Last week, I was driving a fleet vehicle on a project site. I started on a paved road, then a gravel road, then a dirt road with muddy puddles and a steep incline and steep decline on either side. By the time I rolled the car to a stop, I was sitting upright and rigid, finally understanding the definition of 'white-knuckled.' The road in front of me more or less disappeared in a swath of rocky gravel, hardly wide enough to turn around.
Back and forth, back and forth, a gazillion point turn followed. I jumped in and out of the car to check how much room I had before the edge of the small ravine, and nosed the hillside like bumpers in San Francisco. My other option was to back out, which just seemed impossible.
Years later (more like 10 minutes), I made my way back along a mud road, gravel road, tires finally grabbing sweet sweet pavement. And I laughed at myself after for being so nervous. But I definitely gave a nod to all the random driving lessons my dad gave me in the Sierras when I was fifteen.
Also? I saw like 20 peacocks, including this fancypants albino:
