The Good Life|June 2020
In mid-April, my sister and I decided to go for a drive out to the Palisades up to Douglas Creek.
We loaded up the truck, dog, and all, and headed out of town. Turning off the main road to the Palisades, we made our way from the paved road onto the gravel, dirt route up into the mountains.
As we drove higher, the truck flexed up the winding road. After several miles, we reached the end of the traversable terrain. We parked the old ’95 Toyota pickup on a bluff that overlooked the water carving out a path down below in the deep canyon.
Filling our lungs with fresh air, we hiked around the terrain above the water that was cascading down the smooth rocks in the canyon.
As we meandered down the road, taking in the sights, a slithering friend was stretched across the road, sunning himself. I screamed with fright and pulled my dog back on his leash. The snake slithered off the road into the long, green grass.
We continued to walk down the road and admired the scenery. After some time, we decided it was best that we turn around for the day and headed back to the truck.
We hiked back up to where my Toyota pickup was resting on the dusty dirt road. After stomping the dirt from our shoes, we got ourselves situated in the truck. I put my key into the ignition, pressed the clutch, and turned the key. There was no reaction from the engine.
Thinking that I had overlooked something in the process, I turned the key again. To my dismay, there was no response from the engine. “I don’t know what’s wrong,” I said, speaking quickly to my sister, feeling flustered.
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