We have to take the garbage and recyclables to the transfer station on a regular basis if we don’t want the overflow to stink up the garage or attract bears, or both. So into the Ford Expedition I never should have allowed my father to buy goes flattened cardboard, as a base and absorbent layer, followed by the questionably bagged refuse and recyclables. The Stratford Town Supervisor says garbage costs the town $53 per ton while recycled stuff is only $12 so I try to be a good citizen and keep my taxes down.
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| But wait, there's more! |
Slam the tailgate, fire up the tunes, and git on down the road. Stink factor was only 4 on the 10 point scale, and it’s chilly, so the windows stay rolled up. The stretch from our place to just below the dam is full of twists and turns, so one’s speed is naturally regulated by inertia and proximity to trees. Nonetheless, a doe and fawn cause a momentary reduction.
The deer have been everywhere this year. Particularly on Stewarts Landing Road, we see them almost every time we drive or walk. Often, they stand and stare at us as we approach. Doe-eyed, of course.
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| This is a deer. Not a great shot, but definitely a deer. |
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| This is also a deer. Don't see the bucks very often. |
It’s a good policy to slow down a bit and be cautious. So down the road I fly, every bit as oblivious as usual, particularly when the sound system is blaring a good tune.
Past the zig and the zag where I once saw a pickup on its side below the roadbed, miraculously wedged between trees, it’s time to pick up to the proper speed for passing intersecting Bliss road. What is beyond bliss? A long downhill where one can coast for over 2 miles with the Expedition in neutral. Heavenly!
I’m helping Tori Kelly cover “Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing” when another doe flashes across in front of the hood. Her fawn follows as I slam on the brakes.
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| Do you see the deer? Neither did I. |
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| What the deer saw. |
My eyes enlarge as my foot goes farther than expected. A tad of deceleration is all I get before the brake pedal goes to the metal. But there is just enough reduction in speed for the quick brown fawn to jump over the lazy log at the side of the road and disappear into the woods. Good for the critter. Good for the lack of repair bills.
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| Not the two in question, but a similar duo. Surprisingly, the camera was not in hand during the event. |
But I’m still moving, even if at a slightly slower pace. I pump the pedal again and again, disbelieving. Before my leg gets too sore, I realize it’s time for the emergency brake. Looking around, I finally remember it’s the old-fashioned foot brake type. Trees are rushing past.
Sleepily (“Where’s the clutch?”), lefty leaves the floor and rises up to push the trusty mechanical backup into action. Bringing him down with all the force an old soccer player can muster, the emergency brake is engaged. Trees continue to rush past at the same rate.
“Push harder,” I think, but I’m already practically standing on the thing. I consider the ditch, but think better of that method in favor of low gear deceleration. Second does nothing, but first gear’s the charm. Trees slow and then stop. No wonder this thing gets such lousy mileage. If the engine has that much inertia, a good percentage of the energy generated has to be used just to move the pistons. Thank goodness I wasn’t on the big downhill stretch with a good head of steam when escaping brake fluid coated the engine compartment. OK, steam was not involved in propulsion, but you know what I mean.
Finally stopped, I exhale and relax as another whitetail bobs along in the woods off to the north.
Now what? Though equipped for cellular telephony, the coverage on the road is spotty at best. I could try a first gear ride down to the main road where a connection is likely, but a first gear downhill journey did not promise to be much fun, and had a great deal of potential to be dangerous. This would be the time there’d be a stubborn and seldom seen moose in the road.
Being over 2 miles from home, though the thought of leaving the mechanical beast and getting some exercise was not daunting, it would take the better part of an hour to walk. My mood and formal transfer station dress (it’s quite the social scene) did not favor a run. And the car would be left sitting there on the side of the road in either case.
First gear and reverse, gingerly alternated, can execute a brakeless 9-point (9 more than the deer) turn without going into the roadside ditch, even without prior practice. Flashers on, I headed up the slight rise and twisting road back home at 4 miles per hour. Only a little better than a walking pace, but at least the car wouldn’t be left to deal with abandonment issues.
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| Attractive analog metering in the 2004 Ford Expedition. First time I ever used #1. Yes, again, not an action photo since the camera was not in hand at the moment. |
Safely home without further deer sightings, I announced that the garbage would be rising to at least a #6 stink factor. Calls to AAA and repair shop ensued. Refuse was removed from the vehicle as a kind gesture to the mechanics.
But no cursing bad luck. It’s much better that the mishap occurred at low speed on a back road than on the interstate at 70-odd miles per hour when some idiot coming out of a service area decides that he can’t wait 15 seconds to allow the higher speed vehicle to get past the truck he loathes to follow.
Thank you, deer!
