avalancher
Arboristsite Raconteur
I should have know better, I really should have. The moment the question pops up of, "have you got a 4 wheel drive?" My first words are generally of ingniation with a touch of irritation, and I generally reply, "well, of coarse I got a 4 wheel drive!". After all, any self respecting wood cuttin fool is going to get himself in enough trouble to make Henry Ford roll over in his grave without one. Heck, I reckon I would probably be safer without one know that I think about it.
But in retrospect, my answer really should have been, "well, why would I need a 4 wheel drive to deliver you wood?Where the heck do you live, in Alaska or something?After all,its only November!" But being the mildly retarded wood cutting fool that I am, I simply said, "yeah, I got you covered if its a little slippery out there." and left it at that. And being a desperate wood customer in search of a good wood guy, he left it at that. After filling me in on his location complete with landmarks that included, "turn left at the herd of goats, go maybe six to eleven miles past the pond that is dried up, and hang a right at the red or blue mailbox. I am up at the top of the hill.
It was a bright and sunny day, and as I sauntered down the road, I was cussing myself for not getting around to replacing that drivers side mirror that an evil elm had decided to remove from my door the previous evening. The dog had amused herself while I was quarelling with the curb store owner over the price hike in beef jerky by chewing off my rear view mirror, leaving me with the lone passenger side mirror, and I have to tell you driving that way makes me a little nervous. You simply cant see when chunks of firewood are falling out the back, and I generally like to pull over and take a side street if more than 15 pieces hit the ground before I get out of town. No sense in having a trail along behind you when you are driving seeing as how I owe the feed store $35 for backing into their door the other day.
Now, I must confess something at this point. I do have a GPS unit, and have used it occasionally. But to be honest with you, that sexy little italian gal that made that recorded voice is rather distracting, and I have to admit that on more than one occasion I have circled the block six times just to hear her say, "recalculating...recalculating...recalculating...Avalancher, you are the sexiest guy ever, recalculating..." So anytime I am driving in areas that require a steady hand, concentration, and doesnt have any city blocks to circle around, I just use my vast knowledge of the area. All of which can be probably written out on the back of a walmart receipt. In fact, that is where I keep it. And this day was one of those days. Sheer mountain drop offs, steep hills to climb, and not a single city block to be found anywhere. Going on instinct, my trusty walmart receipt, and a map drawn my Lewis and Clark I headed to the hills to make my delivery.
I never did find the goat herd, the pond was full of water, and the mailbox was actually green, but the address was the same as what he gave me, so dropping into low, I pulled off the highway,passed a few abandoned cars sitting along the ditch, and found myself meandering along a trail that was far better suited to a squadron of squirrels rather than a pick up truck. But seeing as there were a few wheel tracks that were later identified as bicycle wheels, I figured that eventually this road must lead to the guys house. But as I began my accent, I truly wondered how in the heck anyone managed to climb the hill with a car, much less a truck full of firewood.
As I climbed, I realized that indeed the reason he asked about a four wheel drive was not because of mud, but because of the steepness of the hill, and I truly wondered why in the heck anyone would want to live on such a hill. After all, who in the heck drives a Sherman tank just to get home? Guess this guy did. And then the real trouble started. Rounding the bend in the road, I was hardly prepared for the herd of goats that occupied the road, and with a heaving sigh of despair, I ploughed right into the little suckers.
Now, I dont know about you, but I learned as a young lass that when driving on slippery roads, ploughing through mud, or climbing hills, as long as you are moving you just keep your foot on the gas until are either clear of the trouble, but the goats really posed a problem, I harldy wanted to run over em, but I knew dang well that if I stopped there was no dang way I was ever going to get going again, and backing down the hill without any mirrors was out of the question. With a cringe, I kept my foot down, and prayed that one way or another them goats would find themselves out of the way one way or another.
Coming around a bend, to my relief there was a flat spot in the road and with screeching brakes I stopped the truck and hopped out to view the carnage. Peering under the truck, I found to my relief that there wasnt a critter in sight but as I walked back around the bend, to my horror was a single goat dead on the road. It was time to own up to my mistakes, and with a groan I loaded the single dead goat in the back seat of my truck much to the interest of my dog.
I realized that at that point I had to contact the owner and ask about this road, it in fact looked like it only got worse from here on up, but without a single bar on the cell phone I realized that indeed I had little choice but to keep heading on up the hill in the hopes of finding a turn around spot. And climb we did. Over boulders the size of pumpkins, gulleys that looked like the grand canyon, we proceeded on up. And just as I thought my truck, me, or the dog couldnt take any more, I spotted the house.
But in retrospect, my answer really should have been, "well, why would I need a 4 wheel drive to deliver you wood?Where the heck do you live, in Alaska or something?After all,its only November!" But being the mildly retarded wood cutting fool that I am, I simply said, "yeah, I got you covered if its a little slippery out there." and left it at that. And being a desperate wood customer in search of a good wood guy, he left it at that. After filling me in on his location complete with landmarks that included, "turn left at the herd of goats, go maybe six to eleven miles past the pond that is dried up, and hang a right at the red or blue mailbox. I am up at the top of the hill.
It was a bright and sunny day, and as I sauntered down the road, I was cussing myself for not getting around to replacing that drivers side mirror that an evil elm had decided to remove from my door the previous evening. The dog had amused herself while I was quarelling with the curb store owner over the price hike in beef jerky by chewing off my rear view mirror, leaving me with the lone passenger side mirror, and I have to tell you driving that way makes me a little nervous. You simply cant see when chunks of firewood are falling out the back, and I generally like to pull over and take a side street if more than 15 pieces hit the ground before I get out of town. No sense in having a trail along behind you when you are driving seeing as how I owe the feed store $35 for backing into their door the other day.
Now, I must confess something at this point. I do have a GPS unit, and have used it occasionally. But to be honest with you, that sexy little italian gal that made that recorded voice is rather distracting, and I have to admit that on more than one occasion I have circled the block six times just to hear her say, "recalculating...recalculating...recalculating...Avalancher, you are the sexiest guy ever, recalculating..." So anytime I am driving in areas that require a steady hand, concentration, and doesnt have any city blocks to circle around, I just use my vast knowledge of the area. All of which can be probably written out on the back of a walmart receipt. In fact, that is where I keep it. And this day was one of those days. Sheer mountain drop offs, steep hills to climb, and not a single city block to be found anywhere. Going on instinct, my trusty walmart receipt, and a map drawn my Lewis and Clark I headed to the hills to make my delivery.
I never did find the goat herd, the pond was full of water, and the mailbox was actually green, but the address was the same as what he gave me, so dropping into low, I pulled off the highway,passed a few abandoned cars sitting along the ditch, and found myself meandering along a trail that was far better suited to a squadron of squirrels rather than a pick up truck. But seeing as there were a few wheel tracks that were later identified as bicycle wheels, I figured that eventually this road must lead to the guys house. But as I began my accent, I truly wondered how in the heck anyone managed to climb the hill with a car, much less a truck full of firewood.
As I climbed, I realized that indeed the reason he asked about a four wheel drive was not because of mud, but because of the steepness of the hill, and I truly wondered why in the heck anyone would want to live on such a hill. After all, who in the heck drives a Sherman tank just to get home? Guess this guy did. And then the real trouble started. Rounding the bend in the road, I was hardly prepared for the herd of goats that occupied the road, and with a heaving sigh of despair, I ploughed right into the little suckers.
Now, I dont know about you, but I learned as a young lass that when driving on slippery roads, ploughing through mud, or climbing hills, as long as you are moving you just keep your foot on the gas until are either clear of the trouble, but the goats really posed a problem, I harldy wanted to run over em, but I knew dang well that if I stopped there was no dang way I was ever going to get going again, and backing down the hill without any mirrors was out of the question. With a cringe, I kept my foot down, and prayed that one way or another them goats would find themselves out of the way one way or another.
Coming around a bend, to my relief there was a flat spot in the road and with screeching brakes I stopped the truck and hopped out to view the carnage. Peering under the truck, I found to my relief that there wasnt a critter in sight but as I walked back around the bend, to my horror was a single goat dead on the road. It was time to own up to my mistakes, and with a groan I loaded the single dead goat in the back seat of my truck much to the interest of my dog.
I realized that at that point I had to contact the owner and ask about this road, it in fact looked like it only got worse from here on up, but without a single bar on the cell phone I realized that indeed I had little choice but to keep heading on up the hill in the hopes of finding a turn around spot. And climb we did. Over boulders the size of pumpkins, gulleys that looked like the grand canyon, we proceeded on up. And just as I thought my truck, me, or the dog couldnt take any more, I spotted the house.
