They ate them all...

We went for a lovely long drive today, into the mountains. We've been heading north on our drives of late, rather than our customary west or southwest. The mountains there fold differently than the ones we're used to, and the vistas are new to us, and in several places rather than folds and hollows and slopes and dizzying cliffs falling away beyond the road, there rises a wall, simply a high, wide, massive wall of mountain fading into distance on either side of us. Rather than climb it, the road builders decided to go through. So there is a tunnel, directly through the base of the wall, and one emerges in a whole new state on the other side. This route too will pale with repetition and familiarity, but for now it's novel, and there are still turnings we've not taken, and alternate routes to discover, and byways to get lost down.

Which we did. A lovely little closed-in wandering creek-path of a road, with neighborhoods strewn close along its sides, houses and yards like beads on a string. H has driven in the Alps and on the Autobahn, in Copenhagen and Amsterdam, Frankfurt and Munich, Philadelphia and NYC and DC. His one great remaining challenge is the Pacific Coast Highway; in the meantime, he loves snaky mountain roads, and he takes them at a speed not unsafe, but a bit faster than I'm comfortable with, especially through settled communities.

"Slow down," I remarked today. "You'll hit a dog."

"There aren't any," he replied, as we passed another yard full of rusting auto carcases. "They ate them all."

They ate them all...

We went for a lovely long drive today, into the mountains. We've been heading north on our drives of late, rather than our customary west or southwest. The mountains there fold differently than the ones we're used to, and the vistas are new to us, and in several places rather than folds and hollows and slopes and dizzying cliffs falling away beyond the road, there rises a wall, simply a high, wide, massive wall of mountain fading into distance on either side of us. Rather than climb it, the road builders decided to go through. So there is a tunnel, directly through the base of the wall, and one emerges in a whole new state on the other side. This route too will pale with repetition and familiarity, but for now it's novel, and there are still turnings we've not taken, and alternate routes to discover, and byways to get lost down.

Which we did. A lovely little closed-in wandering creek-path of a road, with neighborhoods strewn close along its sides, houses and yards like beads on a string. H has driven in the Alps and on the Autobahn, in Copenhagen and Amsterdam, Frankfurt and Munich, Philadelphia and NYC and DC. His one great remaining challenge is the Pacific Coast Highway; in the meantime, he loves snaky mountain roads, and he takes them at a speed not unsafe, but a bit faster than I'm comfortable with, especially through settled communities.

"Slow down," I remarked today. "You'll hit a dog."

"There aren't any," he replied, as we passed another yard full of rusting auto carcases. "They ate them all."

Um, lookout?

H has often scolded me for gasping, or saying, "Lookout!" from the passenger seat of the car.

"If you're going to alert me to something I may not have seen, be specific. Chances are I've already seen whatever it is and am mid-reaction. Your reaction makes me think there's something else I didn't see and messes up my reacting to the first thing. 'Lookout!'doesn't help."

Can't really argue with that. I've learnt to say, "He's turning," if I think he's not paying attention and may not have seen the car in front of the car ahead of us with its blinker on. "On your right!" for a car evidently not stopping at the intersection ahead. And so on.

So when I saw the deer bounding across the median, after having just successfully crossed two lanes of oncoming traffic and evidently preparing to cross in front of the tanker truck just ahead of us, what I said was, "Deer! Deer, deer, deer, deer!"

What I should have said was, "Doe! Doe, doe, doe, doe!" because what he heard was, "Dear! Dear, dear, dear, dear!"

However, he'd seen her, and had already begun slowing and steering for the shoulder. The tanker slowed fractionally, enough that she nimbly skipped across both lanes in front of him and scrambled up the bank and was gone by the time we reached the spot.

Um, lookout?

H has often scolded me for gasping, or saying, "Lookout!" from the passenger seat of the car.

"If you're going to alert me to something I may not have seen, be specific. Chances are I've already seen whatever it is and am mid-reaction. Your reaction makes me think there's something else I didn't see and messes up my reacting to the first thing. 'Lookout!'doesn't help."

Can't really argue with that. I've learnt to say, "He's turning," if I think he's not paying attention and may not have seen the car in front of the car ahead of us with its blinker on. "On your right!" for a car evidently not stopping at the intersection ahead. And so on.

So when I saw the deer bounding across the median, after having just successfully crossed two lanes of oncoming traffic and evidently preparing to cross in front of the tanker truck just ahead of us, what I said was, "Deer! Deer, deer, deer, deer!"

What I should have said was, "Doe! Doe, doe, doe, doe!" because what he heard was, "Dear! Dear, dear, dear, dear!"

However, he'd seen her, and had already begun slowing and steering for the shoulder. The tanker slowed fractionally, enough that she nimbly skipped across both lanes in front of him and scrambled up the bank and was gone by the time we reached the spot.