Sharing the Road

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October 2006



The one lane mountain road was dusty, bumpy and getting more than a tad dangerous as I eased the truck up to another stop just before another blind curve and listened for oncoming traffic.

I don't know why I even stopped any more. I hadn't seen an ATC or motocross rider for over an hour. In fact, I hadn't seen anyone for over an hour. They'd all turned around at the first bad wash. I couldn't blame them. It had rained last weekend and the ensuing wall of water had chewed the washes and scoured the traversing roads into a tumbled mass of tangled rock beds.

Even so, I wasn't taking any chances as I listened for fellow travelers.

It was dead quiet except for a small plane overhead. I looked about the truck's interior and saw what two hours of mountain road driving would do. The fine, desert dirt had invisibly coated the truck's tan interior and myself like talcum powder dusted on a newborn's bottom. It was everywhere. When I raised my arm to adjust the rear-view mirror, the powdered dirt billowed off my sleeve like slow-motion tornados.

I made it past that curve and many others before stopping the truck close to a rock face wall. The narrow, one lane road was narrowing - yet again. I didn't mind that. I could handle it. What troubled me was how the very narrow road descended five hundred feet to a 270-degree turn before starting a long, slow climb to the north. There wasn't any room for negotiation or a second chance if I made a mistake.

I climbed out of the truck and brushed some of the dust off my shirt while adjusting my cap and eyes to the bright sunlight. I pulled the gallon jug of water from the back seat and took a good swig. It tasted like dirt, but that taste disappeared after a few more swallows.

I replaced the jug with binoculars and scanned the road ahead. I didn't have many options and the few I had, well, I was gonna take my time pondering. I didn't find any trouble spots (washouts and loose scree), but I also didn't find any gimmee areas (wide spots or possible turnouts). Then, to my left, I saw movement.

About a mile away, dust rose from the road as two fellows on quads barreled towards the 270-degree turn. They were having fun and moving fast. They were good riders and held the road like magnets on steel even with camping gear strapped to the front and rear racks of their quads.

I didn't want them to stop, but they needed to know I was here. Heck, I was having fun just watching them.

When the leader made the turn, he looked up and saw me waving my arms. He slowed down, and then stopped. With arm gestures, I let him know I would stay in my truck and his team could proceed past me. At the end of my signaling, I gave him a thumbs-up and he acknowledged by showing me two glove-covered thumbs-up.

He came up fast on the first five hundred feet of road, then backed it down to a crawl as he scootched past my truck. When he was close enough, I gave him a big smile and a farmer's wave. He nodded his helmet in appreciation. His partner followed his lead. When he was close enough, he waved and nodded. I tipped my cap and mouthed, "You're welcome".

He nodded again and disappeared up the road towards civilization.

I put the truck in drive and took the long way home.



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