Sanding the roads

At the rate I'm going, it would only take a split second to lose control.  That thought was enough for me to lightly touch the brakes and consciously bring the car back to the right side of the old dirt road.  It's a good thing it had been thoroughly sanded.  The first few treks out on snowy roads are the trickiest.  How easy it is to forget the difference between snow covered and dry dirt roads.  Never the less, I continued my modified hurtle praying not to cross paths with an oncoming car with the driver sure to scowl at my speed.  I was kicking myself for forgetting the crucial part of the day's cross-country ski plan.  My car keys.  We had parked my car at the end of the best sweeping downhill, locally known as Eddy Road, and driven the other car to the top of the network of trails on Dusty Ridge.  I had absentmindedly tossed all my belonging into my friend's car and happily leapt out and onto the trails without another thought of my pocketbook, or the keys dropped into the side pocket and hastily plopped on the floor of her car, until just prior to the coveted descent.

Our plan was to ski all the trails before heading over to Eddy road and the reward of the long restful ride down to our getaway car and lunch.  We took our time.  It was Basha's first trip of the season to Dusty, and she was dealing with her inner chicken on the downhills. It was my third. I had cooked my chicken in the days prior.

While skiing, we admitted the biggest fear was the loss of control.  Truly there's nothing worse than heading down a steep hill and suddenly gaining too much speed.  Speed that the best of snow plows cannot break.  For Basha and I, facing the inner chicken is an annual winter event.  Eventually though, depending on the snowfall and the number of times out, it gets better.  Fortunately, there are lots of ups and downs on these trails to practice on. Life in Putney has given us lots of opportunities to practice.

As the new year approached, an inner chicken of another sort fluffed its feathers in my chest.  I felt the pecking begin with the number of people inquiring, with renewed interest, in my plans for next year.  Fantasies of being clonked over the head with the perfect alternative to my secure position, income and schedule seem to be shattering, like the drinking glass that slipped from my hands this past week.

Looking for answers I Skyped my close friend and confident Ellen and immediately broke into a sweat when she asked.  "So, what are you going to do, are you going to go back"?  My heart froze then plummeted.  "I don't know", I whined.  At my insistence, the subject shifted.  We ran through the gamut of topics eventually focusing on Kario, Ellen's stepson, and his quest to become an actor.  Here was a beacon of inspiration.  A young person who forges ahead without hesitation, without visible fear.  "Clearly a guy driving with his foot off the brakes" remarked Ellen.

Brakes.  My foot hovering over the brakes ballooned into head.  The image is now firmly etched in my brain. It's been following me down the thickly sanded winding back roads that lead me home on these snowy afternoons.

Growing up in rural Vermont, I despised the sand the trucks dumped on the roads after a storm.  It took a few days, but they always came sprinkling sand over the pristinely plowed roads.  The nerve of them ruining our sledding I'd fume.  When it snowed, we couldn't wait to dash outside with a sled and drag it up the hill, all three knolls of it.  At the top my sisters and I would swing our sleds around with a quick pivot and push-run them over the edge for the fastest trip back down the hill. Sailing down on the edge of control, the rush of the cold wind stinging our cheeks was exhilarating.

And, where's that nerve now?  The nerve that inevitably gets covered with the sand of life. The same sand that reminds us to slow down, not to go so fast and put a foot on the brake. Yet it's becoming clear that I'm no longer comfortable in this car --called my life, with a foot not just hovering over the brake but, planted firmly on it.  My nerve is there, I've experienced it.  I'd like to think that these thoughts will be enough for me to remove my foot and make a run for the top of that hill.  They may just may be.

I hear the first couple of runs are the scariest.