| Home | Archives | What This Is | Intro | Comments |    

 

(Continued from (Part II))
 
      Some of the towns that we passed through seemed very tranquil as nightfall came. The weather conditions were very calm and consistent -- The hail that once fell earlier was no more, now replaced with big flakes of snow instead.  Smoke arising from chimneys made the evening seem like we were driving through a Norman Rockwell painting.  One would never guess that there was a winter storm located just to the west of us.  We passed through many towns and areas of farmland.  Alex appeared quiet through most of this not saying many words besides the occasional noticing of a pretty house with left over Christmas decorations from a few months earlier.  Once in a while, I would notice as he looked over to glance over at the gas gauge or speedometer.  Other than that, his eyes stayed glued out the window, over the hood, and onto the road ahead.
     We were traveling at a moderate speed comparable to the speed limit, which ranged anywhere from sixty to thirty-five when we eventually caught up to a pack of cars traveling slightly slower.  At the front of the pack was a pick-up truck that was proceeded with two passenger automobiles.  They seemed content traveling at this speed linked together like a train. The pick-up truck looked big enough to be a four-by-four.  I could not recognize the make of the car that followed directly behind the pick-up truck, but it looked foreign; European, like a Volvo or a Saab.  Our headlights shined on the back of the car directly ahead of us -- A rusty beige Oldsmobile station wagon, manufactured sometime in the seventies.  It looked like the predecessor to the station wagon model with the fake wood paneling on the side.  The back door was full of scratches probably through years of usage.  I wondered how many families had owned that vehicle.  As this day progressed, I grew a little bit impatient and felt the need to make up for some lost time, but following the pack of cars for a while allowed for some brainless driving activity.  We traveled through a few more small towns.  We slowed down to thirty or thirty-five going through them, and proceeded back up to fifty to fifty-five the other times.
     Route 209 progressed into a wilderness area and the road seemed to narrow.  Along the roadside where the houses usually were was now filled with plentiful trees.  There was no evidence of farmland anymore.  The shoulder of the road had disappeared and the absence of street lamps or external light sources was very noticeable.  We passed up to a wooded sign that read something about a state park.  Alex and I looked to each other in curiosity, and I grew a little nervous as to where we were.
     “Could you take out the map for sec?” I asked him.
     He retrieved the map from the back seat and unfolded it once again.   Out from the corner of my eye, I could see that he followed Route 209 with his index finger to locate where we were, “Hey Pete?  You are not going to believe this.”  He raised one brow.
     “Yeah?” I questioned.
     “We going into some park.  A state park,” Alex answered.
     “I know that.  That’s what the sign said,” I noted.
     He stated, “…And, it is very big.  I mean, it is very long.  It looks very long on the map.  It looks like it can go on for miles – fifty miles at least.  Well, according to the scale, it looks like it can go on for about fifty miles.”  Alex seemed to grow a little worried noticing the darkness of the outside and the sudden absence of the towns.  I was not very happy about the situation either: But, there were really no other alternatives.
     We traveled at what seemed like a calm conservative pace into the park.  The two-lane road wound narrowly through the curves at some points.  I could forecast when the pace would slow down by the brake lights of the pick-up truck.  The deeper we went into the park, the denser the wilderness seemed.  The night sky was only visible through the cracks of the branches that stood sternly high above us.  We followed closely behind the beige station wagon.  I noticed when the snow accumulated denser due to the thickness of its tire marks.  I had to overcome some of the monotony.  I fell back a few feet.  Noticing the fresh tire tracks in the snow, I tried to match it with mine.  Once in a while, I gunned the engine for a split second to see if the ground conditions were slippery.  It was not.  My tires usually did not spin as the car revved and jerked forward a little up a little bit.  Alex looked to me to see what I was up to.
     Looking down at the tripometer I noted to him, “Well, we’ve gone in about five miles.  Guess we only have about forty-five to go.”  I said as I smiled to him.
     Alex smiled back and continued to look straight ahead.
     “Long day, huh?” I tried to break the silence.
     “Yes.  Long day,” he answered.
     I was looking at Alex when he pointed at the cars ahead of us.  I turned my head.  They all had their brake lights on.  I instinctively stepped on the brakes.  The tires gripped the road beneath the snow and traffic crawled to a slower pace.  We were approaching some stopped traffic ahead where there appeared to be some sort of accident.  As we approached the scene, I could witness that a huge tree had fallen diagonally across the road.  There were two trucks with a small crew of people actively working on the tree with chain saws and other tools.  The tree, originating from a hill on the other side of the road, must have stood eight feet on its side.  From the girth of the trunk, I estimated it to be over a hundred years old.  The workers were working on a wide clearance where some of its branches were, in hopes of creating a passage for the awaiting cars.
     It would seem like we would be there for some time.  I thought to myself that arriving in Rochester at a descent hour was probably not so realistic.  I stop the engine and motion to Alex to bundle up.  Opening my door I step outside.  It feels good to stretch out.  A slight chill lingers through the brisk, brittle air --There was a calm aspect to it.  Large flakes of snow fall from the sky.  I look to the ground.  There are perfect imprints that my sneakers make in the snow.  One could actually make out the word ‘Nike’ from the raised lettering.  Looking toward the front of the line of cars, I could not help but grow a bit curious of the people ahead of us.  Trying not to be noticed, I nonchalantly walk pass the cars of the pack.  A man in his fifties drives the beige station wagon.  He appeared to be of the blue-collar type, as the station wagon is filled with tools and accessories.  He did not look in my direction and seems frustrated at this whole incident.  Walking pass his car and approaching the European car -- It is a Volvo.  There is a young couple of the conservative type; probably going home from an Easter weekend from one of the in-laws.  I glance ahead at the four-by-four pick-up truck that leads our pack, and to my amazement, it is an elderly couple.  I do not know why, but I expected to see a park ranger, or a figure of authority to lead the pack, but instead what sits in the four-by-four pick-up truck is an elderly man and his wife.  From a glance, I could tell he has grey hair and wears a dark flannel shirt, and she has well groomed silver hair.  The accident scene lay just ahead.  I thought to get a closer look but decide to turn around and walk back to the car instead.
     Alex watched as I approached, seeming to query some information about the situation from me.  I motioned to him to come outside.  He zipped up his black leather jacket, opened up the door, and came out.  He noted the climate, “It is nice out,” he smiled to me, waved his hands about the air, and stuck his hands in his pocket.

     An hour had passed.  We were traveling with our pack of cars again led by the elderly couple in the four-by-four pick-up truck.  The crew was able to clear the tree wreckage faster than I thought.  It took them about fifteen minutes to create a passage through the branches.  They stayed behind; probably to clear the rest of the fallen tree.  We drifted along the road at a safe, consistent pace.
     Alex pointed to the speedometer, “We are only going twenty five.”
     I looked down at the speedometer and confirmed.  I looked up at the cars ahead and I could see the frequent brake lights of the pick-up truck.  The weather seemed to be constant – large snowflakes and an accumulation of snow underneath us probably still measuring about an inch.
     I asked Alex, “What time is it?”
     He looked at his watch, “It is 7:30.”
     “You mean we’ve been on the road for about eight and a half hours?” I asked him.
     “Yes.  It has been that long,” he answered non-spiritedly.  Alex pointed to the speedometer again, “Twenty-five.”
     I could tell from his reaction that he grew impatient.  And, I from the pace of the pack of cars, I was impatient too.  I gunned the engine a couple of times to test the road.  The tires gripped and I could tell it was not slippery.  I thought about passing the pack, venturing out, solo onto Route 209.  I drifted back a few feet and noticed that, although snowflakes fell consistently, it did not accumulate as much as it seemed.  After all, it was not slippery wet snow, but the light, soft, pillow-like kind that were pictured in Christmas cards.  I tried looking at the middle line in the road, to see if passing was allowed, but could not see through the powder.  I caught back up with the station wagon and waited to see if there were other options.  I checked with the tripometer, and it seems like we had only traveled about ten miles in to the park.  “You sure it was about fifty miles?” I asked Alex.
     “Yes,” he answered quickly.  He motioned to me and took out the map again, matched his finger with the scale then the length of the park, and reconfirmed that it was fifty miles.  I did not make any decisions at that point and we continued up the road.

     It seemed like an hour had passed by.  To my amazement, when I looked over at the clock, it had only been seventeen minutes.  We continued with behind the beige station wagon, the Volvo, and the pick-up truck.  Weather conditions seemed constant, and as predicted, the pick-up truck hit the brake lights about once every ten seconds.  The speed now ranged from twenty to twenty-five miles per hour.  Feeling a little achy, I shifted more of my weight to the left side of the seat and leaned on my left side.  I tried adjusting the seat slightly forward, but that did not help any.  I looked over to Alex and he seemed comfortable sitting in the same position as he had been with his eyes peeled on the back of the station wagon ahead of us.
     “Okay,” I told Alex, “Here we go.”  I winked one eye mimicking Popeye, “I can stands no more.”  I waited for a long straight section of the road, turned on my left turn signal, and accelerated.  We slid slightly, but the tires were able to grip the road underneath easily.  Alex and I smiled and glanced over at the other drivers as we passed the other them.  The people in the two cars resembled zombies and had blank stares that just looked ahead, not even noticing that we were passing them.  The elder man looked down at us in fear when we passed him.  I grew curious as to why, but did not question.  It took us about thirty seconds to pass all three vehicles.  Once in front of the pick-up truck, he turned off his high-beam headlights, and we accelerated away quickly from the pack, watching them as they got smaller in the rear-view mirror.  I wondered if the Volvo and station wagon would soon follow suit, but did not see any cars gain up to us.  Alex and I traveled in the dark, through the windy turns, on Route 209 solo.
     Alex looked down at the speedometer and said smiling, “Forty.”
     I smiled back.  I noticed it was darker than usual and turned on my high-beam headlights.  The falling snowflakes made it seem like traveling at light speed through space.  Although being very pretty, it caused too much of a distraction and I turned off the high-beams.  To the left side of the road was an upgrade full of trees.  To the right side dropped off like a cliff and I could make out the silhouettes of the high treetops there.  We traveled over hills and valleys in the road cruising at a descent speed.  Once again, we both smiled and felt that our destination of Rochester seemed closer and more attainable.
     Coming over a hill, we never saw it coming.  Neither Alex nor I knew that it was going to be there.  I did not think it was due to the speed that we were traveling at, because spite that, the outcome may not have been any different.  Coming into the focus in the headlights, when it was too late, was a small tree that had fallen directly across the road.  Forgetting about the Automatic Braking System, I instinctively pumped the brakes, but there was not enough distance.  Alex’s hands flew across the dashboard as to brace himself for the impact.  Instinctively, holding the steering wheel with my left hand, I tried to downshift with my right, but had forgotten that the car had automatic transmission.  The tree approached swiftly and smoothly, and I grew fearful with glimpses of different stories of deer getting swept upward and crashing through windshields, and killing the helpless passengers within, upon impact.
     There was a loud crashing sound.  It was blurry for a second as I secured the steering wheel.  Immediately after the impact, I let go of the brakes and straightened the wheel out aligning it with the road.  I was unharmed.  No air bags were deployed.  The windshield was stable after the impacts of a few branches.  Alex sat there in a panic and looked over the front of the car.  “You okay?”  I asked.  There was no answer.  I asked again, more boldly this time, “Alex.  You okay?”
     “Yes,” he answered in a shaken fashion.  He looked about the interior of the car and recentered himself.
     We continued driving forward at a cautious slower pace.

 

(To be continued in [Final])

| B |