{"id":371,"date":"2006-03-03T05:08:00","date_gmt":"2006-03-03T05:08:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/bobtherieau.com\/blog\/index.php\/2006\/03\/03\/c253575d-ef16-4140-9e26-9ce1eaac5619\/"},"modified":"2018-06-13T01:29:19","modified_gmt":"2018-06-13T01:29:19","slug":"c253575d-ef16-4140-9e26-9ce1eaac5619","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/bobtherieau.com\/blog\/2006\/03\/c253575d-ef16-4140-9e26-9ce1eaac5619\/","title":{"rendered":""},"content":{"rendered":"
\n

Breakdown Mountain.<\/b><\/p>\n

Welcome Race Fans,<\/p>\n

The drive down the hill from the Lodge to San Diego’s Omnipresent Charitable Organization’s Far East Outpost (dude, you’ve gotta think of a shorter name for your new gig. – ed<\/i> I know! The carpal-tunnel is kicking in already! – bob) this morning was icy, but easy. No traffic. No worries. I only hit the brakes to settle the chassis of the Grand Livingroom down on the tight corners. The broad sweepers just begged for throttle-on oversteer. Lift off, settle, back on with a chirp, a forward lean, and power out. Repeat eighty times or so and you’re down in the valley.<\/p>\n

The drive back up this afternoon was something else entirely. Not 1,500 feet up, just past the broad turn out and former glider port called Vista Point, there she sat. Just there around the blind left, cramped against the rocks but still fully in the narrow lane, sat a terrified woman belted up in her late 80s Volvo wagon. I caught her wide and panicked eyes in the Volvo’s rearview mirror as she seemed to anticipate her imminent demise. Her hazard lights were flashing, but she was situated in a terrible place and she was terrified, awaiting her terrible fate.<\/p>\n

My fellow travelers weren’t so willing to allow a canned tuna impression to occur. Some were on the call box, some were turning around to wave off other traffic coming up the hill. Others still weren’t going to wait for the constabulary and had their rigging ready to hook up quickly and move the poor woman out from under the dark hand of certain doom.<\/p>\n

I made my terribly sloppy maneuver around the dead Volvo and stopped at the next turnout to ask if I could help. The older couple at the call box thought they had it handled and I left it at that.<\/p>\n

Did she know the car was dodgy before she started her trek? Who can say? Could she have backed down to find a safer spot to stop? Not a chance. She was in a blind corner, terrified, and who can say that the car could even roll? Might the rear axle have been seized? No leaks or smoke that I could see, but I didn’t spend a lot of time looking. You know, driving, not hitting oncoming traffic, not hitting stalled car, not being blinded by afternoon sun. Yeah, that.<\/p>\n

I lived, and as far as I know she did too.<\/p>\n

Oh, but you wanted a moral. A life lesson. Some sort of executive take-away.<\/p>\n

Fine. Don’t kill people with your car, even if they’ve broken down in the only lane you’re allowed and you haven’t a clue they’re there around the next blind corner. It’s kinda deep if you think about it.<\/p>\n

Your pal,<\/p>\n

bob<\/p>\n

UPDATE: Um, nothing to report yet on my aunt’s condition. Not much of an update except it’s something. Thanks again for reading the junk above to get to this bit. I’m just wasting time until I can post something substantive. Anything.<\/font><\/p>\n<\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Breakdown Mountain. Welcome Race Fans, The drive down the hill from the Lodge to San Diego’s Omnipresent Charitable Organization’s Far East Outpost (dude, you’ve gotta think of a shorter name for your new gig. – ed I know! The carpal-tunnel is kicking in already! – bob) this morning was icy, but easy. No traffic. No … <\/p>\n

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