The Yellow Splash of Caution

Well clearly I made it out; I am sitting back home now all clean and shiny and doing my best to relate this as honestly as possible.

Back to that last day in camp:  If you recall, I had parked Beagle in my reserved spot (a double spot) but the prior occupants had not left—they were out for the day; clearly intending on returning to their tent and belongings.  Which they did at 6:30PM.  By then the campground was packed; people were everywhere, doubling up in single sites, just trying to make do—no one was going to head back down that road at that hour.  And the camp host was nowhere to be found.  Totally MIA.  But the great thing about campers is that we are all usually pretty laid-back people.

And so when the occupants arrived and gave Beagle a long look, I walked over and introduced myself.  I had seen them the night before when I was scoping out my next spot and they looked like a nice couple, young, with a boy of about seven.  I mentioned that I made a reservation for the spot online and he claimed he did too (not to be suspicious, but the reserved marker indicated that they only had reserved it for two nights, not three.)  In any event, it was getting late and we acknowledged that we were both quiet and thought the arrangement was just fine.  And it was.

Sitting in Beagle after dark I was in a near panic about leaving in the morning.  I seriously thought about walking over to site #16 and asking my welcoming neighbor if I could follow him out in the morning but I knew that would likely lead him somewhere I had no intention of going.  Then I got mad at myself.  Really angry.  I mentally yelled at myself, “Kit, stop playing the victim here!  If you don’t like how you are feeling then figure out what decisions you made to get yourself here and make different ones in the future.  And for now, shut the fuck up and figure out the best plan to get out.”  

That’s like self-love, right?

And this is where I realized one of the best things Alan and I did for each other; we made each other better.  We were far from identical.  Far.  He taught me logic and I taught him emotion and in a million other ways our differences made us an excellent team.  One thing he had that I never learned was Caution.  I would say, “Oh!  That looks like fun, let’s do that!” or, “Let’s go there!” and he would answer, “OK, let’s see how we can do that or go there without either one of us dying or going broke.”  I was our inspiration and he was our caution; the combination brought about incredible journeys. 

Caution is what I lacked on this trip.  So after my talking to, I noted that next time I will be more cautious, I will Google Earth the roads before committing my precious Beagle.  But for that night, the only thing I could come up with to ease my anxiety was leaving as early as possible in the morning in hopes of not meeting anyone else on the road.

And so we left, 7:15.  About five miles into the drive, just before it became super scary, I came upon a logging truck coming up the mountain, empty this time.  Thankfully, it was on a straight portion of the road and he had lots of room to pull over which he quickly did, giving me a little honk-honk as I slipped by.  I hoped that he would radio his fellow workers that I was coming down the mountain.

I was a nervous wreck.  Sometimes things aren’t as bad as you remember, but these roads actually were worse.  There was one spot where a boulder was on my right and the drop to the valley on the left and only enough room for one vehicle to inch through, on a blind curve—I hadn’t even remembered that one.  I really wanted to take a picture but dared not stop.

When I finally (finally!!) reached the end of Hogback Road and saw Highway 245, the first thing I noticed was the bright yellow strip down the middle.  Lines!  A road with lines!  Highway 245 now looked like the Orange County Toll Road, wide and welcoming.  I was so happy!  It still wound around a lot but you could see ahead if someone was coming.  At one point I could see no one coming for awhile so I didn’t bother staying in my lane at all, I joyfully swerved along, crossing back and forth over that wonderful yellow line.  It was so pretty, it seemed to shimmer in the morning light.

Then I heard, swish, swish, swish, swish and thought, “Hmmm, that’s odd, it sounds like I am going through puddles but there is not a cloud in the sky.”  I glanced in my rear-view mirror and saw all that shimmering bright yellow paint splashing up the side of Beagle.

Yep.

Really, it was too much.  I had to laugh.  What happened to Caution?  To top it off, the swerving across the line was something I always did while towing (when appropriate) and Alan never did—he preferred to always be in his lane.

But I will never forget that joyful feeling; I am tempted to leave the paint on Beagle.

 

-K