Take The Long Way Home

Had a chance this past week to see some parts of Oregon that I’d never seen before. I suppose that was nice but it wasn’t really a planned outing so it was a little aggravating too.

I’d gone to my son’s house to help him with a project and was returning home. I’d made it only about forty miles when all traffic was routed off the freeway. The sign said “Road Closed” with no explanation as to why. Heading back to the nearest truck stop, I went inside and learned the road was shut down due to fire. There was no estimated time of re-opening.

I waited for a half an hour to see if they would update the travel information and when they did not, I decided to use an alternate route. Sometimes a wildfire can keep a road closed for days and I wanted to get home. When I started my pickup, the people parked beside me—with Kansas plates on their car—perked up, asking if the road was open. I said no and told them I was going around. Immediately, they wanted to know how far it was to take the other road and if they could follow me.

I said I had no problem with them following me and when I told them it would add about 125 miles to get to the next town, a town that was only 65 miles down the freeway, they seemed excited. But when I clarified it would take about three hours due to switchbacks up and down the mountains, they didn’t seem so thrilled.

“Could be longer too, if you get behind someone going slow, there ain’t a lot a room to pass up there. It the vehicle in front is going ten miles an hour, everybody will go ten miles an hour.” I didn’t want them blaming me when their trip turned into four hours or more.

They eventually decided against taking the detour. “We’ll just wait for the main road to open. This is our first time in the mountains,” the guy explained. “I’m not comfortable driving on a mountain road with switchbacks. Especially one I’ve never been on before.”

I said okay and took off.

Thing is, I’d never been on the road either. Not all of it anyway—I had been on the switchbacks before. But then, even if I hadn’t it shouldn’t make a difference, one set of mountain switchbacks is about like any other. Of course, I grew up around mountains so it all seems normal to me. For the folks from Kansas, I guess I can see why they’d be leery.

After I got up there, I was glad they hadn’t followed. There were no guardrails in most places, it was getting dark about the time I reached the summit, and parts of the road were needing repair—the sides were crumbling. Not a good place for someone new to mountains and if they’d been behind me, I might have felt obligated to go slower so they could keep up. Then that would have made me a bit cranky. This little detour was already costing me a few hours.

Thinking all this, I was happily cruising along, when ahead, I see a semi. It took only a couple of minutes, if that, to catch him. And then, I followed the taillights of the truck—at ten miles an hour! Yep, ten miles and hour, just like I’d suggested earlier. And that was our top speed! For the next six miles! If I’d known my words were going to be prophetic, I’d have padded my estimate, by 45 miles an hour or so! That would have gotten me home a lot sooner.

As for the people from Kansas: Although I didn’t see them again, the freeway was opened shortly after I left on my alternate route, so I’m sure they beat me to the next town by several hours! Oh, well, I eventually made it home—and got to see some parts of Oregon that I’d never seen before! ~

Bruce A. Borders is the author of more than a dozen books, including: Inside Room 913, Over My Dead Body, The Journey, Miscarriage Of Justice, The Lana Denae Mysteries, and The Wynn Garrett Series. Available in ebook at www.amazon.com/Bruce-A.-Borders/e/B006SOLWQS and paperback on Amazon, Barnes & Noble and Books-a-Million. Bruce A. Borders is a proud member of Rave Reviews Book Club.

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Making My Own Road

With over fifty-five million miles of roads in America, there should be a road for anywhere a guy wants to go, right? Well, you’d think so, but that’s not always the case. Sometimes a guy has to make his own road.

Several years ago, my wife and I were in Nashville, where I was trying to get onto Interstate 24. Normally, that’s an easy thing to do but this day they had construction at the interchange with barrels set up blocking the on-ramp. I followed the detour signs for I-24 south – and ended up going north. Figuring I’d misread the sign, I circled around the cloverleaf and in a couple of minutes, was back where I’d started. This time, I double checked the signs – and followed the same route – right onto I-24 north. Of course, I was complaining the whole time, while my wife seemed convinced that I’d just made a wrong turn – twice. So, we went around again. And again, ended up going the wrong direction. And we weren’t alone. The car in front of us and the pickup behind us were driving in circles too – and they had Tennessee plates!

By this time, I was a little more than frustrated. I could see the road I needed to be on but following the signs did not get me there. Admittedly, I don’t have a lot of patience – about three-times-around-a-cloverleaf’s worth as it turns out. My wife made some remark to the effect that we couldn’t get there from here, to which I responded, “Oh yeah?” Sometimes a guy has to make his own road.

Driving partway around the cloverleaf again, I chose a nice level grassy area and turned. Traveling across the median, the other side of the freeway (which was closed), and then crossing some more ground, I angled the car up the hill, merging onto the on-ramp for I-24 SOUTH! There were none of those pesky police officers around so I didn’t get a ticket. And while my wife thought I was a little nuts, the guy behind me in the pickup must have thought I had a good idea because he followed.

A few years later, I was driving a semi in a major metropolitan area just blocks from where I needed to deliver. All I had to do, I thought, was make a left turn at the next light and go a short distance. But, due to construction (again!), I was forced to make a right turn instead. The flagger assured me that I could go a couple of blocks down and then go around the block to get back on the road in the right direction. “Just follow the signs,” he said.

I did find the signs and the detour like he’d told me – the only problem was, the road went under a bridge marked 9’ 4” and my trailer was 13’ 6”. So, I continued down the road, watching both sides of every crossroad. Low clearance signs were posted on every single one. And then ahead of me, I saw another low clearance sign – I was trapped. But, I didn’t panic. I knew what to do.

On the left, was an empty parking lot – just wide enough to turn a semi around. And with several people from the nearby apartment complex watching, I drove the truck up over the curb, making a circle to get back on the street. Unfortunately, a semi weighs considerably more than a car and I left deep tracks across the grass – trenches would be more accurate.

Arriving back to where the flagger was, just in case any more trucks came by, I stopped and told him about the problems with his detour. He was surprised and apologetic, and then wanted to know how I’d gotten turned back around. I shrugged and said, “Sometimes a guy has to make his own road.”

Bruce A. Borders, author and songwriter, has over 500 songs and more than a dozen books. Over My Dead Body, The Journey, and Miscarriage Of Justice, his latest books, are available on Apple I-Pad®, Amazon Kindle®, Barnes & Noble Nook® and Sony Reader®, Kobo, Diesel Books, and Smashwords. For more information, visit www.bruceaborders.com. See Bruce’s Amazon Author Page at www.amazon.com/author/bruceaborders or view his Smashwords Profile at www.smashwords.com/profile/view/BruceABorders