It was a moonless night, with the temp just above freezing. A thick fog made even the 100 watt driving lights seem mere candles in the wind. Fog drops were collecting a little too fast on the windshield to justify keeping the wipers on intermittent. I was driving on a narrow, snaking 2 lane mountain hiway with almost no shoulder. Trees without end on both sides of the truck a mere foot or so from road. I remembered a line from the book called The Teachings of Don Juan: “Death is just off your outstretched left arm.” That comment had come back to me many times, especially when there was oncoming traffic. Or concrete median barriers. Yeah, death to the left. Tonight there was neither traffic nor barrier. I knew the old-growth forest was very close. But I could see neither the trees nor forest through the inescapable dark. It would be the same even if there was no fog. No one but me on the road for 20 minutes. My company was music from a CD and the ever hiss of wind through the open sunroof.

Behind me was rain. Rain like that from Ray Barberry’s book “The Illustrated Man.” Pounding rain. Rain that filled culverts, washed lakes across roadways. Rain that swept away your thoughts except to feel you’d gone insane and were not just watching the passive and indifferent drizzle. Rain that made you wary. Rain that made you fear. Ahead of me, I’d hoped, was abundant soft snowfall. The weatherman had predicted up to 3 feet of fresh snow.

Between the rain, and what I’d hoped to be a blizzard was fog. The fog had filled in almost as the rain receded. I was happy for the lack of traffic. Oncoming headlights in the fog are the most irresistible. Always starting as an eye catching distraction in the dim grey, as the oncoming vehicle drew nearer, so did the light’s intensity. You could imagine how a deer in the headlights might have felt. The light. So seductive as to obviate you of the danger drawing nearer. Almost pulling you towards it. Yes, death is most certainly just off your outstretched left arm. But not tonight. Tonight there was nothing but the inability of even 400 plus watts of light to slice very far through the dark fog. And there was a problem. My dash thermometer said it was 48 degrees outside. Way too warm for snow....

The headlights were enough to guide me along the road’s embrace. The lane markers were apparitions ever fading to the distance. The road itself a dull flat grey quickly fading within the fog to ghostly white. The frequent corner approaching markers were reassurance that the road was there. Miss a corner marker and into the trees, or river, you go.

Despite the fog, going 60 felt okay. Even though the fog hid all of the landmarks, I had a cozy feeling about the rhythm of the road. Knew where I was even though I didn’t. Or so I’d thought.

I’d just finished a sweeping left hand turn at speed. In an instant everything went crazy. The grey roadway disappeared, replaced by shimmering black. Before I could even call upon my mind’s eye to analyze the too briefly viewed change of shading, my foot was heading for the brake petal. Not fast enough. Water hit the windshield with fury. Not drops - bucket loads. Freezing water was coming through the open sunroof. I was on the brake hard enough to trip the brake assist, which in turn tripped the anti lock brake mechanism resulting in a jack hammer like thumping of the brake petal against my foot. The jack hammer under foot was not nearly as fast or hard as my suddenly pounding heart. The instant was an ice pick like stab of terror – the damage all but done before you even know it’s there. The windshield wiper swiped the windshield and gave me just a flick of time to see ahead. The brakes quickly slowed my progress and the water flood diminished along with the truck’s speed.

Then I could see the truck was rolling through several inches of water. There had been a flood. The flood passed over the roadway. The truck traveled through about 100’ of water before I could react. But for blind luck the truck stayed on the roadway and hadn’t drifted right and into the fast moving waters of the White river.

A second later I noticed there was a high water warning sign for oncoming traffic. Long sigh. No harm was done except I’d aged about a year within the last 3 seconds. I continued on my journey through the fog. Driving a little slower....

__________________
...Tracy

'00 ML320 "Casper"
'92 400E "Stella"