TheBanyanTree: Like a Rock

[Jena Norton]

I commute 35 miles to work. Now, to most people, a "commute" brings to mind freeways. city streets, and and traffic snarls. This is not exactly true here in TOC.

My commute is on secondary (or less) county roads and state highways that take you through orchards, vineyards, pasture land, and wet lands (California-ese for swamp).

I've had to wait for sheep being herded down the road, cattle being moved across the road from one pasture to another, loose cattle, and coots walking down the center line and refusing to move. I've had all sorts of fowl fly into my vehicle. I've had to contend with suicidal ground squirrels, coyotes trotting across the road, farm dogs who want to bite my tires, and an assortment of roadkill, usually skunks, possum, and raccoons who failed to yield right of way.

And then there are the tomato trucks. During tomato season, these trucks haul tons of tomatoes from the fields to the canneries. There's always a trail of lost tomatoes along the road as they roll off the trucks in transit. You don't follow too close, because you'll get sprayed with tomato juice, naturally fermented by 100 degree temperatures. And there are those accidents caused when unsuspecting drivers hydroplane on tomato spills on the roadway.

But Friday, I had a unique commuting experience. It was an adventure that made my carpool possible recipients for the Darwin awards.

There's this "short cut" through the boonies named after some rancher. It starts out with you turning off a perfectly good two lane blacktop onto a gravel strewn dirt road. You go down a slight hill and at the bottom is a rocky area where there's water if there's been rain. After that, you go through miles of pasture land, duck clubs, and an occasional house.

Friday, Matt drove. He has this honking Chevy dualie that's about like a tank. We're all a bit giddy because it's Friday and it's been a long week. Dick and Matt decide we should go the ranch road, which they contend is shorter.  I'm game and Dave's snoozing.

Since we've had rain, there is water to ford. But Dick and Matt say it's not THAT deep. Just ignore the big yellow sign that says "Flooded." Dick reminds Matt of another time it was deeper and they made it. It was so deep, they saw a big fish swimming in it. We splash through, causing a mini tsunami, disappointed there are no fish to take pictures of. (Side note: Matt's trying to see how many pictures it takes to fill up the card on his new digital camera. I'm given the camera and told to take pictures of anything and everything.)

We're careening down the gravel part of the road and I'm merrily snapping pictures. With Dick's encouragement, Matt's seeing how fast he can drive several tons of truck without losing traction. Dave's quiet. When Matt sort of skidded a bit, I did mention I was glad I'd gone to the john before we left school. Dave woke up and muttered something. Dick allowed as how the truck didn't have the posi-traction like Matt's jeep and that did make a difference in how fast you could go.

In a bit, we come to another sign that says "Flooded. No Through Traffic." Dick and Matt consult and decide it's doable. I'm taking pictures of water half way up fence posts in a field next to the road. We slosh through that bit of water and Matt's getting cocky.

That's when we almost met our Waterloo, literally.

The road makes a turn and we come upon a small lake where's there wasn't one before. On the other side, maybe a quarter of a mile away, is a UPS truck just sitting there.

It's decision time. If we turn around, we have to backtrack a bunch of miles and then take another way. Having already navigated two water hazards, it is decided to press on.

Matt starts into the water and we're progressing toward the UPS truck slowly but surely. We're leaving a wake behind us. We're almost halfway across. It's at that point Dave notices the fence posts are disappearing under the water and the road is lower than the pasture. We also notice the UPS truck has turned around and the driver is leaning out the door watching us. In retrospect, I'm sure he stayed so someone could go for help.

The water is now approaching the top of the hood. Matt considers aloud if he should back out. A chorus of noes greets this suggestion. I've become the navigator, telling Matt to go a bit right or left, so we stay on what we hope is the road. Dave tells him to aim for the yellow line on the pavement ahead. Dick is giving encouragement. Of course he would--he's the one who got us into this!!!

I look around and decide we're beginning to go uphill. I observe, "Look at the tree over there? See, the water doesn't seem to be as deep." We all become optimistic again, feeling we might survive after all.

 At this point, Dick sounds an ominous warning: "Water's coming in under the doors!" I drag my belongings up on the seat as water comes seeping in. I look at Matt's side and his feet are under water. Dave and Dick describe all the stuff floating up from under the seats and off the floor where the kids usually sit, strapped in their car seats

So much for optimism and my credibility as a judge of depth. 

By this time, we are all thinking of contingency plans. Matt's moaning, "Brigitte's going to kill me!" I've decided the guys can get out the windows, swim to the UPS truck and get help. I'll stay with the truck to make sure it doesn't get stolen. Dave and Dick are wondering how deep and how cold the water is.

Our mantra has become, "Whatever  you do, Matt, DON'T TAKE YOUR FOOT OFF THE GAS!!! KEEP GOING!!!"

There are now tree limbs, errant tumbleweed, and unidentifiable debris in our path. We give Matt no choice but to batter his way through. Not only is water coming up over the hood, but we can see stuff sticking up out of the grill.

Like the darkest hour before dawn, the deepest part is before the slightly shallower part. Dave excitedly tells us the fence posts are reappearing. Water is no longer sluicing over the hood. We feel like a submarine surfacing.

As we drive out of the water and up the little hill to the UPS truck, we become jubilant. Now it's no longer a near death experience but an adventure! We're giddy with relief.

We pull up next to the UPS truck, expecting some sort of acknowledgement of our daring and Matt's driving skill. Instead, the UPS guy queries us with, "You drive through that? You live around here?"

Dumbfounded by these questions, we nevertheless exchange pleasantries while we open the doors to let the water out. I think the kids lost some toys in the process.

As we whoop it up on the way home, laughing and joking about the cruise, Matt suddenly becomes very quiet and thoughtful as I tell them I was so busy navigating that I forgot to record our adventure in pictures.

"Damn! I bet Chevy would have paid something for pictures of us going through the water."

"Yeah, they don't say Chevy trucks are "like a rock" for nothing," Dave opines.




Jena, Full Moon Warrior Princess