My commute is not for the feint of heart. If not for the two lane switch back mountain road that has a raging river on one side and craggy mountain walls and cliffs on the other, it might not be as interesting. Beauty in this case comes with a price. Upon entering the canyon, a sign warns the intrepid traveler of the current death toll. Over four hundred lost in the river and many more roadside flower arraignments memorialize those who went over the cliffs. One recent story got my attention as a couple of weekend Harley aficionados got the scare of a lifetime. Coming down the winding road the driver suddenly slumps, suffering a stroke or cardiac arrest. The quick thinking backseat passenger reaches over her husband and grabs the steering wheel and successfully brakes and steers them to a safe spot. I shudder to think what could have happened. This morning we stop and pull over when I spot something out of the corner of my eye. A car is bobbing
in the river as wave after wave tries to drag it under the powerful rain swollen current. I tell my fiancée to call 911 as I bound out and scramble down the bank. No one inside I conclude just as Connie hollers "no service", which is spotty at best in these parts. My hopes for a rescue are plummeting as she asks "what are the orange cones and police tape doing up here?" I shake my head realizing we are a little late and the accident most likely happened earlier with plans to get the vehicle out postponed evidently. Somewhat relieved we continue to work in Bakersfield, California.