Also entitled: Why Dan doesn't choose to drive in Humboldt County, California anymore.
This post, from 8 December, 2003, was mostly written within 24 hours of the events described. I'm glad I chronicled them so faithfully, since I have used the description more than once; just 6 weeks ago, I booted up my laptop and re-read the whole experience. The next morning, I sat at the same Fortuna, CA Denny's and told my in-laws the story. It's an accurate account of the nearest I've ever come to a horrible, lonely death on a remote mountain road.
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It is 1:19 AM, and I am one of only two customers at the Denny's in Fortuna, California.
I started this morning in Oakhurst. I had a good breakfast and drove off into fog, rain, and Yosemite National Park. I was distressed to dicover, at the gate, that they couldn't take Visa, so my plan to buy a National Parks Pass fizzled, and I payed an Alexander Hamilton for admission. I briefly visited a lovely grove of giant sequoias, just missing a gang of very cute girls who were pulling out, and drove down towards the valley.
Coming up from Fresno, you go through a tunnel right as you come into the valley. At the tunnel exit is a large parking area, with a panoramic view of the whole Yosemite Valley. Also present were the same girls I saw at the sequoias. (I got a couple pictures. They'll be posted.) There was also a professional photographer, tripods, cameras, the works. But the valley was fogged in. I could see some shades of rock formations I'd seen in pictures, but otherwise nothing. Deprived of the $20 view, I turned my attention to the girls. The pro photographer had just accepted a commission to photograph the whole lot of them when the clouds that were obscuring our view blew away. The whole vista of Yosemite was laid out, perfectly framed in wisps of cloud. I could've died, I was so delighted. I took pictures like crazy, until 90 seconds later the fog filled in again, and the view was gone. Drove down the hill to the base of Bridal Veil Falls, got a photo, went to the bathroom, chatted up a couple of the girls (while waiting in line for the bathroom) and drove on. I leapfrogged with the girls all the way down the hill. Seems like every time I stopped to take a picture, they were already there, or showed up right after me. They looked like they knew where they were going, so I followed them as far as the luxury hotel down there, whose name I don't know. I drove on, visited the visitor's center (A tiny shack, the full-size one being under renovation) and bought a warm hat.
On the way back out of the valley I stopped for some more pictures. Decided to stick to country roads to Sacramento, and got into that city right around dark. Missing my one good shot to get on the freeway, I ended up driving right by the capitol building before I got on I-5 northbound.
It's a very odd experience driving on an interstate after so many hours on a mountain highway. There's a feeling of power when you hit the on-ramp and head straight for 75. I pulled back off the interstate in Red Bluff and headed up Route 36. Route 36 is a very fun drive, and I highly reccommend it. Lots of hills and turns and overhanging trees. I was listening to some old radio program featuring the cast of the Wizard of Oz, promoting the movie. Very enjoyable. I got a little nervous at the top of the pass. There was snow on the shoulders and a little ice on the road. I didn't know if the weather would get worse or if I'd get snowed in. As it happened, it broke again very soon and I was on my way. Until I got to Humboldt County mile marker 28. Or really, just before I got there.
The road was wet, but it wasn't raining. I came around a curve and crested a hill at the same time. Remarkably enough, I was going the speed limit. The road turned and descended at the same time - what the English would call an "adverse camber." At the very moment I crested this hill, I saw a deer.
Bloody deer! I just don't trust Humboldt County deer, you see. So I applied my brakes. And from there on out, it was all chain reaction. I was actually quite a way from the guy. There is a large pull-off area to the left of the road and, since the road turns right, effectively straight ahead of me. The deer was just to the right of said mile marker 28, again, straight ahead of me.
The last factor in this is the brakes. I don't think the Kia had anti-lock brakes. I did think so up until this evening, but if it had them, they sure weren't working. The brakes locked up immediately, and by the time I realized the brakes were locked, I was off the road and in the mud of the pull-out.
There were no options left.
The deer bugged out. I never saw him after that. I took out the mile marker with the right bumper and careened off the cliff. Heck if I know what the car did from there. There was rolling or sliding of some form. I held the wheel and braced myself hard against my seat.
When I was satisfied that the car had stopped moving, I took stock. The car was upside-down. I was utterly unharmed. The radio was still playing Matt Drudge. I killed the engine, turned on the dome lights, braced myself against the ceiling, and released my seat belt. Righting myself, I considered immediate needs. I had no idea whether the car would stay, so I needed to get out quick. But I had seen precious little traffic on the road, so I knew I had to get my cell phone. My laptop bag was lying there, and as I searched, I threw everything useful I found into the bag. I found the hat I had bought 8 hours earlier and slapped it on my head. I finally got the phone, and hauled myself out the back window. I scrabbled up the embankment. The car was 30 feet below me, wedged against the remnants of a fence and under a log.
I made my second phone call in three weeks to Humboldt County 911. (Of course, halfway through the call my cell phone died.) They dispatched a CHP officer and a tow truck, and I stood in the sprinkling rain and waited. 20-30 minutes later a CalTrans plow driver pulled along and offered me shelter, warmth, and heat.
(Incidentally, the guy at the table behind me is regaling the waitress with stories of a local kid who turned out to be a serial killer. You can just rock me to sleep tonight.)
CHP arrived maybe 30 minutes later. I climbed in the back, stretched out, and we filled out the report. The officer's name was Blood, and he claimed to be descended from the illustrious Captain Blood, sometime doctor, pirate, and privateer. I've now spent time in the company of two delightful CHP officers, and one CalTrans plow driver whose name I forgot to get. I'l have to write the governor a nice thank-you note. While we worked on the report, the tow truck arrived, and he went to work hauling the car up the cliff.
--
It's morning now. I've got up, showered, shaved, called Hertz, called Chris, packed, and brought up my laptop. On with the story!
The tow driver, Kevin, caused at least as much damage pulling it up and flipping it over as I did dropping it down. He had to pull it up the same slope on its roof. Once it was up and safely chocked, and while Officer Blood was taking measurements, I searched the car for loose accoutrements.
Beef Jerky? Check.
Grandpa Lee's Leatherman? Check.
Sal's XM radio? Check.
USB cable? Check.
My new digital camera? D'oh.
So there I was, cold, damp, tired, hungry, and adrenaline-charged. While Kevin strapped the car to his truck, he loaned me a flashlight and his gloves, and I proceeded back down the muddy cliff. It's a much easier climb when you have a bright light and a sense of equilibrium. I found, right where the car came to a stop, a pile.
Bandana. Check.
Sweater. Check.
Red striped rugby shirt. Check.
Grandma's stuffed dog? Check.
My camera? Check.
I stowed the camera in a pocket, clutched the rest of the stuff, and climbed back up the muddy bank. I loaded it all back into the carcass of the Kia for the drive into Fortuna.
We were about to leave when Kevin, the driver, realized that he had lost his pager. He called it from a mobile phone, and heard its chime down in the hole where my car had 'til so recently rested. He declared in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going back down for it. (He was a big guy. I don't imagine the first trip was an easy one for him.) I took stock of the situation and, determining that I had no business witholding my charity, grabbed the gloves and flashlight and went back down the bank. For the third time. I followed the beeping to Kevin's pager and found it clipped on a twig, overhanging the gaping maw of my car's last resting place. The pager retrieved, I scrambled back up the hill for the thrid and last time.
Absolutely everyone, the plow driver, Officer Blood, Kevin, and the waitress at Denny's, marvelled at my unscathed survival. The airbag never deployed. Only the back window broke in the initial descent, though Kevin made short work of a few more on retrieval. Apparently Route 36 is the single most dangerous road in all of California. Kevin and the people at Denny's assured me that anyone who grew up in Humboldt county knows plenty of people who died on 36. They pull cars out of there all the time. Kevin had, in the last year, personally pulled three cars (including mine) up the exact cliff I had gone down. I won the gold medal for distance, the other two having stopped on trees further up. He said the redwood trees further down the road were veritable car-magnets. And you can imagine a 2000-year-old redwood tree is not terribly forgiving in head-on collisions. (Kevin, incidentally, declined to pose with the car for a photo.)
So, clearly, the first and biggest miracle is that I'm not dead. The second miracle is that I'm not even injured. The third miracle, and the one that cheers me up immensely, is that I had a Loss Damage Waiver on the Kia. Yup. Walk-away insurance. Hertz will pick me up at the hotel here and drive me to the body shop. I will claim the van, and go on my merry way. No deductible. No cost. Thanks to my mountaineering session, I lost no property in the incident. The last, but still impressive, miracle, is that I wasn't totally muddied up. I shoulda been covered in the stuff, but my pants hid it well, my jacket just looks like it's been well-worn. My socks were clean. My boots are clean. My glasses were clean. Amazing.
Oddly, the prospect of dying doesn't worry me at all. I knew perfectly well when I went over, and as I was hanging there, and as I pulled myself through the mud up the cliff, that my time was a long way off. It is often said of young men my age that we feel invincible, as though nothing can harm us. I do feel that way, but it's manifested as faith, rather than hubris. The Lord protected us when we hit the deer, and he protected me last night. I looked death in the face, and neither laughed nor flinched. I knew, never doubting, that he could not sed for me before my appointed hour.
So here I am, waiting for a call from Hertz. Gonna be on the road soon, and hopefully in the Bay Area tonight.
--
Okay, I'm getting really tired of sitting on Humboldt County highways waiting for a tow truck. Hertz picked me up and delivered me to the body shop. We looked at the car, it looked good. Very clean and neat. No complaints.
I took the van and drove over to Hertz to complete an accident report. One page, no fuss. Everyone keeps marvelling that I was driving Route 36. Apparently they need signs that say "Warning. Death trap." Not that I would've heeded such signs.
From there I mounted up and headed south on the 101. Took a detour along the Avenue of the Giants, which was highly recommended by Kevin last night. In truth, though, it was just another bunch of redwoods.
I'd been back on the 101 for just a few miles when the van's transmission kicked into neutral and resolved to stay there. I pulled to the side and killed the engine. Cycled the gears. Turned it back on. Cycled the gears. Shifted into drive. Let off the gas. The van rolled backwards. Tried reverse, still got neutral. By this point I could see faint vapor rising from the engine compartment. So I shifted into neutral, as if it mattered, and rolled the car back enough that I was entirely on the shoulder.
It's a narrow shoulder, mind you. Every time a car passes, the whole thing rocks. Every time a lumber truck passes, the world tilts on its axis.
I popped the hood, but before I ever got there the problem was apparent. I had a transmission leak. A massive transmission leak. Red transmission fluid all up and down the shoulder where I'd been rolling backwards. Fluid still dripping from the car. Transmission fluid vapor rising from the engine. And, as I moved to get back in, I saw red transmission fluid sprayed all up and down the left side of the car. Swell.
So I called Chris to verify that yes, the red fluid is transmission fluid. And I called Skip at the auto body place to get the customer service/grovelling process going.
A tow truck is on its way. Yet another ride in a tow truck, and I'm still not out of Humboldt County.
"This post, from 8 December, 2007..."
Pardon me, sir. What time is it?
(Ten points for catching the reference. Ten more for giving the correct response! d^_^b)
Posted by: Kenneth Pike | 24 August 2007 at 21:39
The reference, IIRC, is to the Continuum RPG. I believe the correct response would be, "What time is it?" I can't believe you remember that.
It's a pity I wasn't blogging when we made the GenCon 1999 trip where Mugzy discovered that game. I'd have loved to chronicle my thoughts of the NSDMG when they were fresh in my mind, and it was an epic road trip. I remember especially that, in the dead of August, the A/C went out in Kansas City, and we made it the rest of the way back to Phoenix, driving as much as possible after dark. Fortunately, it was cloudy with showers over New Mexico and northern Arizona.
As for the date mistake, I have corrected it to conceal my true time-travelling abilities.
Posted by: Dan | 24 August 2007 at 23:15