of gasoline from someone. We were now on flat land in a valley beside a mountain creek. Fast moving cold water. We passed a campground and decided not to ask for help. After all the low fuel light was not getting any brighter. Eventually, and it seemed like forever, the tires grabbed asphalt and in a few minutes we were in Old Fort, NC. I was happy to see that the gas pump at the first gas station we found had a card reader. I filled the tank and found we had one gallon left. Would that have taken us 30 miles? Nah, probably not. I wonder if It had been a bear?
