The Back Road (Part 4)
Hello, hello, and welcome to part four of my The Back Road series. Carry on please.
His head raised and a wide grin appeared beneath his mustache. “That’d be great, thanks man. Um, let me find you something to—Ah, here take this.” He handed me a big metal can with no label anymore. As soon as I touched it I thought my skin would burn off from the intense coldness of it (Why is it that intense cold somehow feels hot?). “Okay, now hold that out and I’ll fill it up for ya.” I did as I was told and stretched out my arm with the frozen can. He scooped out salt and rocks from the bag and carefully dumped the contents into my can until it was full. Mustachio filled up his scooper again and leaped from the truck, “Let’s do this.”
I followed him to the road and he stopped where the line of salt on the pavement disappeared. “Just do as I do,” he said as he started waving his scooper back and forth making sure to cover the left half of the street in a small layer of salt, “You don’t have as much of this rock salt as I do, so just look for any obvious spots that I’ve missed, and don’t bother with the right side because this road is too sloped to be driving over there anyway. When more cars come by we’ll have to direct them to stay as close to the left side as they can. Maybe we can keep more people from falling into the ditch.” I followed his orders and kept my eyes out for any kind of blank spots on the street. Another ten feet down and we walked back up our path to resupply. The road was already significantly easier to walk on with just the salt we dropped. Won’t be long now. I would learn to regret jinxing myself by saying that later.
Just two more salting trips down the road and Mustachio and I had actually put a nice layer of salt all the way down the hill and over half of the first turn. At least the steepest part of the slope. The last walk back up the hill I noticed that Mustachio had turned on a light that was attached to the headband he was wearing over his hat. Darkness showed up faster than I realized. It wasn’t until we made it back to the driveway that I noticed just how cold it had gotten. The constant walking up and down kept my blood pumping enough to hide the temperature drop. I got back into my car for just a moment to grab my phone sitting in the cup holder. Luckily, I hadn’t been using it very much so the battery had only fallen to 47%.
I exited the car again and walked back over to Mustachio, who was now having a conversation with Spencer next to his old clunker. I strutted over to them and stood awkwardly perpendicular to their conversation. They were talking about different engines, suspension, and other vehicle related words that I didn’t have any clue about, so I just placed my hands into my coat pockets and waited. Did they even notice I walked up to them? I let out a heavy breath and watched as the view of Mustachio’s face was blurred by my ball of mist. He turned his head and glared at me like he was waiting for me to ask a question. My mind went blank. I moved my sight over to Spencer, who had the same look on his face as Mustachio. “Hey, thanks for helping me clear some of that ice, man.” I thanked God as Mustachio broke the unbearable silence.
“It was no problem. Better than just sitting in my car waiting for the ‘salt truck to get here’.” I pulled my hands out of my pockets and held them up while making quotation marks with my first two fingers when I mentioned the salt truck.
This got a good laugh from the two and my confidence grew a little more. Spencer spoke up over our snickers, “Seriously, bro! Who knows when that thing is gonna be here. It’s already been a couple of hours.”
“You all don’t even know!” Howled Mustachio, “I’ve been stuck here since 1:15. No one wants to leave here more than I do.” We finally were able to contain our laughter after a fairly strong gust of wind fleeted past us. Mustachio readjusted his gloved hands and asked in his half friendly, half persistent tone again, “So, what do you say guys? You ready to get out of here?”
Spencer and I stared at each other. Neither one wanting to answer. I wanted nothing more than to leave this driveway behind me, but there was no way I was making it past this turn. I opened my mouth to give my response, but Spencer beat me to it, thankfully, and said, “I think I’m good here for a while.”
I nodded my head in agreement, “Same here, even with the road salted a bit I just don’t know.”
Mustachio’s mustache drooped a bit in anguish, but his stare was still speckled with hope, “Oh, come on now, fellas. I bet the cars past the hill have been icing the road just like we were. We can make it.”
“Maybe in your four-wheel drive truck, but mine is a piece of shit.”
“Yeah, and my car is horrible in any season that’s not summer, and that’s only some of the time.” I chimed in.
Before Mustachio could retort a response to us a bright ray of lights flashed behind us. A line of eight cars started to make their way toward the first turn. We all three turned to wave down the leader of the pack. Mustachio led the way with Spencer and I in tow to a black convertible with obnoxiously bright white headlights. We signaled for him to roll down his window and a man in his twenties with short hair combed to the side appeared on the other side of the glass. “Hey guys, how’s it going.”
“Fine, thanks,” replied Mustachio, “Where are you coming from?”
“I-70. Trying to get to a Gelepsy bridge?” He looked as though he didn’t know if that was right.
“I think you mean Gillespie bridge,” I quickly made a mental note of that name, “You’re about a mile and a half from it, but this turn right here is real nasty.”
“Oh yeah?” He leaned up in his seat to get a better view of the road ahead.
“Yes sir, we salted it a little bit, but only on the left. You might want to try and go back the way you came though just to be safe.”
“No way, the interstate hasn’t moved in hours. All kinds of traffic back there.”
I heard Mustachio expel a quiet “Shit” from his lips and say, “Well then, my advice is to put your left tires on the dirt shoulder, and drive slow.” He took a couple steps back.
Now the man had a look on his face like he was trying to work out the answer to a difficult math problem. “Okay, yeah… alright, yeah, thanks guys.” He waved out the window to us.
Mustachio kept stepping back, “Alright, let’s see how this Yahoo does on this turn.” When the convertible drove on we kept an eye on him while stopping the next car in line. At first, the convertible kept driving in the middle of the road, but it quickly understood what to do after Mustachio put his hands around his mouth and yelled, “GET TO THE LEFT!” The car swerved over almost too hastily but still made it to the dirt. My hands were shaking in anticipation as I watched him roll down the hill smoothly and make it to the bottom of the hill.
“So far so good.” I said. I looked back around to see if anyone had heard me, but they were still glued to the black car making promising distance now. I turned back to the action. As the convertible approached the next turn he was now in the middle of the road to avoid the still head-down white truck.
“Not good not good,” murmured Mustachio to nobody in particular, “He needs to get over to the right shoulder now to avoid that slope.”
I squinted my eyes to get a clearer picture of the car, and it looked like Mustachio was right. Upon the start of the climb back uphill the convertible’s back tires slid sharply to the right and I saw the white headlights spin uncontrollably around in a circle before gently sliding down the hill and into the ditch across from the old man. Spencer let out a quick Damn, and we all looked at each other. Mustachio looked the most disappointed. He perked up fast though before turning to the next driver in line. This time a middle-aged woman in a powder blue minivan. Mustachio went through the same procedure with each vehicle that drove up. It all went pretty much the same way. I-70 is still backed up, this road is hardly halfway decent, but the driver usually tries it anyway and ends up a part of the fallen down below. There were a couple of drivers that saw the obvious danger that this road could cause and turned around to find another route. Eight cars and half an hour later everyone had either turned around or slid into the ditch.
My hands were turning a sickly purple color and the stinging in my fingertips was getting worse. Rubbing them together was doing no good and shoving them into my armpits had no effect either. I wasn’t even sure if I my feet were still attached to my ankles, and it was getting almost too dark to look down and see them. All I know is I need to get home now, or at least somewhere warm. Before I could get to my car I spotted a huge array of lights down the driveway. It was the mansion. Lit up like Christmas. I was so hypnotized by the lights that I didn’t hear Spencer come up behind me. “God, I bet it’s warm as hell in there.” I snorted and my nose opened the dam that was holding back a river of snot. Luckily, it was dark enough for Spencer not to notice this disgusting display. He kept speaking with a normal tone, “I just want this salt truck to get here already.”
“I had finally gotten control of Nasal Niagara Falls and said, “I know, right. How long should it take to get here?” As if by magic Spencer and I both noticed a dull blue light flashing over the trees past the S turn. “Do you see that too?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Spencer answered raising his voice in excitement, “It looks like the salt truck is on the way here!”
We walked over to Mustachio who was using his hand to guide another driver through the thinly salted trail. He saw the light as soon as he turned back around to keep an eye on the driver. “Hey, do you guys see that light up there?”
“Yep.” We said simultaneously. I was careful not to get my hopes up too high, but this was the greatest thing I’d seen all day.
Mustachio went back to talk to two more cars that had just driven up. He looked at Spencer and ordered, “Okay, I’m gonna help these people, and you two get your stuff together to leave. We’ll leave here together so we can keep an eye on each other.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Responded Spencer who was already jogging over to his truck. I did the same and started the engine of the Buick to make sure it’s nice and warmed up before departing.
“NO NO,” shouted Mustachio to the Acura flirting with the middle line of the road, “I SAID THE LEFT SHOULDER!” He threw his hands into the air and pushed the air above him to the left very hard, but it didn’t seem to push the car any further over. It shortly and with no surprise started sliding down the road before even making it to the first turn. “Dammit,” Cried Mustachio before looking back at me, “I’m gonna go help this moron figure out how they suddenly became deaf and I’ll meet you guys up there.” He strode down the road and disappeared into the ditch.
A minute passed when Spencer and I stood at the front of the driveway waiting for Mustachio to walk back up so we could get the hell out of there. The blue light was getting brighter now and suddenly the vehicle they were attached to appeared at the top of the S turn headed toward us. I could hear the chains on the tires from where I was standing, and they really did their job. The truck was driving toward us at an alarming speed for such conditions. The closer it got the more uneasy I felt. Before I could speak up Spencer said disappointingly, “That’s not a salt truck.”
I was still confused, “What is it then?”
“No clue. I guess we’re about to find out.”
The Back Road (Part 4)
The group separated as everyone returned to their respective cars. All except for Mustachio. I watched him in my rear view mirror jump into the bed of his truck and lift up a large and heavy looking bag. He spread the top of the bag open and pulled out a large red scooper filled with what looked like tiny white rocks. He stuck the landing off of his truck bed and walked toward the road with his scooper. It was obvious now that he was salting the road himself as he dumped the remains in the scooper back and forth across the left half of the street. He made it ten feet before having to return for another fill up. That’ll take forever if he wants to salt the whole road, but it’ll be worth it when it’s done. I opened my car again and buttoned my coat before walking across the driveway to where Mustachio was hunched over scooping more salt. “Hey man, you need some help with that?”His head raised and a wide grin appeared beneath his mustache. “That’d be great, thanks man. Um, let me find you something to—Ah, here take this.” He handed me a big metal can with no label anymore. As soon as I touched it I thought my skin would burn off from the intense coldness of it (Why is it that intense cold somehow feels hot?). “Okay, now hold that out and I’ll fill it up for ya.” I did as I was told and stretched out my arm with the frozen can. He scooped out salt and rocks from the bag and carefully dumped the contents into my can until it was full. Mustachio filled up his scooper again and leaped from the truck, “Let’s do this.”
I followed him to the road and he stopped where the line of salt on the pavement disappeared. “Just do as I do,” he said as he started waving his scooper back and forth making sure to cover the left half of the street in a small layer of salt, “You don’t have as much of this rock salt as I do, so just look for any obvious spots that I’ve missed, and don’t bother with the right side because this road is too sloped to be driving over there anyway. When more cars come by we’ll have to direct them to stay as close to the left side as they can. Maybe we can keep more people from falling into the ditch.” I followed his orders and kept my eyes out for any kind of blank spots on the street. Another ten feet down and we walked back up our path to resupply. The road was already significantly easier to walk on with just the salt we dropped. Won’t be long now. I would learn to regret jinxing myself by saying that later.
Just two more salting trips down the road and Mustachio and I had actually put a nice layer of salt all the way down the hill and over half of the first turn. At least the steepest part of the slope. The last walk back up the hill I noticed that Mustachio had turned on a light that was attached to the headband he was wearing over his hat. Darkness showed up faster than I realized. It wasn’t until we made it back to the driveway that I noticed just how cold it had gotten. The constant walking up and down kept my blood pumping enough to hide the temperature drop. I got back into my car for just a moment to grab my phone sitting in the cup holder. Luckily, I hadn’t been using it very much so the battery had only fallen to 47%.
I exited the car again and walked back over to Mustachio, who was now having a conversation with Spencer next to his old clunker. I strutted over to them and stood awkwardly perpendicular to their conversation. They were talking about different engines, suspension, and other vehicle related words that I didn’t have any clue about, so I just placed my hands into my coat pockets and waited. Did they even notice I walked up to them? I let out a heavy breath and watched as the view of Mustachio’s face was blurred by my ball of mist. He turned his head and glared at me like he was waiting for me to ask a question. My mind went blank. I moved my sight over to Spencer, who had the same look on his face as Mustachio. “Hey, thanks for helping me clear some of that ice, man.” I thanked God as Mustachio broke the unbearable silence.
“It was no problem. Better than just sitting in my car waiting for the ‘salt truck to get here’.” I pulled my hands out of my pockets and held them up while making quotation marks with my first two fingers when I mentioned the salt truck.
This got a good laugh from the two and my confidence grew a little more. Spencer spoke up over our snickers, “Seriously, bro! Who knows when that thing is gonna be here. It’s already been a couple of hours.”
“You all don’t even know!” Howled Mustachio, “I’ve been stuck here since 1:15. No one wants to leave here more than I do.” We finally were able to contain our laughter after a fairly strong gust of wind fleeted past us. Mustachio readjusted his gloved hands and asked in his half friendly, half persistent tone again, “So, what do you say guys? You ready to get out of here?”
Spencer and I stared at each other. Neither one wanting to answer. I wanted nothing more than to leave this driveway behind me, but there was no way I was making it past this turn. I opened my mouth to give my response, but Spencer beat me to it, thankfully, and said, “I think I’m good here for a while.”
I nodded my head in agreement, “Same here, even with the road salted a bit I just don’t know.”
Mustachio’s mustache drooped a bit in anguish, but his stare was still speckled with hope, “Oh, come on now, fellas. I bet the cars past the hill have been icing the road just like we were. We can make it.”
“Maybe in your four-wheel drive truck, but mine is a piece of shit.”
“Yeah, and my car is horrible in any season that’s not summer, and that’s only some of the time.” I chimed in.
Before Mustachio could retort a response to us a bright ray of lights flashed behind us. A line of eight cars started to make their way toward the first turn. We all three turned to wave down the leader of the pack. Mustachio led the way with Spencer and I in tow to a black convertible with obnoxiously bright white headlights. We signaled for him to roll down his window and a man in his twenties with short hair combed to the side appeared on the other side of the glass. “Hey guys, how’s it going.”
“Fine, thanks,” replied Mustachio, “Where are you coming from?”
“I-70. Trying to get to a Gelepsy bridge?” He looked as though he didn’t know if that was right.
“I think you mean Gillespie bridge,” I quickly made a mental note of that name, “You’re about a mile and a half from it, but this turn right here is real nasty.”
“Oh yeah?” He leaned up in his seat to get a better view of the road ahead.
“Yes sir, we salted it a little bit, but only on the left. You might want to try and go back the way you came though just to be safe.”
“No way, the interstate hasn’t moved in hours. All kinds of traffic back there.”
I heard Mustachio expel a quiet “Shit” from his lips and say, “Well then, my advice is to put your left tires on the dirt shoulder, and drive slow.” He took a couple steps back.
Now the man had a look on his face like he was trying to work out the answer to a difficult math problem. “Okay, yeah… alright, yeah, thanks guys.” He waved out the window to us.
Mustachio kept stepping back, “Alright, let’s see how this Yahoo does on this turn.” When the convertible drove on we kept an eye on him while stopping the next car in line. At first, the convertible kept driving in the middle of the road, but it quickly understood what to do after Mustachio put his hands around his mouth and yelled, “GET TO THE LEFT!” The car swerved over almost too hastily but still made it to the dirt. My hands were shaking in anticipation as I watched him roll down the hill smoothly and make it to the bottom of the hill.
“So far so good.” I said. I looked back around to see if anyone had heard me, but they were still glued to the black car making promising distance now. I turned back to the action. As the convertible approached the next turn he was now in the middle of the road to avoid the still head-down white truck.
“Not good not good,” murmured Mustachio to nobody in particular, “He needs to get over to the right shoulder now to avoid that slope.”
I squinted my eyes to get a clearer picture of the car, and it looked like Mustachio was right. Upon the start of the climb back uphill the convertible’s back tires slid sharply to the right and I saw the white headlights spin uncontrollably around in a circle before gently sliding down the hill and into the ditch across from the old man. Spencer let out a quick Damn, and we all looked at each other. Mustachio looked the most disappointed. He perked up fast though before turning to the next driver in line. This time a middle-aged woman in a powder blue minivan. Mustachio went through the same procedure with each vehicle that drove up. It all went pretty much the same way. I-70 is still backed up, this road is hardly halfway decent, but the driver usually tries it anyway and ends up a part of the fallen down below. There were a couple of drivers that saw the obvious danger that this road could cause and turned around to find another route. Eight cars and half an hour later everyone had either turned around or slid into the ditch.
My hands were turning a sickly purple color and the stinging in my fingertips was getting worse. Rubbing them together was doing no good and shoving them into my armpits had no effect either. I wasn’t even sure if I my feet were still attached to my ankles, and it was getting almost too dark to look down and see them. All I know is I need to get home now, or at least somewhere warm. Before I could get to my car I spotted a huge array of lights down the driveway. It was the mansion. Lit up like Christmas. I was so hypnotized by the lights that I didn’t hear Spencer come up behind me. “God, I bet it’s warm as hell in there.” I snorted and my nose opened the dam that was holding back a river of snot. Luckily, it was dark enough for Spencer not to notice this disgusting display. He kept speaking with a normal tone, “I just want this salt truck to get here already.”
“I had finally gotten control of Nasal Niagara Falls and said, “I know, right. How long should it take to get here?” As if by magic Spencer and I both noticed a dull blue light flashing over the trees past the S turn. “Do you see that too?” I asked.
“Yeah,” Spencer answered raising his voice in excitement, “It looks like the salt truck is on the way here!”
We walked over to Mustachio who was using his hand to guide another driver through the thinly salted trail. He saw the light as soon as he turned back around to keep an eye on the driver. “Hey, do you guys see that light up there?”
“Yep.” We said simultaneously. I was careful not to get my hopes up too high, but this was the greatest thing I’d seen all day.
Mustachio went back to talk to two more cars that had just driven up. He looked at Spencer and ordered, “Okay, I’m gonna help these people, and you two get your stuff together to leave. We’ll leave here together so we can keep an eye on each other.”
“Sounds like a plan to me.” Responded Spencer who was already jogging over to his truck. I did the same and started the engine of the Buick to make sure it’s nice and warmed up before departing.
“NO NO,” shouted Mustachio to the Acura flirting with the middle line of the road, “I SAID THE LEFT SHOULDER!” He threw his hands into the air and pushed the air above him to the left very hard, but it didn’t seem to push the car any further over. It shortly and with no surprise started sliding down the road before even making it to the first turn. “Dammit,” Cried Mustachio before looking back at me, “I’m gonna go help this moron figure out how they suddenly became deaf and I’ll meet you guys up there.” He strode down the road and disappeared into the ditch.
A minute passed when Spencer and I stood at the front of the driveway waiting for Mustachio to walk back up so we could get the hell out of there. The blue light was getting brighter now and suddenly the vehicle they were attached to appeared at the top of the S turn headed toward us. I could hear the chains on the tires from where I was standing, and they really did their job. The truck was driving toward us at an alarming speed for such conditions. The closer it got the more uneasy I felt. Before I could speak up Spencer said disappointingly, “That’s not a salt truck.”
I was still confused, “What is it then?”
“No clue. I guess we’re about to find out.”
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