The big wooden sign read: Tassajara Zen Buddhist Center Closed September-April 1st at a cluster of dilapidated outbuildings as we turned onto Tassajara Road."What do you think that means?" I asked as we drove by.
"Who knows," Wayne said.
"Do you think that was it?"
"No, I think it's about 13 miles in, unless there was a trail that led to the Center, but I doubt it," he said.
"So, let's keep going," I urged, lured by the vision of lowering my tired and slightly stiff self into burbling hot springs, and receiving meditation instruction from a Zen master, possibly a disciple of Suzuki Roshi himself. The road arced sharply upwards through forest for a few miles before precipitous cliffs fell away on the passenger's side of the car.
"Slow down!" Wayne said.
We had borrowed Pete's shiny, new blue Honda Fit, which could be squeezed into 3-foot openings in San Francisco, but its low undercarriage now bumped ominously into ruts on the unpaved road.
"We can't tell Pete about this, right?" I joked. Pete was Wayne's son-in-law.
"Right! Watch it!" Wayne barked. I had lurched close to the road's edge to avoid a canon ball sized rock. The road shifted beneath the wheels.
"I am watching, and you can't say a word!" I warned. "Not one. No flinching either."
"I will say something if I feel unsafe," he retorted. "It's my life."
"It's my life too," I growled. Sweat broke out on my neck.
"What the hell," I said, as the road narrowed and sank into a series of pot holes deep as sand pits.
"Careful!" Wayne warned.
"Shut up!" I snapped, guiding the car up and over the next series of rubble-filled bunkers. "Do you think this is the right road?"
"Who the fuck knows?" Wayne said.
"Well, let's keep going a bit more," I said. Teetering at cliff's edge held a certain adrenaline junkie juiciness that made my palms tingle. We inched on.
"Whoa! Did you see that huge pine cone?" I asked.
"Forget pine cones! Keep your eyes on the road!" Wayne ordered.
"But, I want to to take it for my collection."
"If we make it, you can get it on the way back. Just keep watching the road. I'm concerned for my personal safety."
As we climbed higher, the rock-strewn road shrank to a width exactly the dimensions of the Fit. The mountainous Ventana Wilderness stretched infinitely before us, the ruddy brick-colored cliff face on one side, blazing blue sky overhead, an abyss on the other. Boulders the size of VW bugs loomed above us, wedged precariously among scrubby roots.
"I wonder if we ought to turn around," Wayne mused.
"Where?"
"Good point."
"And there's no backing down," I stated.
The spine of the desolate mountain road was lined with charred, skeletal black tree stumps from a past forest fire. A rusted truck was pulled off the road amidst a littering of spent red shotgun cartridges.
"Serial killers, no doubt," I muttered. I pictured our two bloated, maggot-encrusted carcasses, throats slashed, entrails slung from the rear view mirror.
"Yeah, the mountains are full of 'em," Wayne said. "Watch the fucking road!" Giant rocks like the teeth of angry gods rose in every direction. We blundered around blind curves with no idea if the road simply ended with a catapulted launch into space.
"I'm having a Thelma and Louise moment!" I blurted.
"What do you mean?" Wayne demanded. He flinched.
"Relax," I said.
"No, you relax!"
"I am relaxed!" I snarled, my stomach clamped in a vise of steel.
"Oh, look, there's a sign!" Wayne interrupted.
"So, at least we're somewhere."
"Of course we're somewhere."
Danger! I read loudly. Flash Flood Area!
No comments:
Post a Comment