Thrill Factor

Barry's Nissan truck, in front of Twin Rocks

Last week I drove my old Nissan pick-up from Blanding to Bluff on my daily sojourn to work. As usual I was spending a great deal of time scanning the surrounding countryside and skyline for photo ops. I have taken to carrying one of our digital cameras around for the purpose of capturing images of interest to post on our web site. Fortunately there is very little traffic when I travel this 26 mile stretch of roadway in the early morning and late evening. There are those travelers who intersect my course on a regular basis that are familiar with my wandering driving habits and steer clear of me. When I first started making this trip there was much commotion surrounding it. Blaring horns, flashing lights and raised appendages were commonplace. These days folks simply hug the shoulder or pull off the road completely when they see me coming.

A few miles beyond the bottom of the White Mesa hill I spied an interesting cloud formation surrounding the morning sun. I quickly pulled off the black top. It must have disturbed the California license plate that had been trailing me for the last ten miles because the driver raised a reaction much like those I had witnessed in the past. The gentleman must have retained some residual "road rage" from driving those West Coast freeways. I exited the vehicle and saluted the vengeful character hoping my untainted response would help him on his way to a "happy day". Refocusing on nature's display, I framed the shot and clicked the shutter, capturing the image for all time, in digital format. The whole computerized process still amazes me. I jumped back in "the beast" and turned the key only to hear the starter grind. I was shocked! This old truck and I have traveled 285,000 miles together without a hitch. I sadly let myself out of the truck, patted the old girl on the hood, shouldered the camera and began walking towards Bluff.

As I strolled down the shoulder of the highway I noticed a few broad, toothy grins and gloating looks from drivers traveling the opposite direction. I was also brushed into the bar ditch a couple of times and pelted with gravel from stealth vehicles creeping up from behind. Most of these characters looked vaguely familiar and I am sure that their "come-uppance" would catch up with them someday soon. I was mostly unconcerned and enjoyed the crisp brightness of the morning along with the soft golden light filtering through the flitting clouds. My only real concern was that Steve would finish "morning clean-up" before I arrived. Good excuses are hard to come by and should not be wasted; mops, brooms, cleaning solutions and other hazardous materials are not within my range of computability. Before long a compassionate school psychologist came by and spared me a long walk to work. He was new to the county and had no past experience with my driving habits. Luckily enough I was with him for such a short time that he was unable to ascertain my psychological profile as well.

As Dr. Duke dropped me off in front of the cafe I noticed that my parents had come for breakfast and a short visit; in other words "to shake up the kids". I quickly explained my predicament and requested a tow when they returned to Blanding. My father agreed without hesitation which should have given me cause to worry. I was so delighted to have solved the problem as to how to get my vehicle to the mechanic that I missed a subtle warning. I checked in with Steve and expressed my regrets for not being able to help him clean up the trading post; he mumbled a vague reply and waved me off. I found a tow strap in the back of Craig's truck and climbed in with my parents to rescue my pick-up.

As we drove over the rise and into the dip where my old truck rested I was saddened by the solitary machine parked alongside that lonely road. That old beat up rig holds a respected place in my heart; we have traveled far and had many adventures together. Lately I have taken much abuse for her dilapidated and rumpled appearance. I tell those that criticize that the old Nissan is a lesson in humility for me and it keeps me grounded as to who I am and where I came from. The truth is that she is comfortable; she has always treated me well and is the only female I know that doesn't sass. I slowly crawled out of the back seat of my parents' truck and hooked the tow rope to my disabled vehicle.

Dad tightened the line between the two vehicles, leaned out the window and yelled, "Hold on, I am going to have to swing wide to turn us around." All of a sudden gravel spun out from his tires, pelting my poor old truck and we were whipped sharply in the opposite direction nearly causing me a disabling case of whip lash. "What the heck was that," I yelled at him over his screeching tires, "Slow down." As I mumbled insults in his direction I noticed a maniacal look in his eyes through his side door mirror. I wondered at his abrupt actions and strange countenance as we began to gain speed. We passed thirty, then forty miles per hour and I began to realize that my dear old dad had something "out of the norm" in mind for me.

I quickly found my seat belt, buckled it tight and gripped the wheel with both hands. We passed fifty mph and I began eyeing the tow rope realizing that ten feet of woven nylon did not provide much room for error between two speeding vehicles. All I could see was the rear end of Dad's Toyota; everything else was obscured so there was no way to anticipate trouble or react to course changes. Because the Nissan's engine was not running my brakes were spongy and not gripping very well. As we hit sixty mph I could see Dad's grinning mug through his rear view mirror and determined not to let him see fear in my face. I relaxed my facial muscles, unclenched my jaw and reached over to crank up the music on the radio. I figured that rock and roll might sound different and have more of an edge to it by adding a thrill factor.

As we blew up White Mesa hill and through the small Ute village I wondered where the local constable might be and hoped my old man would earn himself a speeding ticket. I determined to testify against him if it went to court; at the very least kick up the fine by adding my two cents to the inquiry. No such luck; there was not a cop in sight, at least from what I could see from my vantage point. I began to notice a growing pain in my left quadricep and realized that I had my left leg rammed into the floor boards bracing for impact. I couldn't massage my muscle because I was too focused on keeping tension on the tow line and maintaining as much distance as I could from my father's back side.

Rounding Shirt Tail Corner, a few miles south of town, I began to anticipate an end to this "object lesson" my father was handing out. The thought of giving him a first rate tongue lashing or even introducing him to Mr. Boot crossed my mind but I quickly thought better of it. Such a thing would just not be right and it would only give him the satisfaction of having upset me. No, for whatever reason my father was playing this prank I would let him have his fun and catch up with him at a later date. I decided to let the whole thing ride, as it were, and enjoy the adventure as much as possible.

We began a gradual slowing as we approached Montella's Repair, we must have been down to thirty mph when he veered into the parking lot. As we came to a complete stop I breathed a sigh of relief, popped open my door and stepped out of the truck. I nearly dropped to my knees because, not only was my left thigh in a knot but my right calf muscle and hamstring were locked up as well, from riding the brake so hard. I smiled sweetly at my father as I unhooked the rope and walked, stiffly, to the garage office to hand over the key and explain the problem. As I returned to my parents' vehicle for the ride to my house I gave my Mother a "where were you when I needed you" look. The look in her eye and shake of her head spoke volumes. Something like "don't involve me in your petty, male, testosterone driven grudge matches. I winced and climbed into the back seat without a word. As they dropped me off I said Thank You and walked away.

As I climbed into the gently used Toyota Tundra my wife had provided me in anticipation of just such a breakdown, I wondered if I would grow to care for it as much as I appreciate that old Nissan. Old habits and bonds die hard; for this "Daddy dearest" is a lucky man. Maybe I will have "the beast" repaired one more time. Who knows, 300,000 miles may be in the old girl after all.

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