Road Stories

Three vignettes captured on the road.

A "red hat" kind of lady, she was. She wore a tall red chapeau complete with rolled brim squashed upon her silver curls.

The red matched perfectly the faded finish of her vintage VW which she, nose just peeking over the steering wheel, careened through the streets, pedal to the metal in second gear.

Speed, it seemed, was less a priority than rendering the mighty roar of 4 pistons as she bounced from curb to curb, scattering less adventurous machines in her wake.

The title of the tableau might have been "Puzzle". The vehicle, obviously chagrined, sat disheveled on the road shoulder, steam rising above and an ominous drip below. Two bipeds stood at the nose of the propped up hood and peered. He, hand scratching head, into the mysteries within. She, with dismay, at him. It was a toss-up which of the three would supply the answer first.

On weekends, or at 5 o'clock any other day, a left hand turn onto the highway is nigh on to impossible. But I sat there, fingers drumming on the steering wheel, left turn signal blinking hopefully, as the chain-gangs of commuters and tourists clanked along in opposite directions.

Some obscure god of left-turning locals suddenly smiled and the way cleared briefly in both directions. I, being no fool, threw my gratitude up to the skys and squealed into the line heading my way.

And was additionally blessed by sunrays sparkling on the snowdusted mountains beckoning me home.