|
Message |
| Posted By: |
pancake |
| Date: |
12-Oct-2005-00:16:29 |
| Subject: |
Borrego Pancake |
So I'm sitting out on the deck watching the early afternoon canyon, the ocean far away glittering, tiny cars down on PCH - nothing to do for a couple of days.
"Let's go to the Gorge."
To think is to act. Get the keys, wallet, lock up the house, on our way.
Three hours later, there we are, my fast little sports car and me. I find the familiar sign and turn the car off onto the hard-pack sand - towards Adventure! And a fine Adventure it is: all is well until I steer to the right to check out something or other - off the hard-pack into deep sand, up to the axles and planted good.
fuck.
me.
!
Okay - Plan. It's only a meter or two back to solid ground. We'll just put rocks under the tires and reverse over them.
Okay - next Plan. We'll find Desert Debris to put under the back tires, and then reverse the few meters back to Solid Ground.
Oaky - next Plan. We'll dig behind the tires, make ruts in the Sand, put in the rocks, and reverse the few meters back to Solid Ground.
This plan harks back to an ancient, ancient time - as Pancake has only the tools he was born with - all the tools, none of the common sense - Pancake knows better than this. He kneels beside the car and Digs.
The Wind is here with us. Blustering, questing, searching pervasively - fast enough to pick up a near-continous spray of coarse Borrego Ageless Timeless Gorge Sand, and thus caress my face and arms. Dig dig dig dig dig.
Digging in the Sisyphian Sand.
One trench - one hour. No water. Put in the rocks.
Next trench, on the damn Windward side of the car - another sand-blasted hour. Put in the rocks. Now, we'll just reverse the few meters back to Solid Ground. The tires slip right off the rocks and dig in new ruts. Begin again. No water.
Pancake begins also to formulate the ur-thought that this is how stupid people die, and rightly so! The Sun wests over the rim of the Gorge. It's going to get dark, and cold. No water. More than five hours now.
This time Sisyphus starts digging on the Windward side, just to get it over with first. I have made a bit of progress - about a foot closer to my Goal.
There is a crunching noise above the Winds sounds - it's a tiny little boxy car with four young men in it. Hailed by me, they stop.
"I'm stuck - can you get me to a phone so I can call a towtruck?"
- and, spying an open can of 7-up -
"May I have some of this?" I drink it before I even have a chance to contemplate the act. I squeeze in the back seat, covered with fine dust, scored by rivulets of dried sweat-mud and blood from my raw fingertips.
"My Heavens! child, you do look a sight!!" my Aunt chides me from The Beyond. And she's right, as usual.
Back in Borrego Springs, I buy and drink two quarts of Gatorade in rapid succession, before I can talk. The Towtruck is summoned and we ride back out to the Scene of the Crime. On the first attempt, the rope pulls the bumper completely off my car, lights and all. On the second attempt, the rope, attached to the axle (more digging, but this time with modern technology: a long-handled shovel) has the desired effect, and soon the Vehicle has been pulled in reverse back the few meters on to Solid Ground.
It is now Night. The Wind has never stopped. The TowTruck Driver offers to waive his fees in return for ripping my bumper off.
In Borrego Springs, I buy another Gatorade and tie my bumper back with nylon twine, spice enough wires to get the lights sort-of working, and head my stupid ass back for Malibu and Home.
It is nearing midnight when I drag myself up the Hundred Steps from the garage to the house. I dutifully inscribe the highlights (ha!) of my wretched Adventure in my smirking Journal, and then I sleep.
All these years gone by: now I can display a Wry Grin. For this was how I spent an instructive weekend, all these years gone by.
|
The messages posted hear are those of the specific individual and may not represent the policies of Lila Publishing, the ideas of any other member of this bulletin board community or the teachings of Dr. Frederick Lenz. All copyrights are maintained by respective contributors and may not be reused without permission. By posting on this board you grant Lila Publishing a non-exclusive royalty free license under your copyright to use, store, display and reproduce your messages in whole or in part. All site assets, including these Perl scripts copyright © 1999-2002 Lila Publishing. These Perl scripts may not be directly linked to.
|
Communication Center - Version 3.50
© 1999-2002 Lila Publishing
|
